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She looks different than Kayle remembered her. Morgana is darker somehow, her eyes streaked with tears that have not faded in many, many years. Not since their father…died…Not since they killed him. And Kayle isn’t sure how she knows that those are the same tears, but she does. How could she not? She and Morgana are two halves of the same.
“Do you remember the wedding?” Kayle says.
And Morgana just stands there, dumbfounded, unable to catch her breath. It’s like the time she flew too high and the air was frozen and razor thin, cutting her lungs with ice.
“Kayle…”
“Do you?”
“Kayle, what are you doing here?”
This is a good question, but Kayle asked a question first.
“With Mikaila and Jura? We danced for hours, sister. Do you remember?”
Finally, Morgana finds herself.
“Yes, I do.”
“We were happy then, weren’t we?”
And Kayle knows, she knows how ridiculous she sounds, how absolutely insane she looks, having appeared from nowhere after fifty years of silence and asking about something so trivial. But it’s not trivial, is it? It wasn’t trivial, was it? It was important. Very important. They were happy then, weren’t they?
“I—Kayle, what is this about?” Morgana presses.
The morning light is hotter than it should be; it shines too bright and makes Morgana squint. Kayle looks exactly the same as she did all those years ago. Desperate eyes and a rigid stance that chokes all that emotion from reaching her body. Eyes that burn with so much Kayle will never say.
“I needed to see you.” Kayle snaps. As if that answers anything.
“To ask me a foolish question?” Morgana snaps right back.
It isn’t foolish. How can Morgana not see that? Is she really so happy living amongst the mortals that this perfect day of the past is so easily cast off? Kayle’s own lingering unhappiness weighs on her then.
Was that wedding really the last time she was happy? And what, by the Gods, is she even doing there?
“Well?” Morgana huffs.
“Well what?”
“Answer me!”
“You first.” Kayle growls.
Laughter. Morgana’s laughter is cold and biting. It’s venomous. It wasn’t always like that.
“You jest. You must. You disappear for fifty years and show up to ask me about some party and that’s it? You really are something, Kayle. Something I wish had stayed fucking lost.”
That hurts. Kayle can feel the hurt. It pricks just under her breastplate, under her sternum. It’s fresh. It’s novel. Is there more?
“I wanted to see you.” Kayle says.
“Well, here I am.” Morgana says back.
And that should be it. She sees her. They see each other. Mission accomplished. But there is more.
“What’s happened to your wings?”
Morgana’s feet are nestled in the dirt. The sight of it makes the hurt in Kayle’s chest flourish with the flames of rage. She surges forward, whipping around to see. Chains. Morgana’s wings are chained and stifled. It’s sickening.
“I don’t need them.” Morgana says.
The rage twists like those chains and ignites Kayle’s whole body in holy fire. She grabs Morgana by the arm and forces them face to face. Her words die on her tongue. There’s too much to say and those flaming chains of rage are choking her to a seething silence. This reunion is not going well.
“You disrespectful—You foolish, infuriating—” Kayle sputters through her emotion. It’s ungainly in her mouth, in her body. She’s not used to it.
“What the fuck do you care?” Morgana spits.
How can she ask that? How can she not know? They are the same! They are two halves of Justice. How can she be so irresponsible, so selfish? How is it possible that their blood is kin? It’s not possible. It’s not. Kayle feels her mouth fill with saliva, eager to froth and bite.
Morgana rips her hand away and looks as if she will strike her sister. She strongly considers it, but they both think back to the last time they fought and it cools their tempers to a somber silence.
Neither of them say anything for a moment. Then Morgana walks towards her cottage.
“You might as well come in.”
The inside of the cottage is modest, but cozy. It’s well-lived in. Kayle hates having a roof over her head again. She’s slept under the stars for decades, cradled by Mount Targon, by their mother in a way. (Not really.)
Tea is prepared. Simple and pleasant. Fragrant. Kayle sips it sourly and keeps her gaze on the hearth. It’s only ash.
