Morgana Merlin Dresses Novels & Stories

She’d still given him life. The soft click of heels on marble interrupted my brooding. I looked up to see Morgana approaching from the hallway, and my breath caught in my throat. She wore one of Regina’s nightgowns—pale blue silk that I remembered buying for our second anniversary. The fabric clung to Morgana’s curves and her dark hair fell in waves over her shoulders. “You look like you need company,” she said softly, her voice carrying the same sultry undertone she’d used years ago when comforting me through Regina’s betrayals.

And it was Luna's funeral; why would she dress extravagantly like that, and in red, for that matter? “Morgana always dresses in red.” Victor’s first daughter replied, joining us on her feet. I folded my hands together in perplexity. Unsure of what she meant by ‘she always dresses in red’. Even if she loved red so much she could have made an exception on a day like this. “I can’t wear other colors of dresses. It’s like a psychological disease.” She said, bowing her head slightly. For a moment, I was speechless. Was it like a rare disease or what?

Everyone from this dimension, world or whatever the fuck this place was, has been extremely rude. I dried myself quickly, and looked at the selection of clothes. I hadn't realized I was in for another surprise. All I could see were dresses. They looked like what the women of Camelot wore. Princess Morgana before she turned into the wicked sorceress. Was this a joke? I tied the towel around me and came out of the closet. All three of them stood, facing the closet. "What is this? There are no clothes in here.No clothes that a person can wear." That I could see of.

I stated. “No, problem,” Nathan said. I’m standing outside of the girls’ dorm, and I’m as nervous as hell. The door opens, and it’s a couple of girls dressed up heading over to the main hall for the dance. The door opened again, and out stepped Morgan. She was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen in my life. She had dyed her normally pink hair an icy blue. She looked ethereal, like an angel gliding down the stairs. Her dress was silver and blue, the material intertwined and crisscrossing her body.

I walked into the grand hall and was immediately struck by the sight of Queen Morgan. She was dressed in stunning black fighting leathers that hugged her like a second skin. The outfit, paired with her flawless skin and cascading red hair, made her look impossibly youthful—almost ethereal like an angel, but she was anything but that. Her beauty was a lie. Her eyes gave her away. There was something ancient behind them… it was the beauty of the earth. That she was stealing. She smiled, in a way that made my stomach twist. It was cold and so predatory.

But their eyes scanned my posture, my simple hair, and the way I held my hands, silently capturing every Southern flaw. At the center of the semicircle sat Lady Morgana. Maya had told me about her. She was an elegant, composed noble widow. She wore a dark, heavy velvet gown. Her daughter, Lady Genevieve, sat right beside her, wearing a silver collared gown. Genevieve smirked. She had been expected to take the throne before Draken bought a fated mate from the Southern Pack. Morgana didn't flinch or sneer when I approached the podium; she just watched me like a predator waiting for a single mistake to attack its prey.

“Ah, Jisella… come in,” Killian was a stone of annoyance… and Kendra was enjoying every bit of it, especially with the way her mate’s emotions were all over the place. That seldom happened. Jisella came in as commanded, bowing slightly, her short dark hair becoming messy at the action. “Here are the clothes you asked me to bring, my lady.” “Thank you, child,” Morgana took special outfits from her, “You may go now.” The young maid curtsied once more and left.

“You know, I’ve waited years for this moment.” Morgana’s voice cut through my spiraling thoughts. She rose from where she’d been perched on the arm of the couch, smoothing down her red dress—the one that cost more than most people’s monthly rent. The one Kieran had bought her last month, claiming it was a thank-you gift for helping close some deal. How had I been so blind? “Years of watching you parade around like you belonged here.” She circled me slowly, a predator sizing up wounded prey. “Playing dress-up as the Luna, hosting those pathetic dinner parties, pretending you had any idea how to navigate Alpha society.”

Morgana. Her gown is a deep, living scarlet, cinched at the waist with a cord of black leather, and a blood-colored stone resting at her throat. Her eyes gleam like embers when they meet ours. It’s startling to see her as herself—no mask, no borrowed face of Talisa to shield behind. Just Morgana. Smiling in a sinister way. She stands before one of the cells, her gaze fixed on its interior, arms folded neatly. Her satisfaction unsettles me.

I looked away from their disgusting eyes, focusing my gaze elsewhere and that was when the doors flew open, We bent our heads the instant we spotted the Dowager walking our way, Queen Morgan was dressed differently today, rather than her usual colourful gown and embroidery, she donned black biker pants and an equally daring shirt. Of course, she paired it black heeled boots and a small diamond-encrusted purse, "I would die to know where she gets her clothes from," Paige whispered and my head snapped in her direction. She winked at me and I chuckled. "She does dress nice." I chipped in making Paige scoff softly,