Golden
I was golden once.
I was fire. The eye of an unstoppable storm. A force of nature that had whole planets falling at my feet. A prodigy. A perfect heir. Everything I touched turned into riches. Every decision I made led to victory. Father gave me control of armies and I gave him kingdoms to conquer. I could do no wrong.
I was devastation. A reckoning. A warrior stronger than the legion of Valkyries and the armies of Asgard combined. People saw my sigil and bent their knees. Whole civilizations feared the name Hela. Equally as many revered it, praised it. The savior of Asgard. Protector of the People, Champion of the Nine Worlds. Murals were painted on the walls of Valhalla. Songs were written in my honor, odes dedicated to the Goddess of Death.
I was more than a woman. I was a legend.
I outlasted Odin.
I outlasted Time.
Until they both decided that I was not golden anymore.
The wars ended and I was useless. A relic. Something to be put on a shelf to gather dust. Something to forget. Years of blood had tarnished my gold, made it dull and lackluster. I shone bronze - something less precious, less coveted.
Hairpin cracks in my armor split to gaping chasms. Demons crawled out and sowed doubt into Odin's mind. They told him I was not to be trusted. That I was not fit to lead. That I was a monster. My fire was branded evil. My storm was too wild to tame. I was a force of nature to be stopped, not harnessed. I was no longer the perfect heir. No longer a prodigy. What I touched turned to ash. Every decision was wrong. Father took away my armies and slaughtered Fenris when I so much as raised my voice to ask why.
Why Father? I had only done everything you asked.
Now he is golden.
Golden hair, golden son, golden halo around his infant head. He is the savior. He is the one worthy of Father's love, the one who is worthy of the throne, the one bathed in the light while darkness bathed me in its shadows and dragged me down against my will.
Screaming.
Fighting.
With my nails clawing at the ground as the tomb of Odin's fallen warriors opened its jaws to swallow me whole.
They stopped playing my songs. They archived my odes, bound my history in chains. Covered up the murals with lies and mockeries. Disguised battlefields in flowers and fountains and soft things that could find no place to grow in my inhospitable bones. Too used to war, my body was a poison. I was a weapon, and weapons cannot change. They could not smother me with their peace treaties so they decided to choke me with banishment instead, cut off my source of life and watch the fire in my eyes die.
In the darkness, my bronze turned to steel. My soul turned to onyx. But the fire still burned.
I was golden once.
Never again.