{Authors' Note: This was originally a roleplay thread/story that we decided to turn into our own fanfiction. There are two of us, Alyssa and Brooke. Alyssa is the writer of Princess Sevlyn and Brooke is the writer of Loki. The beginning of our story is a little fast-paced and rocky in the beginning, but we both promise that the further you go into it, the more the story will even out and progress. So, hello! From the both of us, and we surely hope you enjoy this story as much as the two of us love writing it!}

WARNINGS/TRIGGERS: This story contains sexual themes including rape and mentions of it. Mentions and attempts of suicide and self-harm are present. Torture methods and panic attacks are included as well. Last but not least, feelings. Why? Because angst.

O YET we trust that somehow good

Will be the final goal of ill,

To pangs of nature, sins of will,

Defects of doubt, and taints of blood;

That nothing walks with aimless feet;

That not one life shall be destroyed,

Or cast as rubbish to the void,

When God hath made the pile complete;

That not a worm is cloven in vain;

That not a moth with vain desire

Is shrivelled in a fruitless fire,

Or but subserves another's gain.

Behold, we know not anything;

I can but trust that good shall fall

At last—far off—at last, to all,

And every winter change to spring.

So runs my dream: but what am I?

An infant crying in the night:

An infant crying for the light:

And with no language but a cry.

-Alfred, Lord Tennyson

Unyielding invincibility had once roared, a charging destrier, a formidable behemoth with the strength of Samson, reigning the grounds and skies upheld by the perpetuating sheen of gleaming gold glory. Yet it was a marvel that such lauded heroism still fell prey to unspeakable misfortune, the blight and bane of existence churned out by the bleeding red hands of the devil in the name of barbarism.

It was known as the day Asgard burned. In both literal and figurative sense.

The death of thousands, soldiers, women, children, and a queen.

The wounds festered. The goddess ached. The servants wept. The king mourned. The son sought revenge.

The loss was so great that triumph did not feel like triumph at all despite the achieved victory, still the world still felt desolate, sans finality, sans a sense of closure, sans the motherly presence that made things whole. Sevlyn Ralegardottir mourned a great many things; there was grief for the death and grief for the pain. And whenever one was to disclose their bereavement for the dead it encompassed all but one.

His name had not even been uttered.

The hallways of the Odinson bastion sang a woeful hymn in the faint shade of brightness. Sevlyn listened to the quiet in the air, to the space abounding with broken whispers as she strode down her path. The ghost of the queen's presence aggravated the burgeoning hollowness and the cumbrous weight of responsibility stemmed from her self-loathe - the ill-fated result of incapability, the sense of worthlessness spitting scorching fire like angered wyverns in soul's dejected visage; the origin of such poisonous sentiment being naught but the death of Frigga.

Queen. Mentor. Mother.

One would be selective of forthcoming events soon to transpire, but fate had not bequeathed such power, not even upon the immortals, and nor did fate bestow upon those under its mercy the power to transcend strife without hardship. And even in times of calamity, things still had the proclivity to go amiss. All of it was simply part of the unsightly aspects of the universe imbalanced.

And yes, there had been pain, there had been death, and yet Sevlyn knew with brooding knowledge that her strife had still yet to end.

There was something amiss. And it concerned the Allfather.

Compared to how he was before, Sevlyn realized he radiated a disparate ambience of character, one that regarded negative elements. There was no ruler's glory or sacred regality, or any of the pure elemental air a true king should possess. All she could see and feel was a distinct wretched passion emanating from Odin, along with subterfuge and pretense. Sevlyn knew who possessed those qualities.

But he was dead….is he not?

The sensations grew stronger. Sevlyn realized that the Allfather's approach was upon her. In swift turn of silken swathes, she bowed in respect to the presence of Asgard's King.

Protector of the Nine realms.

"Greetings, your Majesty." And so mirth was feigned by deceptive curve of lips.

There wasn't enough time for him to have changed. Shifting was a great deal of work and with the amount of strength he had been using to keep up such a façade, he had been taking a moment's breather, and had obviously been caught red handed. "I thought you were forbidden from these halls." Loki's voice could be explained as hearing the voice of the dead, because he was in fact, not-dead. Standing before the princess in flesh and blood, actually holding Odin's spear, his expression was rather neutral. He couldn't tell whether she would remain an instant threat or no.

