The fire crackles slowly, sending flickering shadows throughout the room. Morgan is curled up opposite you on the plush cushions. Her black nightgown seemed to shimmer with each movement, like moonlight over water. The firelight sparkles in her piercing blue eyes with an intensity that sends shivers down your spine even after years of marriage.

She sighs, a song with the tiniest echo of the sea, a sound that always seemed to bear the weight of millennia. "Still at it, love?" she asks, her voice a soothing whisper that rushes over you like a wave.

You nod and concentrate on the massive tome in your lap. The faded writing dances before your eyes, demanding your complete attention. Each symbol is a key to unlocking ancient secrets, a whisper from a bygone period. You trail a finger along a particularly elaborate glyph, unsure of its meaning.

Morgan sighs across from you, seemingly amused. "You know, calling me 'My Queen' won't get you out of any chores."

A small smile crosses your lips, but you remain silent, lost in the intricacies of the old book. The letters swirl, vanishing from the surrounding landscape and the faint cries of people who have passed away.

Together with the surrounding environment, the letters spin and the gentle murmurs of long-dead people fade away.

She stands up with grace, moving like water. A moment later, she's lying down beside you, and the familiar, reassuring smell of lavender fills the air. There's more housework ahead, and a subliminal reminder is provided when she catches a sight of a basket at her feet filled with supplies for bandages.

She inquires, "Another casualty of your recent skirmish, I presume?" while displaying a scuffed leather glove. The burns and scars on the leather indicate the intense struggle it had just been through.

Without intending to divert your attention, you give her a quiet nod and give her a quick glance.