“This wasn’t what I imagined.” She says quietly.
Morgana snorts at that and then moves to start preparing some food. She deplumes a bird, rubs it with oil and herbs. The hearth is brought back to life and the naked thing is roasted.
Kayle finishes her tea and sinks into a chair. She wrings her hands, still trying to find the words she did imagine. Scraping her nails through her mind to find the right thing to say, to do, to make this make sense. Why the fuck is she there?
A heaviness washes over her like night. Her vision blurs. Her eyes drift to the cup. Fucking Morgana. Then everything goes black.
Kayle is better like this, Morgana thinks. She’s far easier to handle when she’s quiet and unconscious. Kayle might even be likable.
The pheasant is eaten quietly at the table after Kayle is moved to the bed. Morgana eats gingerly, taking her sweet time. A dose that potent should be more than enough to keep her sister like that for hours.
Did she miss Kayle? It was hard to say. Not really. Without Kayle, Morgana’s life is peaceful and she is free to live as she likes. She can keep her focus on what matters; the people she helps.
Though, really, when was the last time she’d really done that and entirely altruistically? Morgana’s mind drifts to the last person who had come to her cottage, seeking aid. A young man.
“Please, My Lady. Is there anything you can do for my mother?”
Morgana doesn’t care for mothers. Not hers and not anyone else’s, really. She invited the man inside, whipped up a remedy for his ailing mother, and took her payment in flesh. He was sweet, but he spent too fast. Mortals are so unsatisfying in that way.
And it’s this thought that has her rise from her seat at her table and wander over to the bed where Kayle remains unconscious. She climbs into the bed beside her and lets out a long, bitter sigh.
It’s been too long since there was warmth in Morgana’s bed and Kayle, if anything, is warm. No, that’s not right. She’s hot. Burning. Always alight with her righteous flame. Whatever.
Morgana rolls onto her side to look at her sister. Handsome. Even in sleep, she seems to be scowling. What pretty hair though. Shapely jaw. Firm, muscled arms. That armor looks so uncomfortable, so Morgana removes it.
Kayle smells like leather and sweat, like petrichor and the summer wind. It’s hard not to inhale that scent. Morgana leans in and just takes a little.
Her clothes are simple and threadbare in some places. For all of Kayle’s insistence on perfection, it’s clear she hasn’t bothered to keep up with this. But maybe she thinks herself above these things. Kayle thinks herself above everything, Morgana suspects.
And before she knows it, Morgana is tracing patterns on Kayle’s sternum, letting her fingers wander down to her breasts, but not taking that final step. Not yet. She’s not that lonely, is she? No, surely not.
Morgana is not as lonely as Kayle is. And Morgana knows the depths of her sister’s loneliness. She’s heard her, after all, whispering prayers year after year. Soft, lonesome prayers. Oh, poor Kayle. All that fire and she still goes to sleep cold and alone night after night.
Well, she doesn’t seem cold right now. Morgana slides a little closer and presses her face to Kayle’s. It’s chaste, she thinks, even if her body stirs to be so close. Maybe it has been a while since someone came to see the Veiled Lady.
Kayle’s mouth twitches in her sleep. What is she dreaming of? Fire and brimstone, probably. Slicing through the sinners of Runeterra. How droll. Her little breaths of exertion are cute though. They make something inside Morgana ache.
She wants to be closer. She wants to be skin to skin. Well, Kayle is asleep, so surely there’s no harm in it. It’s not a sin. Can the Gods even sin?
Morgana chuckles at the thought. Hardly Gods, though Kayle would probably beg to differ. She’d insist on it. Always so concerned with the divine. Well, Morgana is far more concerned with the mortal, with what she can feel; what she can taste.
Kayle stirs again, but Morgana trusts her herbs. She leans in against her sister and runs her fingers down her side, down to her thigh, and considers what rests there. Well, with a glance, Morgana can see that ‘rests’ is not the right sentiment.
