thirty-one. She'd wished, in the end, Gwynevere had been in the asylum. Her brother was no fucking saint. The man deserve to burn for half the things he'd done. But she'd never precisely taken to Gwynevere for committing a sin that she herself had. But she had paid a more heavy price for all her sins. Gwynevere got to run off and live the rest of her days trying to repent.
It didn't seem quite as fair to Morgause. No, she wanted her sister-in-law, her fellow sinner, to suffer more. Lose her mind, maybe a limb - oh why not, maybe her precious little head. She knew she'd pay to see it tumbled down some steps, long hair winding around it and growing sticky from the blood.