[ To be honest, it's very easy to miss her. She's a little thing, mostly bone and skin at this point, who keeps her head trained to the ground so the hood will cover her up. You'd be forgiven for walking right past Morgana; she blends into the background as well as anyone can, with enough effort. But it's near impossible to disguise her voice.

From the dissonance of the croaking flowers breaks out a voice so beautiful that it's mesmerizing. Listening to it feels as natural as listening to the breeze. It's all the more impressive, probably, because this person's voice - magnetism in it - is highlighted by the godawful tone of the flowers. The girl singing does not parrot their song back to them, for she will never sing of false idols. Instead, those familiar with Christianity will know that this is a hymn. A prayer in its own right, it is only missing an organ accompaniment to complete the scene. A young girl sings at the church, but not of the God she should.

It appears she is trying to help the flowers get on track. Their lyrics may be ungodly, but their vocals sure do not need to be. ]

[ Morgana supposes that helping is all she can do in this instance. As such, she finds her approaching Goldcliff, but it is with all the presence of a mouse skittering around in the walls. You'd be forgiven, again, for thinking you're going this alone. Maybe you don't even notice the girl's presence until she's acknowledged by the guard, who looks at you, then her, and nods. That', too, would be forgiven. It's kind of what she wants, in the end, to not be noticed. It allows her to pick and choose what interactions she has.

Morgana does not speak, however. She only nods back, so quick and small that it's hard to see. It's enough, though, and the pair of you come to the vines where she finally shows a modicum of personality. Reaching out, she touches a single finger with the very tip of the pad of her index finger. Nothing happens, so she presses her finger tighter to it. Again, nothing. Her hand slips down. ]

I have seen plenty of situations in which these plants grew in this manner. A bit of weeding might do it well enough, but somehow... I doubt that.

[ she pauses. ] In such a case, I don't carry shears.

[ Let's not beat around the push here; Morgana is a teeny tiny thing. The smallest gust of wind is enough to knock her over as is. Anything above that - must less something specifically made to be an attack on her person - is a real danger to her. She's probably come out of this with a few bruises and would do good to find a healer of some kind, but the girl is stubborn... Instead of finding a healer, she runs off to mope and consider how dangerous that was. Fear is something she's grown accustomed to, in her life, but this... still, it's enough to terrify her.

As such, Morgana bails. She runs away. She takes to the streets, narrowly avoiding people as she goes, and hides in the only place she might be able to find some kind of nostalgic comfort: the church.

There's a little cloaked figure in the courtyard, elbows and knees to the stone of the steps into the church. Try not to step on her! ]

[ i'm contactable through pm and plurk @ weirdautumn if you would like to discuss a different scenario with morgana. on the other hand, just hit me with your own prompt! please feel free to get creative. ]