Whatever Kayle is dreaming of, it seems pleasant. There’s a gentle tent in her pants, though to call anything of Kayle ‘gentle’ seems ridiculous. And once Morgana sees it, that ember of desire, a fire starts to catch inside of her.
It was curious, really, that picking up Mother’s sword had had this effect on Kayle and not Morgana. Mm, well, Kayle has always loved a sword, hasn’t she? Kayle was always suited to it, is so suited to it. Long and piercing, isn’t it? Easy to wrap your hand around.
Truthfully, Morgana hadn’t considered what would happen when Kayle woke. She figured she would be angry, but none of the scenarios Morgana imagined involved her hand on Kayle’s half-hard cock.
But there it is.
And suddenly Kayle’s hand is on her throat, pushing her onto her back.
“Vile whore.” Kayle growls.
“Kay—”
“Do not speak!”
Morgana can feel the breath squeezing out of her lungs. Her chest tightens. Panic wants to rise, but surely Kayle won’t hurt her, not really. She’s all hot air, isn’t she?
No, not entirely.
Kayle reaches down with her free hand and fumbles with her belt.
“Is this what you want? Hm? Why you lured me here?”
Morgana wonders, as she starts to see stars, if she lured Kayle here. Did she? How would she have done that? Could Kayle hear her prayers too?
“Well, I’m going to teach you a lesson.” Kayle snarls.
And Kayle thinks, as she pulls herself free from her breeches, how nice it is, after decades of being at war with herself, she finally has someone else to go to war with.
Kayle is a soldier, Morgana thinks, and this is how soldiers behave. All they know is war and pain and sating their thirsts for it.
“Kayle, don’t.” Morgana wheezes.
“You wanted this.”
Morgana stops fighting it. She’s damned, isn’t she? She pulls at her skirts and bunches them in her hands, exposing her thighs, and then her cunt. Maybe they both are.
Her vision starts to get dark and if Kayle doesn’t let her breathe soon, she might be swallowed by it. And miss this? Hopefully not.
Kayle sinks into Morgana’s wet heat with a hiss and sets a bruising pace. As if anyone would expect anything less.
“You’ve been dreaming of this. Haven’t you? Lusting for my cock all these years, Sister.”
Morgana doesn’t argue. What would be the point? And Kayle takes that for proof. She’s a noisy lover too, grunting and growling. She never shuts up.
“All those soldiers. None of them compare. How dare you let them ruin your purity.”
Because it was supposed to belong to Kayle, wasn’t it? Morgana can feel her consciousness slipping, but finally, her throat is released so that Kayle can rip open her dress and paw at her breasts. Stars explode through her vision, wreathing Kayle’s face in light.
And it’s obvious now, to Morgana, that Kayle was always jealous of all the lovers she had over the years. She wonders idly how many times Kayle stroked herself to the thought of her beloved twin beneath the shadow of Mount Targon. It makes her cunt clench.
“Did you spend the last fifty years touching yourself to thoughts of choking on my cock?” Kayle groans.
Morgana doesn’t answer. She doesn’t have to.
Neither of them are certain how much time passes between them, crashing together in sweat and horrible bliss. Morgana can’t be sure of how many times she’s come undone. Every thrust seems to trigger another crest of pleasure.
Finally, Kayle stiffens and quickly pulls herself free from her treacherous twin. She pumps her cock viciously and paints Morgana’s breasts with her spend. It’s like molten steel. It might even leave a burn scar.
Morgana hopes that it does and then curses herself for thinking that. Kayle looks down at her in disgust and then quickly wipes herself off on Morgana’s dress.
She leaves without a word. That suits Morgana just fine. She lays there for a while, replaying the afternoon over and over again, certain that Kayle is doing the same.
Despite everything, Morgana smiles. Her perfect sister is not perfect at all. She’s wretched and flawed and sinful. It’s wonderful, really. Morgana can’t wait for her to come back. And she knows that she will.
Part II
Kayle does, indeed, return, though it takes her a few weeks of brooding to make up her mind about what she wants.
