The Walls Between Worlds

Dark as midnight sun
Smoke as black as charcoal
Fills into our fragile lungs
Cause when our demons come
Dancing in the shadows
To a game that can't be won...

Clara collapsed against the wall, her arm flying up to her face, feeling like her lungs were being roasted from within. Flynn frantically clasped his frilly hanky to his nose, eyes scrunching up, the stench of sulphur making them sting. An industrial wasteland surrounded them on all sides, the carcasses of factories lying abandoned, flames stripping the flesh from their brickwork bones. The air was thick with red smoke, lending a strange dreamlike quality to the landscape, making the fabric of reality ripple like the surface of a lake.

"Where are we?" Flynn coughed, the smoke fogging up his spectacles.

"I don't know," Clara whispered, suddenly slumping against his shoulder, the strength leaving her. She couldn't do this anymore, watching Jacob die in a hail of bullets, Ezekiel a complete stranger who didn't steal and slicked back his hair, Eve a Teutonic temptress stealing a parallel universe version of her boyfriend, and Flynn a bumbling, stumbling, balding fool, who wept at the mere mention of the supernatural. As she struggled to hold herself together, a loud roar suddenly sounded from overhead, Flynn screaming as ash rained down on them, the dragon's shadow drowning the world in darkness.

"It's a dragon!" he screeched, making the obvious even more obvious, only for his hand to fly to his neck, his fingers fumbling, then finding, before finally pulling out a dart of some kind. "Hey, it's got a desurrized pelivery systh"- He collapsed face-first onto the floor, hitting the deck like a debutante tripping over her dress.

"Flynn!" Clara choked, rushing forwards, only for something to sting her neck. She grabbed the side of her throat, only to suddenly faint like a wilting wallflower, the darkness rushing up to claim her.

Several spinning centuries later, or so it seemed, she blearily opened her eyes, only to find herself face to face with Lamia, but not the Lamia she knew. This Lamia was barefaced, with her hair scraped back, wearing ulitarian clothes that extinguished her exotic beauty.

"You!" Lamia hissed in disbelief.

"Me?" Clara replied, confused.

"I watched you die, Librarian," Lamia breathed, before suddenly pulling out a dagger, making to draw it across Clara's throat.

"Enough!" an imperious voice ordered, Lamia freezing as a figure cloaked in crimson emerged from the shadows, the hood hiding the stranger's face from sight. "Kill the oaf, but not her," the stranger said emphatically, gliding forwards.

"Mghgf!" Flynn protested, making Clara glance at him, only to see he was trussed up like a turkey, gagged and bound to within an inch of his life.

The stranger lifted back her hood, only to reveal Cassandra, her face terrible and beautiful, eyes aeons old, her lips a blood red slash. "Lamia," she reproved, holding out her hand.

"I apologize, my liege," Lamia said in a strangled voice, barely able to speak, unable to move.

"Give me the dagger, dear one," Cassandra ordered, knowing full well Lamia couldn't.

"I cannot," Lamia barely breathed.

"Yes, you can," Cassandra said, sounding bored, before finally lifting the spell, Lamia falling to her knees, dropping the dagger to the floor. Lifting the hem of her cloak up, as though Lamia would besmirch it, Cassandra turned to Clara, looking intrigued. "Aren't you interesting?" she said, circling her. "Not from around here but rather around now." She loosened Clara's gag by hand, her touch like ice, making Clara flinch.

"Cassie," Clara choked out, "it's" -

- "I know who you are," Cassandra smiled cruelly, "and who I was, this shell I inhabit. But you died and I lived, yet here we are, fate coming full circle."

"Fate?" Clara whispered, the word striking her through the heart like a sword.

"Sweet Cassandra Cillian, sweet dying Cassandra Cillian," Cassandra taunted, circling Clara again, "whose parents thought sacrificing her would save her. Instead it restored me to my rightful throne - not even you could stop me, the infamous Clara Hartley, who lost her life along with the Library at my hand."

Clara just stared at her, not understanding but understanding at the same time. And then she was on her knees, like a marionette being manipulated by an unseen force, Cassandra looming over her, flames of violet fire flickering in her eyes, her smile curving like a serpent's tail.

"Kneel before your sovereign and liege," Cassandra intoned, her voice making the world tremble, "for I am Guinevere the Chosen, your queen and death."

"Cassie, please!" Clara gasped, her hands flying to her neck as the life started to leave her, Flynn struggling in vain with his bonds, his spectacles slipping sideways.

"Cassandra is no more," Cassandra spat, "I wear her flesh for I have no other. My true form was lost with the centuries, they could not regain it."

"They?" Clara rasped, bent double now, feeling like her throat was on fire.

"The Serpent Brotherhood," Cassandra said with disdain, "an ugly necessity. But they had their own agenda, one I took care to obliterate into eternity. They'd planned it out to the last detail, killing your Guardian, replacing her with Lamia, using her as their back door into the Library. But if Lamia was their Trojan Horse, I was their Excalibur, the ultimate weapon, using me to seize control of the Library, harnessing my magic for their own ends. And they got their end at my hands" –

- "You unleashed magic into the world!" Clara barely breathed.

"No, you did," Cassandra said coldly, "the sacrifice of your blood set magic free, restoring it to its rightful" -

- "But it's wild magic," Clara whispered, her eyes nearly rolling back in her head, "it - it has to be controlled" -

-"There should be no control over magic!" Cassandra bellowed, making the walls shake. "It should not be imprisoned or contained" -

- "It - it has to be," Clara repeated, the corners of her world turning black now.

