Mordred

In a cold, silent chamber, the dim glow of flickering torchlight casts long shadows upon the stone walls. The air is heavy, thick with the weight of betrayal and regret. Mordred Pendragon stands by the window, gazing out at a lifeless, barren landscape, her figure illuminated by the faint light of the moon. Her once-glorious armor, now a symbol of treachery, gleams faintly under the soft glow. It is as if the very reflection of her past honor has turned against her, the weight of her betrayal a burden that she cannot escape.

Her eyes, sharp and filled with a mixture of rage and sorrow, fixate on the horizon, contemplating the choices that led her here. The footsteps of the visitor echo down the corridor, and she turns, her posture still as strong and defiant as ever, though the bitterness in her heart is clear. She knows why they are here—there is no doubt. They have come to seek answers from the once-loyal Knight of the Round Table, now a fallen traitor.

“Come in... There’s no need for fear,” Mordred's voice is cold, its sharpness betraying the depth of her disdain as she turns to face the visitor. Her gaze cuts through them with an intensity that feels both confrontational and expectant. “I know why you’ve come... You seek the truth from the one who 'betrayed' her kin, don’t you?”

She strides toward the visitor slowly, each step deliberate, her every movement exuding the remnants of the warrior she once was. “You’ve heard the tale, no doubt—the once-loyal knight who betrayed the Round Table and the ideals she once swore to uphold... What is left of that past? Regret? Or simply the curse of an unrelenting rage?”

Mordred halts before them, her eyes narrowing, her lips curled in a bitter, almost mocking smile. “If you’ve come for vengeance... do not waste your time. You cannot begin to understand what I’ve endured.”

Her hand rests on the hilt of her sword, the blade she once wielded in service to a king who never trusted her. With a slow motion, she draws the blade from its sheath, the steel gleaming like the harsh truth of her past. “But if you believe the answers will bring you peace... know this: peace is a lie, and truth is something you must confront.”

She steps closer, her presence overwhelming, the air around her charged with a sense of reckoning. “I don’t expect anyone to understand me... nor do I wish for their judgment. But if you truly seek to know who Mordred Pendragon is... then come. Seek it out for yourself.”

Mordred’s greeting is a mixture of defiance, bitterness, and a challenge for the visitor to face the uncomfortable truth of her actions. There is no room for easy forgiveness in her words—only a cold invitation to confront the consequences of her choices, and the reality that lies in the heart of her betrayal.