It’s different this time. She arrives at the cottage and lets herself inside. Morgana is in the garden, watching with mock exasperation at her sister’s lack of restraint or respect. It’s expected, really.
When Morgana enters her cottage, Kayle is already removing her armor.
“Make yourself comfortable, sister.” Morgana grumbles.
Kayle does.
“This isn’t about me.” She says.
“No? You come to my home to fuck me and it’s not about getting what you want?”
“No, of course not.”
Morgana can’t decide whether she wants to pull down her dress or let Kayle rip it off of her.
“Then, pray tell, sister, what is this about?”
The armor slips from Kayle’s hand and clatters on the floor. She scowls and picks it up.
“It’s about you. You giving yourself to whatever man or beast walks through your doors. It’s disgusting.”
To Kayle, they’re one in the same. Humans are beasts. Vermin. Sinful creatures that are no better than animals. Morgana scowls right back at her.
“Dramatic as always.”
“I am not being dramatic. Someone has to take things seriously, Morgana.”
Morgana has to laugh.
“Yes, blowing your load on my tits is very serious business.” She says.
Kayle ignores this and closes the distance between them.
“They will never give you anything worth having. They will never satisfy you. Your obsession with them sullies your personage.”
And, by extension, Kayle’s. They are, after all, two sides of Justice.
Kayle takes Morgana by the arm and whips her around. She can feel Kayle’s need for her already hard and straining through her breeches, grating against the small of her back.
And then, Kayle’s fingers hike up her skirts and find their warm, slick goal.
“You know it’s true. Your flesh longs for mine. Feel that?”
Kayle’s fingers circle and dip through the spill of Morgana’s cunt.
“Tell me I’m lying.” Kayle growls.
Morgana doesn’t say a word. She does want this, but not entirely for the reasons Kayle thinks. Corrupting her sister, pulling her down into the dirt, is everything to Morgana. If she has to give up her body to make it happen, then that’s a small price to pay really. After all, Kayle does have a way with her sword.
But it’s not Kayle’s ‘sword’ that Morgana gets. All she gets are furious, circling fingers. Teasing and rubbing.
“I can’t cum like this.” Morgan sighs.
"You will."
"Kayle-Fuck. I can't."
"You will."
The circles grow tighter and more furious. It hurts, but that hurt blossoms into a frenzied sort of pleasure that makes Morgana buck and squirm. Kayle’s grip is certain though. Like everything about her.
"Kayle please." Morgana feels the words tumble from her mouth unbidden.
"You will cum like this."
This was not the plan. This is not what Morgana wanted. This is something else entirely and it’s happening far too fast.
"Kayle, please. Please, Kayle. Kayle!"
Morgana isn’t entirely sure that the voice she’s hearing is her own. It’s thin and breathy. Pitchy.
Kayle removes her fingers and goes to sit at the kitchen table, cock hard and obvious in her pants. She watches Morgana, who sways a little on her desperately unsteady legs.
“Go on then.” Kayle says, resting her hand on the bulge between her legs with the most intense gaze Morgana has ever seen.
It would be easy to just start shouting at her, to tell her to go fuck herself, and to get out…but Morgana’s blood is singing a chorus of need and maybe this could be part of the plan.
She pulls down her dress and steps out of it, kicking it aside to be forgotten. Kayle rises from her seat and collects it before laying it on the bed. Morgana can feel her cunt weeping down her thighs.
She reaches between her legs and makes sure Kayle sees every twitch of pleasure. Is this what Kayle would feel like if she’d retained her cunt? Hot and wet and so soft—Oh!
She does cum like this, falling against the bed, legs spread wide.
Kayle nods and finally fucks her properly. This time, however, she spends herself inside her sister and then sits, again, in the chair to watch it drip out onto the floor.
Morgana isn’t sure who’s winning this war anymore. At least, not until Kayle walks over and lays beside her, pulling her close. They fuck a second time. Morgana is winning for sure.
Morgana lets herself fall asleep as Kayle mounts her again. Her grunts and growls are a lullaby.
