Disclaimer: I own nothing.
The Bifrost Bridge is all smashed, its' edge jutted and rough, splintered into sharp, unforgiving points. It extends into thin air, this bridge to nowhere. Like a hand offered to someone who won't take it. It's sad-looking.
I can't look away.
So he died there, they said. And they did not mock him, make his death a spectacle as I had expected them to. No, our hero Thor mourned his brother, and the entire kingdom followed suit. They whispered of his treachery, but they did not dare speak of it in louder tones. For that I am grateful. I do not know how I could bear to keep my grief silent if I heard his name daily, used in spite and jest.
So I go about the palace, allowed to the feasts and parties courtesy of my noble birth. Not that my title matters much to me. My elder siblings have already inherited everything there was to inherit. Nothing left for me, the baby, except the title. Mostly the people do not talk to me, but that is fine. If they did, I would not know what to say.
He was my lover, you see. And he died on the Bifrost Bridge, threw himself off when he knew he'd lost. I didn't see it, and I am grateful for that too.
Years we had together, years of secret meetings and quiet rendezvous. Since I was sixteen and he nineteen. All the furtiveness was for my benefit, or so we said. A noblewoman, unmarried, meeting in secret with a young man. Not an activity the kingdom would approve of.
But we were kidding ourselves. I was the youngest of five children, my mother and father long gone. Most people didn't even know my name, let alone care about my girlish virtues. If anyone had known our secret, the sky would not have fallen.
And if he had wished to marry me, he could have. My siblings would have pounced on the chance in a second, marrying their little sister to a prince. And I am of high enough birth that his family would have approved.
But as a lover, he was the same as he is a magician, a warrior, a prince, son, and brother. He was secretive. He kept me hidden away. Every moment together was savored, hurried and tentative at the same time. For lack of a better word, I'll use an overused one: passionate. He was a passionate individual, and he guarded his things closely. I was one of those things.
He made love the way he did anything: walked, talked, slept, ate, and fought. Like he'd never have the chance again. Like if he wasn't paying attention, on his guard, he would blink and I'd be gone. Fervently gentle, cautiously ardent.
Though he never told me directly, I knew that he wanted to keep me away from his brother especially. When I spoke with Thor in passing, my lover would watch us out of the corner of his eye. But I love Thor as a girl should love her future king: respect, trust, and honor. Not the way I loved his brother.
In truth, I am not a passionate individual. I react in life with apathy, emotionless as a stone in a lake. Even now, missing the only one I cared about, I don't cry. And I am not terribly sad. Just a little emptier.
In a way, he was taken from me just as my birthright, my parents, my inheritance. I am not so different from him. I have everything, yet I have nothing. But with him around, I did not think about that so much. With him, I was grateful for what I had.
The people walk past me. They have nothing to say to me, and I have nothing to say to them.
Oh God, I am so lonely.
But I will pretend there is no loss, for the sake of my siblings. Only my sweet-tempered elder sister will ask me if I'm alright, and I will lie to her, telling her that I am only feeling a bit ill.
For now I'll simply stand before the splintered edge of the Bifrost, nursing memories of a fonder time. Memories of the one man who would have known, upon hearing me say I was feeling ill, that I was lying. Yes, the memories will do for now.
For that, at least, I am grateful.
AN: I purposefully left the girl's physical description and name unknown. Imagine her any way you like, dear readers. With your hair, eyes, and name if you want. This isn't my OC. It's for anyone who wants her.