Outside the chamber, Queen Morgana leaned against the wall, her face still damp with tears. She pressed a hand to her chest, as though trying to steady the storm of emotions within her. The ache she felt for her son was unbearable, a wound that refused to heal.
"I failed him," she whispered to herself, her voice heavy with anguish.
Her tears had slowed, leaving her with the kind of hollow exhaustion that came from crying too much. She wiped her face with trembling hands, trying to compose herself. A deep, shuddering breath filled her lungs, and she forced herself to stand straight.
"This won't do," she murmured, her voice gaining strength. "He needs me to be strong."
She sniffed, brushing away the last traces of her breakdown. Her mind began to race with possibilities. How could she reach him? How could she mend the wounds that ran so deep?