Well, this has the potential to be awkward . . .

There are many and various different ways in which Morgan Le Fey is depicted throughout the Arthurian mythos. Most often, she's related to Arthur in some way. Sometimes, she's even his half-sister, like in Malory's Le Morte d'Arthur. In those versions, she tends to be a witch of no little power who's an absolute ballache to deal with. She fucks anything that moves - often including Merlin - hates Guinevere and can pretty much be summed up as a Big Bad.

There are also versions where she's some type of avatar of an Irish Goddess of Batshit Craziness called the Morrigan, where she is exactly as much fun as that sounds.

In a lot of the more modern stuff I've read, there's a tendency to mix her character up with her sister - who Arthur has a dalliance with - which leads to the birth of Mordred and all the shit that comes with that.

Basically, though, I'm not sure there are many versions of Morgan Le Fey where she looks somewhat like my Great-Grandmother Ethel.

"Well done, dearie. Now, if you could just do something about the chains, that would be lovely?"

I stood, mouth agape, in the doorway, looking down at - arguably - one of my greatest childhood heroes.

Growing up in a rather chaotic household, Zizzie and I tended to retreat to my bedroom and read when all the shouting got too much. Well, at least Zizzie used to read aloud while I lay back, pretending to smoke and looking ever so cool in my caked-on stolen eyeliner and goth get-up.

It should hardly be surprising, therefore, that we tended to latch on to characters - particularly female ones - who took very little shit indeed.

Some of the earliest art I can remember painting was of a tall lady in a pretty dress fireballing groups of knights to death.

As the faces of the knights tended to be dad, boys at school and pretty much every authority figure that tried to enforce their will on me, I felt the metaphor was pretty clear.

I imagine a large part of me picking this name for myself back in the village was that, in many ways, Morgan Le Fey represented the version of myself I would quite like to have been.

Morgan farted and rattled the chains attached to her stumpy arms and legs. "Any time, dearie. I feel another big one rumbling around down there."

Never meet your heroes.

I stepped into the cell and grabbed one of the chains. As I did so, Morgan tried to pull back and just started to say, "Don't touch . . . " when it all became relatively too late.

The moment my hand connected with the cold iron, all of my Qi was sucked out of my body. Literally. I watched as it poured out of my hands into the chains, which gulped it all down greedily. It only took a few moments for my Artist's studio to be absolutely bone dry,

"Well, that was fucking stupid, wasn't it, dearie? Obviously, the only way in which someone of my power was going to be restrained in this cell for a decade was because my Qi was being restricted. How else did it look like it would be done other than through chains with a basic Leach Technique? Didn't you notice?"

Don't be too hard on her, Morgan. I think being stuck in a time loop has fucked her brain up royally.

I don't know what was worse. The lack of Qi, that Morgan Le FUCKING Fey was looking at me with an expression of epic disappointment or that Drynwyn was going into bat for me.

I staggered and sat down. In doing so, I released my hold on the chains, and I felt little spots of paint start to reappear in my channels.

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"Well, time loops will do that to you. Do you remember when Rhyddrech Hael got a bit too familiar, and I had him falling down that well for a few weeks? Thought he'd never stop crying. Good times."

Good times.

"Fuck me," I said, getting to my feet, "every last one of you is a certifiable lunatic." I nudged the chains with the toe of my boot. "So, if I can't touch them, how am I supposed to get you free?"

"I don't know, dearie. I suppose you would need access to some sort of magical sword that could cut through the metal without tripping the Qi leaching technique. To make doubly sure, it might be best if said sword had some sort of elemental affinity - like fire, for instance. But I don't know where you would possibly WELL, WHAT DO YOU KNOW! DRYNWYN, THE SWORD OF RHYDDRECH HAEL! WHAT A COINCIDENCE!"

It was dawning on me that I didn't much like Morgan.

It wasn't just that she looked like a relative of whom the only real memory I had was of her smelling overpoweringly like bleach when I went to hug her. It wasn't even the attitude of smug superiority that reminded me a little of the Big M but without his affability.

No, there was something in her eyes that unsettled me.

I might have liked her chaotic stick-it-to-the-man, 'let's have the orgy right' here energy when I was younger - younger? Who was I kidding? There's a giant picture of a very nubile Morgan currently in my empty flat that I'm sure whoever is tasked with clearing it out after my untimely death-by-truck is already whacking off to - but I'd like to think I'd developed a bit since being stuck in the Dark Ages.

If even half of the things that legendary Morgan was reported to get up to had happened in this timeline, I'd be better leaving her in chains.

I stepped backwards and out of the cell before Drynwyn got it into its head to be 'helpful'.

"Where are you going, dearie?"

"Just getting some fresh air. I'm feeling a little light-headed. What with the loss of all my Qi and the time-loop and all. I'm probably on my period, too. Just be a second."

What the fuck are you doing?

I put my fingers to my lips and then realised the redundancy of doing this to a magical-speaking sword. "Speak into my head for a moment; I know you can."

What's up?

It didn't sound all that much different, but I presumed at least Morgan couldn't hear us anymore.

"I'm not sure we should let her out. The stories of Morgan Le Fey are pretty . . . terrifying."

Oh, absolutely. She's a fucking nightmare. The best thing that ever happened to the realm was that she went awol all those years back. It would be completely irresponsible to let her out.

I paused. "So, we agree. We don't unchain her?"

Cool your coals for a minute. I didn't say that. Look, think about it like this. The enemy of your enemy is someone you can fucking use as a human shield. Whoever locked you up in here obviously did the same to her. I don't know about you, but having a serious cultivator at our back would be comforting.

"Even if that cultivator is likely to stab us in the back, the first chance she gets?"

If we know she's going to screw us over, then we can prepare for it, right? This would only be a ridiculously stupid thing to do if we thought she was actually on our side. She's obviously going to fuck us over.

"I'm not sure this is as winning an argument as you seem to think it is?"

Look, as far as we know, you are still stuck in a time loop. Until we get that clear, we might as well progress with the idea any fuck ups you make, you get a do-over for. If it turns out badly, you'll know.

"And if we're out of the time loop and we're about to open Pandora's box, then what?"

Rhyddrech Hael liked a good rummage in Pandora's box.

I shouldn't have needed to be in a time loop to see that anecdote coming.

"Is everything alright out there, dearie?"

"Yes or no, Drynwyn. What do you think?"

We don't know where we are or who took us. Or how to get out. I don't see leaving someone who could actually fucking help us escape chained up is a viable strategy.

I was torn. On the one hand, there is nothing more pressing for me right now than getting out of Dodge. On the other, this woman was - depending on which dead white man you believed - a horny little minx, a really powerful healer or the incarnation of all-worldly evil. It felt like there were any number of downsides in risking figuring out which we had here.

"If you're not going to free me, any chance you could push the door to, dearie? It's awfully drafty in here."

"Fuck it."

I walked back into the cell and let Drynwyn do its things.

I'm not saying this was the wrong decision, I just think if the little old woman with the epic dimples could have avoided cackling like a pantomime villain the second she was free, it would have eased my mind somewhat.

"Thank you, dearie. Now, let's fuck shit up."