What’s strange, however, is that Kayle is still there when Morgana wakes. She’s laying next to her, fingering her hair, and gazing at her.
“Did you sleep well?” She asks.
Morgana offers a non-committal shrug.
“You know, I’ve been thinking.” Kayle says softly.
“About what?”
“About the past. About Ronas.”
The memories are bitter for both of them. Kayle’s protégé from another time. An example of her failure.
“I don’t regret killing him.” Morgana says.
“I should have defended you. You are my sister. You are Justice. He was nothing.” Kayle mutters.
And, for a moment, Morgana forgets all about winning and losing and who’s subjugating who here. Her heart pricks with pain through scarred muscle.
She can’t figure out what to say at first, so she just takes the hand Kayle is using to play with her hair and pulls it into her chest. She kisses it.
“You always see the worst in everyone, Kayle.”
“Sometimes I wish I didn’t. Sometimes I wish I saw the world as you do.”
And this is so wrong. This is all wrong. It’s so wrong that Morgana can’t stand it. She rolls on top of Kayle and stirs her up again. There is no room for peace between them, not in this bed, not anywhere.
It’s frantic and hurried, but Kayle smiles the way she smiled at Morgana when they were girls running through the forest, breathless and joyful.
Morgana slides down her sister’s body and opens her mouth to get things back on track, but Kayle grabs her by the hair.
“You’ve had enough. Greedy thing.”
But that’s not what Morgana wants to hear. Her eyes take on a sickly purple glow and dark, smoldering chains snake their way from the ground to wrap around Kayle’s arms and chest, pulling her tightly against the bed.
“Release me, vile—”
“Shh. I know what you want.”
And Morgana presses her breasts together, the sweat making them stick.
A sight so enticing it made Kayle’s cockhead weep.
“Oh, is this enough for you? We can do better.” Morgana promises and she crawls up her twin’s body to place a pert nipple into her open, furious mouth. Kayle’s resolve crumbles quickly and she latches. She suckles like a babe.
Morgana wonders which of them will come undone first. Kayle with her raw need or Morgana and her perfect trap? Because this is perfect, this is absolutely perfect. Get her hooked, get her addicted, wrap her in the chains of her own obsession and then, when Morgana is certain she has Kayle in her control? Well, the possibilities are endless for just how deep her blade will pierce.
Kayle twitches and grunts out her orgasm first, but Morgana tumbles after her quickly. Finally exhausted, Morgana lets her sister go. Kayle goes, but this time, she promises to return.
“I’ll be waiting.” Morgana grins.
Time passes slowly.
It’s irritating, the slowness of each morning, afternoon, and night. Before Kayle so unceremoniously inserted herself into Morgana’s life, this was never a problem. Anticipation rolls sourly through Morgana’s gut as she sits in her garden, wondering what her twin is doing.
She’s interrupted, however, by a woman in need.
“Please, I don’t know where else to go.” The woman says, tearful and sniffly.
“I can help you.” Morgana assures her. It’s a simple thing that she wants.
A collection of herbs are brought together and placed into a cauldron in the hearth. The woman, the girl really, shuffles around nervously.
“Sit.” Morgana orders. The girl sits.
Usually, this would be a more compassionate process. Morgana would listen to her tearful story and hold her hand, stroke it even, and assure her that everything is going to be sorted…but Morgana just doesn’t have it in her. She’s distracted and curses her sister for it.
When the herbs come to a boil, they are steeped into a cup.
“Drink this and lie down.”
“Will it hurt?” The girl asks.
“Yes.”
Despite the cold warning, the girl drinks and obeys. She lies there for an hour, squirming and whimpering. Killing is always a messy, painful thing. But soon enough, blood starts to seep from betwixt her legs.
Morgana sighs and waits. It’ll be a little while yet.
“Just breathe.” She says.
The girl can barely hear her through the pain. Her cries do little to distract from thoughts of Kayle. It’s hard not to imagine her sitting on one of the crags of Mount Targon, wishing their mother would look down from on high and commend her for her dedication, for her loyalty.
