She sat in the nearly-empty coffee shop, cradling a rather oversized cup in her hands, her delicate fingers unable to span the width of it. The cup was a creamy ivory, a direct contrast to her own tawny complexion.

She blew on the surface of the steaming liquid in an attempt to cool it down so that she could sip it without scalding her lips. She liked her چائے slightly warm, but realized early on that to ask it to be served as such was sacrilege. She has been a frequent enough visitor of this establishment to know that it's owners and patrons took their beverages very seriously—something which she found silly at first, but changed her mind once she tasted their brews.

She checked her watch again. Five منٹ to go until her companions arrived. She smiled wryly. Companion was too friendly a word to describe the people she was waiting for, but she supposed it would do as it was not in her nature to be cruel. They had been دوستوں in the past, and she still remembers مزید innocent times that were full of laughter, and carefree days spent in each other's company. But too much has happened and she has endured too much to think of them—of them all—as anything مزید than nightmare creatures.

She tucked a long lock of dark hair behind her ear. An innocent gesture, but one that didn't go unnoticed سے طرف کی the only other occupant of the shop.

The young college student had abandoned his readings as soon as she had walked through the door. Like her, he frequented this place-it was quiet, served inexpensive fare, and it was never with people who spoke too loudly. He had watched this woman since he started coming here a few weeks ago. Each time she had been alone with only a book to keep her company; she'd read for an hour-no longer-while nursing her tea.

He knew she was older than his 19 years, but not سے طرف کی much. He would often try to muster the courage to get up and talk to her, but he never found himself to be brave enough. There was something about this woman; something that made آپ look, made آپ wonder, made آپ wish, made آپ imagine, but also something that told آپ that if your intentions were less than noble, then آپ should keep away.

The young man sighed. She carried herself like a queen and he was still too gawky to do مزید than simply admire. He put the buds of his موسیقی player back in his ears and turned back to the forgotten papers that littered the tiny میز, جدول in front of him.

The woman in سوال looked up to see two people walk through the door. The man was tall, pale, a little gangly, but with intelligent eyes and a ready smile. The woman beside him was beautiful in a way that can only be described as ethereal. She had چینی مٹی کے برتن skin, deep red lips (which she knew was without any cosmetic enhancements), and green eyes that looked much too old for her young face. She, too, was smiling.

There was a time when she would have been overjoyed at seeing them. She would have bounded from her chair and enveloped them both in a hug, but those times were gone, and whatever affection she held for them left with the ages, never to come back.

She caught their eye and at once, humor fled their features as they made their way to her table. There was no smile to greet them, and no thawing of her expression. As soon as they were settled in their seats, she sat up a little straighter, lifted her chin ever so slightly, and primly folded her hands in her lap. Her movements were deliberate, and the implications were not lost on the couple who now shared her table.

"Your Majesty," the man greeted her. His voice was quiet, obeisance in his every gesture.

"Queen Guinevere," the woman ducked her head, her bow taking the place of the deep curtsey that she would have wanted to give instead.

The woman with tawny skin lowered her eyes for the barest of moments, her head giving the slightest of bows.

"Morgana, Merlin," she greeted them. "To what do I owe this visit?"

Read On Here:

link