Witching Day

Morgana had only a flicker of goodness left in the entirety of her soul, her conscience, but it would be enough. She smirked as her fingers trailed down to her groin, tweaking her nub as her other hand cupped her breast, squeezing gently. She would incinerate the foreign presence with her own soul, burning away any chance of redemption she had but also wiping out her "master" in the process. She would triumph in the end.

"Your gifts I thank you for...ahh....but you are in my house..." she moaned, strumming herself even harder as a familiar rush surged through her loins. Her hands started to shake as she reached her peak. "AND I CAST YOU OUT!" she exhaled, gripping her hefty breast as her body was rocked in release.

The speck of brilliant goodness within rose to the surface of her broiling and foul soul, its innate virtuous qualities reacting against against the evil beast, both consumed by their opposite energies. Morgana moaned as her she felt a supernova erupt within her soul, writhing in pleasure as she felt the weight of its presence lifted off her shoulders. More than that, she felt herself settle completely within her own evil, all purity finally excised, leaving only a treacherous, lustful shell behind.

The beast left her mind screaming, fading into nothing. "Biiiiiitccchhh...." it echoed, and then there was nothing but Morgana.

She stumbled off the floor, barely able to stand. She had to see herself, and leaned against a pillar as she cast a simple mirror spell. Fresh light flickered into the dim chapel as a shining layer of liquid slowly solidified in front of her. She laughed deliriously as she looked into the mirror, taking in her rising breasts, chiseled stomach and glistening thighs, her snow white skin twinkling in the magic light.

As she was shed of purity and homely form, so too was her face shed of plainness, her facial structure had remolded itself into a more refined form, her lips expanded into a voluptuous pout, cheekbones rose into elegant prominence, while her violet eyes shimmered entrancingly. Her visage had taken on the countenance of a classical beauty. All of this, while still undeniably looking like Morgana by the end, her face now like an idealized portrait, except absolutely real.

She looked further into the mirror, into her own eyes, loving what she saw as vivid visions rushed through her mind. She saw herself leading others astray into darkness, bringing the kingdom down in flames, and the rise of her own dark empire. Voroven was right. She would be great, she would live up to her name, in every way possible. The evil that had brought her crashing down into damnation was right too. She would be loved, especially by herself, no love quite like self-love after all. And she would be more than accepted, she would be desired, lusted after, the fairest of them all. Her deepest desires would come true.

She had become extremely wet after seeing what the future had in store, but moved to leave the chamber, she had lingered too long. As she picked up her magical staff, its branches withered and blackened underneath her presence, adopting an appearance like that of her soul. She spared one last look in the chamber, looking over the charred marks of Scarlett and Drusila, her own tattered robes and ash from the evil essence. All vestiges of her old life.

She had entered the castle as Morgana, Witch of the White Sun.

She left as Morgana, Arch-Sorceress of the Black Moon.