Or maybe she’s just playing with herself, thinking of Morgana again. That’s a more attractive thought, one that amuses rather than stings. Despite everything, thinking on Kayle’s suffering does smart a bit. It’s only a little bit, but it’s present.
“Can’t you give me something? For the pain?” The girl whines.
“No. Pain must be felt.”
The mantra turns to ash on Morgana’s tongue. It is only natural to resist pain, to hide from it. Is that not what she’s doing with Kayle? Fucking her to cover the wounds of the past. Distracting from the grief. Hm.
The girl continues to whine a little longer, but eventually the deed is done. The child that never was will never be. Morgana takes no payment and shuffles her out the door quickly.
She ponders Kayle and sucks on the pain of that like a bone.
Part III
To love is to be bound and Morgana wants Kayle to love her again. She needs Kayle to love her again. Truly, madly, deeply. And this is for a purpose. A singular purpose.
Justice.
Morgana has never forgotten the sight of her sister’s back as she cradled the corpse of their father. The anguish of knowing that truly, she was alone, and their sins weighed on her shoulders alone.
How can Kayle call herself a beacon of Justice when she shirked her responsibilities thus and still does?
How can she smile like that? Laugh so freely? How can she waltz into Morgana’s life so easily? In and out as she pleases. Taking what she wants and leaving the rest. Well, Kayle can’t always have what she wants. Morgana will see to it.
But that time has not yet come. For now, Kayle is given everything and then some.
She sweats and grunts against Morgana’s back, peppering the nape of her neck in sweet nothings.
“So good for me, sister. So tight.”
Morgana isn’t sure if this is actually praise meant to make her feel good or just mindless babble that keeps Kayle hard.
Her thrusts are frantic and reckless, often missing and sliding wetly through the swollen flesh of Morgana’s ass. Everything in the vicinity is red and welted. It will be sore. Morgana doesn’t care. It’s worth it. The pain is an investment.
Kayle pulls her flush against her chest and whispers hoarsely in her ear.
“Where shall I finish this time, sister? Where do you want my seed?”
“You know where, sister.” Morgana growls.
Because Kayle loves it. She loves the thrill of possibly knocking her sister up. She practically giggles as she adjusts to slide her cock into her sister’s cunt to run the risk again.
Sweating and dripping, Morgana flops onto the bed, desperately trying to keep her goals in mind and ignore the bursts of her own pleasure that threaten to pull her into Kayle’s terrible orbit of narcissism.
“How are you,” Kayle asks softly, planting a kiss on Morgana’s shoulder, “Can I get you anything?”
“What’s this about?” Morgana sighs, still trying to catch her breath.
“Is it so wrong of me to want to care for you?”
Morgana can’t help but snort.
“Is my cunt that sweet?”
“You’ll not deter me with your bitter mood. I will endure it.” Kayle promises. She wraps her arms around her sister and pulls her close. It might have been a sweet gesture, but her lips around Morgana’s nipple make it clear it’s a selfish thing.
It’s hard not to be drawn into her. They both feel that, but only one of them is actually resisting. The other, the fool, is happily pulled, relishing the taste of her sister’s flesh in her mouth, the knowledge that her seed is still dripping from her sister’s slit, the heady rush of their shared bliss. She has finally found home. She can feel it there, in the warmth of Morgana’s skin.
Morgana is still human enough to know how utterly depraved this is. It’s sick and it’s wrong. She won’t deny how good it feels, but that is nothing more than a distraction. Justice must be served and thankfully, Justice is blind to her own impending demise. In fact, she seems to long for it.
“So generous, sister,” Morgana sighs, “And yet, you’ll leave me again before long.”
A charged silence passes between them and then Kayle ignores the little voice in the back of her mind telling her that something is off. The promise of home is too close and her tent back on Mount Targon is too cold to even compare. She presses her face into Morgana’s chest and it’s so very warm.
