The Morrigan

They called me The Morrigan. I was magnificent. I was multitudes. They twisted my story, stripped me away. But I will tell it now in my own voice. It begins, as all the best stories do, in darkness. From an ancient, storm-tossed sea, a tribe of gods reach the rocky shores of Ireland. Among them, a strange, hungry, red-haired girl. A girl who can change shape, from bird to beast to goddess. A girl who dreams of battle, of blood, of death and power. She does not know yet that a woman who seeks to rule will always be in danger - or that there are far more treacherous figures in this land than the gods who raised her. She does not know that one day love will burn so deep in her heart that its scars will never heal. That she will know pain so raw and pure it will almost tear her apart. She does not know that her journey will take a thousand years. That her name will be remembered for a thousand more. She is The Morrigan, and she is waiting: a girl with rage coiled in her chest. Beautiful, powerful, ravenous rage.