[ His turning is sharp, stabs her like a knife and rips the wind from the lungs. Fear takes hold of her tightly in a vice grip, and she wonders she will ever be able to breathe properly again.

He has turned from her and it hurts.

For she loved Arthur more than any, he had been there for her as a child when no other had been. He did not look upon her with pity and sadness like the others did. He gave her reason to smile again, to laugh, to love her new home instead of hating it. ]

I did not ask for it! [ Why? Why must simply possessing it make her wrong? She never used it to hurt anyone, nor would she ever. ] I never asked for magic, Arthur you must believe me, if I could give it back I would but I cannot. It is as much a part of me as my own breath.

[ It is something I should not fear. But she fears regardless, fears because of what it means for her, for Gwen, for all who had ever brushed against her in any way. ]

I was going to visit my father's grave with Gwen when we were ambushed and captured, I escaped and you found me. You had returned Gwen to Camelot, you returned her to me.