il ne pleut pas

It'd been just one slip. One tiny slip that had somehow ended in her entire bedroom going up into flames. Morgana had spent years of her life attempting to suppress her abilities, only to end up allowing one tiny, accidental flare to ruin it all.

It didn't matter that she was from one of the most prominent noble families. There was no hiding this, not after she'd walked out of the fire untouched (albeit, she'd been rather shaken and confused, but still entirely unblemished.) What was more important now, at least to the Templars, was the fact that she'd been hiding herself for so long. The fact that she'd nearly burnt down a portion of her estate made it all the worse, because now they were attempting to brand her as dangerous.

She'd managed to slip away into the dark of the night, but now she wasn't sure where to go. It had quickly become apparent that she stuck out from the commoners like a sore thumb. Perhaps she shouldn't have chosen to wear the heavy, hooded cloak, made from a rich, velvety red material that very clearly screamed her class and status. Thankfully, she managed to make it into one of the underground tunnels; it smelled foul, but at least there were far less people there.

Hearing footsteps from ahead, Morgana threw her torch into a tiny puddle and pressed herself up against the wall.