"Has it been fun to clean up the mess of your captors, dear sister?" The sister thing was a jest really, the two had grown together through many years. Sevlyn's age outnumbered his, but eventually everyone just stops counting.

A flush tainted the pale structure of Sevlyn's neck as she snapped her head upwards, a disconcerted expression collecting in the faltering gaze of her emerald eyes as she struggled to comprehend the brutal discovery of the king's true identity. Incongruent feelings corroded mental walls the way acid would with flesh; yet there existed little relief and joy in the knowledge of the trickster's survival, but there she stood, seething as the conflicting sensation of absolute rage and betrayal consumed her. Sevlyn's mind writhed in confusion, almost threatening to deteriorate. Her lips formed the words she wanted to say aloud, only she was struggling to find her voice again.

The one in her head, however, was perfectly functional. Foul names prospered, the voice in her head was raised a thousand fold.

Bastard.

Feculent swine.

She didn't say anything, and so Loki couldn't take it as anything yet. Someone had to say something and be rid of the silence before it choked the both of them to death. How long had it been since the Convergence? Oh- maybe a few weeks at best. The girl shouldn't be so shocked as to be speechless; Loki had done this all before. Granted, suicide is much different than laying his own life down, but he did what he could. If he were honest, he wasn't expecting to wake, but he did.

"Why so shocked?" he asked, eyes narrowing as he adjusted his grip on Gungnir. Green eyes tried to study her expression. Loki had always been known as a man of tricks, so why should anyone be shocked? Had no one cared for his well-being in the first place? It had all been a simple illusion, but now he's seen the truth and bathes in it. "Are you simply not just glad to see me alive and well?"

The colour had already begun to recede from her features.

"You conniving, vile beast!" Good. She found her voice again. Now she could scream at Loki all she wanted. But it felt inadequate. What she truly wanted was to clasp her fingers around his throat and strangle the life out of him. Their gazes dovetailed; daggers practically flying out of her lustrous green eyes. A foreign, extraneous discomfort began to snake its way up her spine as deft fingers rested on the golden hilt of the dagger she constantly kept strapped to her waist. There were so many questions in her head that begged and pleaded for answers, but one in particular stood out against the rest, burning with priority and searing the frontal lobe of her brain.

"…T-the Allfather…"

She blinked. Oh no. Was he-

"W-where is he?"

She had avoided the most direct way of conveying question. Because in truth she did not want a direct answer, should it tear her faith asunder.

But, little dove, do you not feel the claws, sinking into precious hope?

"Tell me what you want to hear, darling sister." His chin was held high. The staff in his hand should be a rather obvious giveaway. At least she spoke, he hadn't thought her to be this shocked over the fact but it didn't matter. Dark brows rose as he began to carefully step towards the side, green eyes never leaving hers. "Though I am certain you know that as the Father of Lies, what I say may not be the truth. If I feel the need to speak it I will, as you may also think it to be a lie as well."

"I know you too well to discern for myself that you will never speak the truth." Sevlyn countered, struggling to sustain her composure as the compulsion to draw Loki's blood with the dagger she concealed urged her to proceed. She noticed his calculative and predatory eyes observing her every movement and took a step back in reluctance of accommodating his rapacious gaze. Eventually she turned away, letting her eyes fall shut.

"Loki, what have you done? Why do you put me in such disposition?"

"This has nothing to do with you. Why place this on yourself?" His expression flickered to that of confusion. Yes, she may be one who is heavily involved within the royal family, but his actions were in no place to impact her directly. At least, not yet. Loki may have done rather dangerous and questionable actions, after all, he was a dead man standing before her with his father's source of power held in the palm of his hand. He wouldn't be surprised if Sevlyn thought to attack him, unfortunately it wouldn't end well on her part.

