“I won’t forget.” After her sisters left for the fair at Dornach, Morgana sank onto a rickety kitchen chair, thinking of all she must do this evening and wishing she could attend the fair. Her head propped on her chin, she sat there for a long time, ashamed of herself for her futile brooding, too well aware that self-pity would not get her chores done. If she weren’t the youngest, would her life be any different? But after all, she and her sisters were triplets, only a few minutes separating their birth order. In the deepest despair of her soul, she felt it really was not fair. She was eighteen; she had a life to live. Morgana sighed, missing her mother, dead these many years. If only she could take her troubles to her father, but as usual, he had withdrawn to the library, his face buried in one of his books. Her gaze drifted around the kitchen, a large room she kept spotless, like all the other rooms in this spacious but ramshackle house. But there was only so much she could do to maintain their home.