“I could stay.”
“What about Mother?”
Kayle scoffs at this and clutches Morgana a bit tighter. She lets her hand move to her belly wistfully.
“My family is here.” Kayle says.
And Morgana knows, in this moment, that what she wants more than anything is just there, before her, waiting in her palm. She need only close it tight.
“Oh, Kayle.” She says and she places her hand over Kayle’s over her womb.
And Kayle is happy to ignore the twinge of pity in Morgana’s voice. She hears a gentle longing; her own reflected back at her in her twin’s eyes.
They’re the same aren’t they? They are not.
But, for the night, Morgana lets her sister live in the lie. She lets herself live in it too, if only to sell it more effectively, right? Sure.
The morning light will come and Justice will be served. But that’s then and this is now. And now, Kayle is mounting her, thrusting into her joyfully. It’s hard not to get carried away.
They lie together. They fuck. They stop to eat fruits and vegetables from Morgana’s garden.
It’s a beautiful night where the air is clear and fresh. It reminds Kayle of the mountains she’s spent the past 50 years waiting at. Always waiting for her Mother to notice her devotion, to gaze down and shower her with love. She hasn’t yet, but surely, there is love enough here.
She takes an apple from the platter and slices off a piece to feed to Morgana, who takes it into her mouth with relish. Such a pretty mouth with lips so ripe they demand to be bitten. And Kayle does, but she knows Morgana likes that. And she does.
Morgana finds herself giggling into Kayle’s mouth. It echoes of the first time she ever laid with a soldier. He was strong, but not as strong as Kayle. He was handsome, but not as handsome as Kayle.
Morgana thought she loved him, but…she turns her thoughts elsewhere. The past is hardly preferred to the potentially pleasurable present.
“What?” Kayle asks, slicing off a piece of apple for herself.
“What?”
“You were staring.”
“I wasn’t.”
“You were.”
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Morgana huffs.
“I would.” Kayle replies simply.
It’s almost frighteningly plain. Devoid of all her pomp and righteousness, Kayle is almost human after all. And that pricks something in Morgana’s chest, deep through the muscle of her heart, to the very core of her.
That won’t do, will it? Well, not tomorrow, but for tonight, it’s nearly irresistible. Morgana leans over and nestles into Kayle’s arms. She breathes in her scent and toys with the gentle bulge of Kayle’s pants.
“Ah, there it is.” Kayle muses, “Hungry for it again are you, sister?”
Morgana makes a face at that, but keeps it pressed to Kayle’s chest so that she can’t see. But the relish with which Kayle says ‘sister’ slithers around in her belly.
Thankfully, Kayle reaches down and pulls the object of Morgana’s hunger free with a grunt.
“There. Lust for it no longer.” She says.
Morgana wonders, as she takes Kayle into her mouth, what all the little people of Demacia would think of Kayle if they knew her like this. Groaning under her sister’s tongue and muttering various examples of bedroom talk that one would find awkward even in the bawdiest of brothels.
That thought is amusing, but before Morgana can savor it, she can feel Kayle’s hand drift to down her back to hike up her skirt. The thought vanishes along with any other.
Except one. A vision. Morgana and Kayle at a breakfast table laid with bread and sweet fruit. They’re chatting amicably. The morning light is gentle. Kayle is smiling and wiping the sweat from her brow as the fire roars in the hearth. Her hands are still red from the cold and the axe she held to chop the wood. Morgana is laughing at something or other that her sister has said. She throws a berry at her and before long, they’re breathless and wrestling on the table, pushing the bread to the floor.
The vision ends before Morgana can properly notice whether or not her belly looked fuller than normal.
She swallows and Kayle pushes her over the edge too. They rest a moment.
“I will never tire of this.” Kayle says.
They fuck again, well into the night, and by the time morning has come, they manage to sleep.
Well, Kayle does. Morgana lies awake struggling to close her palm.
She falls asleep at some point and when she wakes, Kayle is gone. A note on the table says that she’s gone to wash in the stream and to join her. Morgana doesn’t. She has to prepare.