Pressing his lips together, he continued to step to the side, leaning a bit to catch a glimpse of her concealed face. "What are you thinking? I am certain you've got some ideas. Sister dear, do be careful, there are new forces at stake that you know nothing about." He was trying to keep the situation calm and collected. Only her eyes had seen him, and it was too soon for his reveal. Loki was doing far more than cursing himself inwardly for being so careless this day, but he couldn't undo it. His voice was low, and smooth, carefully calculating the situation, because if he wasn't careful, his fragile plan could fall to pieces. Sevlyn was the only one left of Odin's house on the realm, therefore, she could be the one standing in his way. "What do you assume, sister?" Though they weren't actual siblings, for the past millennia it seemed like it.

"I'm trying to not assume anything. Suppositions are far too dangerous at this point." Sevlyn replied, her voice laced with a hint of spite and melancholia. "Do enlighten me. What exactly is at stake, bróðir?" Sevlyn utilized her peripherals, not wishing to share with him direct eye contact. Ever since Loki's betrayal that led to the poisonously ambitious antics on Midgard, she had come to the daunting realization that she had lost the brother and friend she grew up with. A fool she had been, believing with such strong, unbreakable faith that Loki had found redemption by sacrificing himself for a greater good on Svartalfheim as a martyr. A stupid little fool.

"Things that you can't quite be put to words," a shrug of one shoulder was given before he visually relaxed. If he didn't make it a big deal then she wouldn't assume it to be. There were two options now, find a way to silence her until he could properly execute an unveiling, or kill her. He always liked Sevlyn though. Loki couldn't hold anything against her; after all she had much potential and could be very useful in the near future. Lips pressed firmly together as he sighed.

"Perhaps it would be best if you continued on with your day. Others might think you mad to say that you've seen a dead man. Maybe act as if nothing has happened?" Loki was diverting it. Adding a bit of sorrowful emotion to shoo her away. Nothing to see here. Go on about your business. "This isn't causing you personal trouble, therefore it should not concern you."

The familiar sensation of vague despondency was never one to leave Sevlyn. She herself experienced it in solitary moments of loneliness, and to feel it radiate off the god was quite startling. Specks of genuine emotion were puzzle pieces that needed fixation, in her own righteous perception. The hostility ingrained in his intonation was expected; Loki always had a way of burying the truth about his feelings. Not now. Sevlyn was determined to get every word out of him.

"The eloquent trickster falling short of articulacy? That's rather hard to comprehend." Sevlyn took a step forward, securing the knot on her tied in impulses. "Not caused me personal trouble? I have barricaded myself in my chambers for days on end, battling and struggling to cope with the losses, wondering what in the name of my father have I done to deserve your betrayal in the first place and believing that I had failed as a friend, if not sister. I thought you dead. And it has driven me to places I do not wish to dwell in.

"Now, you so boldly dare stand before me, telling me that you have done nothing to be the causation of my pain, asking of me that I continue on with my life?"

"Yes, I am precisely asking that of you." The small outburst of hers didn't even make him flinch. Inwardly, he did, but the past emotion that was falsified in his voice was gone. He was left flat and stripped of any other feeling. Of course she'd resolve to that. They were still pretending to care, hoping that he'd continue to buy into it. But he wasn't going to. Loki didn't want them to break down his walls and make him vulnerable again. This time he was strong, much stronger than before, and he wasn't going to buy into their lies. "Have you already forgotten that you are speaking with a dead man?"

Now he cracked a smirk, one corner of his lips curving upwards though it didn't reach his eyes. Loki gave a small gesture with his free hand, an expression of amusement plastering across his face. "I've changed. So have you. Everyone changes under their circumstances, some for better and others for worse. Loki Odinson is long dead and yet you still expect me to think that after everything you have done to me, that I'd continue believing such cowardly lives?"

"Yes, I can see that." Pure spite was not exempt from her speech, her fingers lightly clenched by her side. She was struggling against the volcanic compulsion within to strike him across the cheekbone. How was he so treacherously different?

"You have changed for the worst. You are but a complete stranger. What would the Allmother say if she were here?" The goddess drew a shaky breath and stepped forth, glaring up at Loki, the increment in proximity screaming danger in her mind. "I understand your pain, but it does not justify your actions."

A scoff was emitted from his mouth, from which Loki rolled his eyes and closed the distance with one last step. The two now merely a foot away from another. "Oh, never mind the Allmother, Sevlyn. Does it look as if I care whether she lived or not?" Such words still had the ability to create a bit of ache within his chest, but he wasn't going to let on. Ignoring it, he tapped the end of Gungnir on the ground as a not-so-subtle gesture, "With her death it makes it all the more easier to take what is mine."

