The first thing Morgan felt when he opened his eyes was confusion, not at the place where he was, a cabin in the middle of a place that he did not know, but the set of memories that were playing inside of his head in tandem, a life he had lived and a life he had not. It was Morgana, the illusion that he had become bound to in the fog.
Her life had played out in his mind, completely the opposite of his own. Seeing and feeling her memories only confirmed one thing. This version of himself was not just merely an illusion. But himself, or in this case, herself, from a different reality. A reality where the tragedy never happened.
Morgan blinked, struggling to piece together the two streams of memories as if they were threads of a tangled rope.
Every sensation, every image from Morgana's life felt like it had been stitched into his own mind, pressing on him with a weight that was both foreign and familiar.