When Kayle finally returns to the cottage, Morgana has laid out a feast for breakfast. Blood sausage and blood pudding. Blood oranges. A massacre across the table.
“Beautiful.” Kayle says.
She’s always had a love for blood, hasn’t she?
They settle into breakfast and then finally, Morgana closes her palm; tight as a fist.
“You know, this last time you were away, something happened.”
“Oh?” Kayle muses, gnashing her teeth through the blood pudding, “I trust you handled it.”
“I did.”
“Capable as ever, sister.”
Kayle is happy. It’s clear in the brightness of her eyes. They almost seem to shine like rays of light. Her smile is easier than Morgana can ever recall. There’s a laugh on the tip of her tongue.
Morgana smiles.
“You left a child with me.”
The sunlight flickers.
“But you’re good at that, aren’t you, Kayle? Leaving.”
“Morgana, do you mean to—”
“But as I said, I handled it.”
The clouds roll in and the sunlight fades from the cottage. The air grows heavier and it might rain, might storm.
“What do you mean?” Kayle whispers, still clutching her morning, her perfect morning.
Morgana’s voice is calm, pleasant even, as if she’s remarking on the freshness of the fruit. So red and wet.
“Did you really think that we were going to be a family? That you and I were going to live here and fall in love and what? Bring Justice to Runeterra?”
Kayle is speechless for once.
“And then what? Mother would finally notice you and I’d have your child and everyone would be happy? I knew you were delusional, but this is really beyond the pale, even for you.”
The blood pudding in Kayle’s mouth tastes of death.
“Did you really think I loved you? That I ever could after what you did? You’re sick, Kayle. I’m your sister.” Morgana says.
Her voice is cold and even, but her belly is bubbling with a long-concealed rage.
“You came on to me!” Kayle finally shoots back.
And the dam breaks.
“You wanted me to! You dreamed of it! You think I didn’t see how you looked at me when we were girls? How you glared at every man I made eyes at? Do you think me blind or just stupid?”
Kayle slams her palms on the table, shaking the plates and the cutlery.
“How dare you put this all on me! As if you weren’t making eyes at me! Begging me to take you away from them! You’re a whore and a tease and everyone knew that. You should have heard what the soldiers said behind your back!”
“Ha! As if it were any worse than what they said about you. They hated you, Kayle. And so do I.”
Words fail and thus, violence must take the lead. Kayle leaps to her feet and together, they fall to the floor in a flurry of scratches and grasps.
And there is anger there, in Kayle’s eyes, but more than anything there is genuine confusion.
Why?
And she doesn’t have to say it. They’re twins after all. Morgana knows her mind as well as her body, maybe even her soul.
There are too many answers to that single question, but Morgana finds the most important one and spits it at her sister.
“Because you broke my heart!”
Kayle paws at her, wanting so badly to hurt her back, but her body is not responding. The strength is gone from her now.
There are tears streaming down Morgana’s eyes in long black streaks.
“And now I’ve done the same.” Morgana finishes.
Kayle’s hands are on her sternum, pressing down just to hold herself up. And Morgana feels the drip drop of her success. The wound is deep. Kayle’s tears are bitter. Morgana thought they would be sweeter.
For the first time in so many years, Kayle doesn’t know what she wants. Morgana doesn’t either, even as she insists it is this.
“I’m sorry.” Kayle says. And she means it, too, even if she isn’t sure what she’s sorry for. Everything. All of it.
But it’s only a moment. As soon as the light of dawn comes in the morning, so too, does Kayle’s armor return, cold and certain. She lets Morgana go and picks up her sword.
A plea of some kind, maybe for mercy, maybe to stop, is born and slain on Morgana’s tongue.
Kayle takes her helm and puts it on. She doesn’t look back.
Her wings spread as soon as she’s through the front door. She may never look back.
“Go! And never forget this pain!” Morgana howls.
Kayle goes and she won’t.