The remaining amusement vanished from his face like the melting mask it was. Green eyes piercing into hers which- held much more light than his own, actually making him slightly envious before pushing the thought away. "I am now free from my strings, able to be who I was born to be. Not only am I the God of Chaos but King of Asgard. Never mind what the Queen says."

So that was it then.

Loki had made his choice. He refused to salvage whatever flickering light remained in his besmirched existence, choosing instead to substantiate darkness's poisonous sovereignty over his judgment. Looking to him, her eyes were suddenly ablaze, emerald tongues of flames burning into his, Sevlyn seeing nothing but simply windows that offered an aching glimpse into the corrupt void within.

Something snapped when Sevlyn heard him disregard the queen and proclaim his venomous ambitions. It was blatant disrespect, and so she lost her ability to stay calm. Her right arm was ostensibly possessed by an uncontrolled force; blanched fingers at precipitous rise to submit a brutal strike across the trickster's pale features. As her hand came into a forceful contact with Loki's cheek, a painful sound was unleashed, the jarring echo ringing away in the empty corridors.

"How dare you-" Her voice was quiet. "How dare you talk about her that way. You are blinded by what you assume to be your purpose! Do you not see your mistakes? After all that has happened, do you not acknowledge what your mother has done for you, despite everything?! And to think that you had mourned her passing."

"You will never be free, Loki. Not like this."

With the strike his eyes opened wider in surprise. The pale skin of his cheek stung. He turned his head, expression holding that of complete amusement, listening as she practically vented her own frustrations. Perhaps they had lied to her as well, so that she could do the lying for them once they are all dead and gone. Either she believed such lies or was actually speaking them, he couldn't tell. At least not now. With a swift movement he caught her wrist before she brought it down, holding it firmly in his fist. Loki looked down at Vanaheim's princess, giving a few clicks of the tongue. Tsk, tsk, tsk.

"Now, you are going to hold very still," he started, voice low and calm, almost as if gently scolding a child. "If you so much as make a move out of my grasp, the bones of your wrist will break and hot poison will be placed in between the cracks. You are not to speak of Odin's house any longer."

Loki stepped to the side, gently guiding her to ensure that the spell would not unleash. It was warm, hovering just between their skin. "Who is to say that I am not free? Is freedom not life's great lie? Everyone is made to be ruled. Whether by sin, or by a man. Or perhaps by our own desires." He leaned forward, bringing his face inches before hers, "There is so much more than meets the eye. It's almost a shame you can't see it."

The current circumstances had managed to bury and spit in the face of the only decent memories Sevlyn had of her childhood, bringing back instead the pain from her early years to render the goddess unthinkable torture. The trickster was certainly not one to be aggravated….dire consequences would come. It was a harsh realization that impacted the goddess as she felt his painfully strong grip on her small wrist, his lips eliciting grotesque threats against the young Vanir. Hot tears obscured her vision, still struggling to believe that it was indeed Loki that was standing before her in the most wretched of forms, whispering fear-instilling terrorizations and crushing not only her wrist, but the glimmer of hope she harbored in her heart. His poisonous words pierced through her like daggers laced with the most lethal of venoms. At this point, Sevlyn knew she was too late. He was nowhere near redemption. The thought paralyzed her.

Sevlyn forced her tear-filled gaze upon him, anger riling up a mad storm behind her fierce emerald orbs. Refusing to heed his warning, she attempted to pry at his enclosed alabaster fingers with her free hand.

"Let me go."

There was…in distant memory, laughing, young children, more specifically, a boy and a girl, frolicking in a meadow of grass and flowers. Restless feet padded through the miniscule vegetation that seemed to stretch on beyond the vanishing point of the horizon and ceaseless name callings rang out across the span of empty space. Life and mirth prospered within their tender souls. The woman whom they called mother would go ballistic everytime they entered the palace corridors coated from head to toe in splatted fistfuls of mud, and finger pointing that went both ways would follow. And then….and then….

What happened?

