Work Text:
The light flickers. Slender, ribbons of shadow leap against the dark stone walls; spindly clouds of grey momentarily temper the smooth alabaster of Morgana's contented face as she sleeps. In the darkness of night, her skin glows, but it is not abrasive and glaring like the harsh rays of the sun; there is a subtlety to it, as though she is the beauty of the moon made real, tangible. It is a kind of ethereal beauty that one can only see when one is not looking; seeking. It belongs to the shadows of the night, to the realms of sleep; and the world of dream.