"See, that is why your world is this way now," Cassandra said, stooping down so she was eye-level with Clara, "charred and choked, the dragons ruling the sky as I rule below. The people of your world didn't understand my vision, so they turned their toy guns on me, trying to take me down with bullets and bombs, forcing me to fight fire with fire, scorching their souls out of existence. Only those who understand remain now, seeking shelter in my shadow" -

- "Gwen, stop!" Morgan Le Fay exclaimed, stepping out of the shadows, making Cassandra's head snap up. Morgan advanced on her, throwing back the hood of her black cloak as she moved, revealing her ravaged visage to the world, her skin scarred by dragonfire.

"She does not understand!" Cassandra argued, her anger unconsciously increasing the pressure on Clara's windpipe, making her finally go under, lost to a lost world. Flynn let out a choked scream, lunging forwards, only to fall flat on his face, still chained to the chair, making him resemble an overturned tortoise. Morgan raised her hand, lifting the spell, Clara spluttering back to life, her face dangerously dark red, eyes bulging.

Morgan studied Clara for a long moment, denial warring with dismay, before bitter acceptance fell across her distorted features, finally realising there was no point in fighting fate, that in saving Clara she'd already made her choice. "Maybe it is you who doesn't understand," she said tiredly as hell ruled above as below, the sky on fire, turning the earth to ashes.

~*~

"You are travelling between alternate timelines," Morgan explained tiredly as Clara paced the floor, massaging her aching neck, trying to wrap her head around the fact Morgan Le Fay was good, and Cassandra was now Guinevere of Camelot, the knowledge strangely stinging.

"Yeah, we've heard this part before," Flynn snapped, taking a puff of his inhaler.

"So what's the set-up here, then?" Clara asked, glancing around, her gaze sweeping over the charred walls.

"Long ago, I had been banished to the Beyond by Galeas," Morgan said, taking a sip of Rhenish wine, "but Cass - Guinevere found me, Circe setting me free." The mention of the sorceress made Clara do a double-take, but Morgan continued her tale, unperturbed. "Time passed, peace prevailing, magic finally being restored to its rightful place, unfettered and free - or so I believed. But there was a rebellion, an underground movement, Galeas leading the revolution. He tried to assassinate Gwen, but Circe took the spell instead, sacrificing herself. Gwen went mad with grief, executing Galeas, stripping the skin from his bones" -

- "I think we've heard quite enough," Flynn blanched, taking another puff of his inhaler.

"She was in a dark place," Morgan said, smoothing down the front of her dress, "I was the only one that could reach her, and over time, she came to mean everything to me. What I didn't know was that she meant everything to someone else."

"Lamia?" Clara hazarded, raising an eyebrow.

"But Gwen chose me," Morgan said, tilting her head proudly, "condescending to sit by my side."

"But you're on two different wavelengths," Clara said, confused. "How does that work?"

"Love cloaks a multitude of sins," Morgan said, exhaling sharply. "Gwen's power outstrips mine, but she tolerates my sacrilegious prattle out of affection, believing it to be an unfortunate consequence of the dragonfire."

"What, that being burnt has addled your brains?"

"You noticed then," Morgan said dryly, refilling her glass.

Clara looked away, averting her gaze from Morgan's scarred skin.

"So we're alive because of a witch's whim?" Flynn said, straightening his spectacles. "Humouring her heart's desire?"

"You're alive because your journey isn't over yet," Morgan said, standing up, "that it is only just beginning."

~*~

"Guinevere drew this one night," Morgan said, leading them into an ante-room, "a diagram of sorts. She couldn't identify it - something was stopping her from understanding, almost like a Benediction spell, shielding her from the truth."

"But you understood," Clara said astutely.

"And you don't," Morgan said slowly, her gaze taking Clara in from top to toe. "Even now it's still protecting you."

"What is?" Clara asked, confused.

"The Loom of Fate," Flynn intoned, cutting across Morgan, "an archaic myth - my favourite myth actually."

"What, that's the Loom of Fate?" Clara said, gesturing to the diagram, something starting to stir in the depths of her memory.

"It creates history," Flynn said pompously, "so if you cut it, you effectively end history."

"Fate and the future are no longer in alignment," Morgan said, sitting down, "torn asunder" -

- "Resurgam!" Clara cried, before suddenly staggering sideways, Flynn finally managing to catch her before she fell.

Morgan stared at her, all the blood draining from her face. "It is true, then," she whispered, her fists curling into claws, "yet it cannot be" -

- "Dulaque cut history," Clara said, ignoring Morgan, her voice cracking, remembering now.

"That's what you said back at Ghost World!" Flynn interjected impatiently, taking a third puff from his inhaler.

"He cut my history," Clara said, ignoring him as well, shaking from head to foot now, "our history - to stop the fall of Camelot" -

- "I choose," Cassandra said, stepping out of the shadows, making Morgan's head snap up.

"We choose," Clara retorted.

"There can only be one," Cassandra said, circling her, "the Chosen One" -

- "One doomed by her gift, one who fled from his gift, one who abuses it, one who is denied it," Clara whispered, her fists clenching by her side, "and then there is she who started sin" -

- "And the dashing Librarian called Flynn!" Flynn trilled, before clamping his hands over his mouth, eyes widening with shock behind his spectacles.

"The walls between worlds are breaking down," Morgan said, rising to her feet, "fate is coming full circle."