There was a snap, or rather… a crack, that emitted from her wrist as he released his grip. His hand flinched away, feeling the heat of the spell rush from his palm, almost burning him as well. Loki hadn't been lying, her wrist snapped and a searing hot venom leaked into the cracks. Stepping back and allowing her to grieve as she pleased from the pain. After all, he did warn her- no one ever listened to him. It was as if everyone expected his threats to be empty. The humans of earth feared him from the start. Maybe this would show her how dire it is that she know-

"Foolish child," he spat, taking a step back from her. "You are meant to heed my words."

He spoke in a language of cruelty and relentless savagery, his commands unfurling from the rear of his throat; such words were the bane of vocal conception and boon of the foully eloquent and sadistic.

Pain was something the goddess had been all too familiar with all her life. The scars that marked the small of her back were indelible evidence. How naïve of her to think that such hardship would eventually dissipate and melt into the bleakness of the past, for pain had a sentiency that enables it to wrench its way into the present no matter how valiantly one attempts to bar it. Constantly in the position to attack and continually prepared to assume any form. And it finally found its opportunity to make once again another mark on the young woman, warranting yet another scream from her lips.

Sevlyn barely had time to fully comprehend the sound that indicated breakage of her wrist; the agony transpiring so quickly, slowly distributing itself throughout her entire arm. Loki had kept his promise of incorporating searing hot venom into her bones. A scream tore from the crimson cracks of her lips, knees quivering as they collided with cold stone, her free hand cradling her twisted wrist.

You were never welcomed here. You had no right to be part of our family. YOU ARE NOTHING TO ME.

Her head was stuck in a whirlwind of lethal thoughts, the poor woman attempting, in desperate state, to grapple with them as she struggled to hold onto the knowledge that her mind was simply being manipulated by Loki, that all she was hearing were just falsified perceptions.

{Loki, I had a bad dream. I'm scared. Can I sleep with you tonight?}

{Loki, no! Mother forbade us to play in her chambers again, remember?}

"I will not." Sevlyn's eyes burned through a curtain of tears, hellish firestorm scorching her bones in her limb. "I-I will not yield. You may break my body as you please. But you will not break my spirit."

Depending on how much damage was caused to the wound, it would either hurt more if she were to move or simply grow numb with the combination. Sevlyn's words were dripping in raw irony. Heavily sounding familiar but coming from a mouth that was not his own. Funny how he knew her perspective. He couldn't help but be overly intrigued by the idea of how easily it would be to break the Goddess of Passion. It would be fun to put it to the test, after all, he needed her dead or to sew her lips shut.

Dropping Gungnir on the floor of the hall, he struck her down with his forearm catching her shoulders before she fully collapsed to the ground. Both hands held onto her shoulders firmly, turning and slamming her back against the wall. His eyes narrowed, calculating the expression on her face, the corner of his lip curving upwards that wasn't exactly a smile. It only gave off a twisted edge that not even he would be able to understand. "But yield to what, exactly? You threatened my position. I have every right to end your life here and now. But I do not work as such. Do tell me why I shouldn't rip your mind inside out for defying me all these years."

Sevlyn felt the refined edge of death's dagger at her throat, the affection she had for who she thought were friend and family cast into the flames of demise. The master of usurpation had mercilessly struck and pushed her belittled form against the hard surface of the wall, and hot, white pain exploded in her injured extremity as he did so. Sevlyn's spine and body ached due to the hard rendition of impact against the wall. Strife and suffering afflicted the porcelain image of her face, the bottom of her lips trembling as a muddle of anger, anxiety, and dejection begrimed her soul, the bold defiance she expressed the only emotion that was the light standing against the incoming shockwave of darkness. She might not be of ability to hold for long. Sevlyn would not admit or speak of it, but the ill passion and sentiment that radiated off the vile king did not spare the goddess of its noxious effect as well.

She was being smothered, asphyxiated, strangled, choked. Everywhere in every way. The voices had risen to boundless screams in her head.

All of it mauled and tore at her the way a rabid dog would with a wild rabbit.

"Defying you was a necessity that I had neither the will nor heart to perform, for I loved you, but your crossing over to the side of the devils had me in a barren position. Why can't you acknowledge the wrongs you have done?!" A trickle of blood bled out of her nose. The ill will raging within the trickster was poison to her depreciating state. Feebly, Sevlyn raised her still functional, quaking hand to his, falteringly coercing him to loosen his painful clutch on her arms.

