The gilded goblet clattered to the ground. Heavy eyelids finally gave in to the sweet whispers of wine, and soon the wizard fell deeply asleep on his green-moss bed. At last.

Softly, like a ghost, Morgana sneaked into a cave. There, on a rust table of granite stone there was a book – her long-awaited pledge of glorious liberty. A silver serpent of a tight book clasp was trying to bite her – but a single word made it shrink and snap wide open.

Here it is. Morgana greedily inhaled the sweet smell of honey, mixed with a faint hint of wormwood. A bittersweet taste of wisdom made her dizzy. Slowly, the woman savoured that thick viscous wine, feeling centuries of deep knowledge soaking into her hot blood.

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Curious forest creatures went scattering as soon as her slender figure shone against the dark mouth of the cave. And though the air was filled with lively sounds, her soft steps now could overrumble the whisper of trees and restless chatter of stream. One glance – and the shy little driads went obediently inside their tree bodies. A tender dungeon of interwined hands arose over her husband – deeper and deeper, burying him forever with a sweet mist of reveries.

Morgana hesitated for a moment. But not a faint echo of regret cast a shadow on her lovely face. The wind stole a kiss from thin whispering lips and lifted her up in the air to the rising chambers of her illusive palace.