"Please. This is not you. I implore you to come back to me."

What must she think to have come of his fruit from his fall? But perhaps it wasn't just that, everyone always assumed things. They think of something on their own and decide to never deviate from it. Such a thing was frustrating, and she was responding as he assumed from the pain. He was correct in his theory of things not being as they seemed.

The question of 'why' drew his brows together. What Sevlyn saw as wrongs in her eyes, held no remorse or regret within his chest. Loki had nothing to lose and everything to gain. The Princess had no context, and therefore frustrated him further. She didn't understand, she just didn't and she needed to know. The only regret that existed is the fact that he stopped falling. The darkness consumed and over took him until he found himself half-buried within rock, broken and bleeding. In the beginning, he assumed it to be Hel.

"Why-? Because- it's too late. You know not who it is that stands before you today. The man that you once knew is dead, there is no use hanging onto him. I assure you I've done the right thing-"

Staring intently into his perceptive stormy sea of green that were his eyes, Sevlyn had let loose her sentiments of grief and despair and hopeless hope, yearning to drink in the image of the boy she had forged so many heavenly memories with in the past. Where is he? A question she had asked herself far too many times, the redundant lack of a truthful answer always responsible for her ruinous dispositions. Dismissed so many a time by helpless fate, there was naught else she could do. The poison imbedded in her bones had begun to infect her entire body as insinuated in the lack of healthy pigment in her alabaster face, her legs quivering once again, growing incapable of sustaining her body. She wondered if it would end her.

"No. It is never too late. You may still repent. Return and let me help you, please." Cold beads of sweat collected at her forehead. She could now only speak in a wavering voice, shaking her head stubbornly upon registering his last sentence. "You are not. I know you still live. I see the sliver of good in you. Loki…" Her words were interrupted by a fit of terrible coughing. Blood trickled out of the corner of her claret maw. "It is not too late. I know it isn't. Come home."

Come home were the same words that Thor had used and he wanted to rip out her tongue for it. There was too much sentiment in her voice and words, choking on her own blood to try to pull him out. It was funny, again, how she'd keep trying to fish for something that didn't exist. He needed to fix this. The conversation would go nowhere and he needed to find a means to keep her mouth shut about his position, at least for now. And- ah… there was more he could do with her than just force silence.

"I am home, Sevlyn. Though unfortunately for you… you are going to lose yours."

The iron grip that kept Sevlyn pinned to the wall was finally removed, the goddess collapsing to the ground out of bodily fatigue, realizing that Loki had liberated her from the venom that was wreaking internal havoc when the sweltering pain began to subside. Her wrist however, was still twisted and broken, conceiving the need to pay the healers a visitation. Sevlyn instinctively cradled it against her breast, her fingers absent-mindedly endeavoring to supply gentle pressure onto the swelling region. The whole of her body still ached from residual venom, but her focus had been readdressed to a far more pressing matter-the probability of an unimaginable notion in the midst of progression frightened her much more, for Loki had hinted at the usurping of her homeland in their conversation.

By the Norn, was that what he was implying?

With disbelief etched unto her delineated features, Sevlyn forced herself to scramble to her feet, attempting to assume a stable façade however agonizing it was for her to resume her posture. This time she would be prepared should Loki abuse her again, allowing her functioning fingers to grasp the intricately carved pommel of her dagger, the disabled wrist still held close to her bosom.

"What are you saying?"

"It means—" he started, leaning down to take the staff back up. His voice had lightened, the corners of his lips tilting upwards in a sharp knowing smile that didn't exactly reach his eyes. Gungnir vanished with a small gesture, leaving his hands free for what he had in mind. Sevlyn's attempt for her dagger did not go unnoticed by Loki, and so he advanced in reflect to snatch it from her hands.

There had been a deranged elegance to his movements so eloquent in intent and purpose, the goddess feeling her innards twisting inside of her; and although she was fully capable of anticipating his next aggressive move, the singular thought of that it was, indeed, her childhood friend that was rendering her consistent mental and physical abuse…well, such knowledge was certainly hard to digest. Getting herself trapped by her own sentiment was a mistake, and it was her tentativeness that allowed Loki the chance to swiftly disarm her and remove the dagger from shaky fingers.

The Princess's body once again trapped against the cold wall. His eyes were different this time, staring into hers as his smile seemed to grow, along with the crookedness of it. The edge of the blade was brought up to her pale cheek, letting the tip trail down the side of her face where a line of red quickly followed after. Loki's voice came in a very gentle manner. Light and sounding as if it held actual sentiment.

"You are mine."

Feeling her spine shoved up against the wall once more, Sevlyn felt the piercing tip of the blade her birth mother had bestowed upon her before her untimely death, menacingly scraping the soft, pale texture of her skin. The trickster had proclaimed ownership of the Vanir, and for what reason it pertained to still left unknown. His assertion that she was his property only left her mind in a churning state, the abusive conversation no longer in any way contemplative to her….and although charred her thoughts to ashes it did, the repeated actions of mistreatment began to awake a dormancy within the pure-hearted vessel, a volcanic dragon that would accept no oppression. No…the goddess did not escape her past just to run into a similar present. The Goddess of Passion and Strength was tempest. Valiant. Fire.

Fear had not completely eluded her, but the young woman found it no reason to stay quiet and compliant. Placing a firm hand on his chest, her eyes glowed a gleaming, lighter shade of emerald.

"I am my own person, I am not a toy that is for your pleasure." Sevlyn blinked back her tears, ensuring that her voice did not waver…. She was strong, she needed to be.

But still, the woman was afraid.

"Don't touch me."

She was trying to be strong, he could see that. Perhaps now she could see that he was the enemy, certainly not someone to be trifled with but now- now it was her own damned fault to find herself in this mess. Let us see how well she could escape from it. Loki laughed at her, a dark chuckle that didn't even sound like him could send shivers up even Malekith's spine. The metal of the blade curled under her chin to press against her throat ever so lightly.

"I believe your freedom has just expired."

Removing himself from her, he gestured for the blade to disappear. Loki had only taken one step back, and was easily able to take hold of her arm and forcefully shove her in the direction of the dark hall. This hall, ironically, held a few unused rooms of the family floors. When the Allfather would keep guests over a night, he'd allow them to reside within this hall. There were rooms, unoccupied rooms- "We will just see how much longer the virgin can keep said freedom. Let alone the freedom of her people." Gesturing towards one of the far doors in the hall.

"Closest chambers. Now."

The trickster's forceful maneuver on her arm caused the goddess's footing to falter, followed by a discourteous shove down the hallway. A startled gasp escaped her lips, followed by a wince as the push had aggravated her broken wrist. We will just see how much longer the virgin can keep her freedom.

Oh, Gods, no.

Her dagger had been seized. There was no way of defending herself, save for the magic that ran deep in her blood, although that was hardly an option either, as Loki was a far more skilled wielder of sorcery that she. She turned to face him, a mixture of panic and anger and anxiety and defiance screaming in her eyes. Her fingers were illuminated in a dim, wavering ball of misty, reddish energy. No, no. She can't let terror set in.

Desperately stepping away from the wretched king, she directed the quivering, weak ball of light at him. Gods, it looked pathetic. She was helpless. Helpless. Yet Sevlyn persevered even in her drained physical state, her body not even entirely filtered of the venom just yet, for she knew her virtue was in danger of violation. The thought wanted to make her cry. She had to hold on. She must.

The chamber was close. No, no, no, no…

The girl was practically dripping in weakness and fear. Drenched head to toe in her failed attempts to keep her dignity. Loki wanted to strip every last bit of it away, to make her understand just what she was missing. She feared him and he thrived on it. The adrenaline was intoxicating, and why not have fun with it? To have a specific and set emotion that would be aimed in his direction, it was almost priceless. The attention, the fear in her eyes and the panic written across her face was something he rather enjoyed. The weak attempt at magic was quickly unraveled, mostly due to her fear that seemed to overtake her.

The tales of Loki's unbecoming were spoken for a time in recent past; Sevlyn naturally fulfilling the sentimental obligation of refusing to heed what she perceived as rumors brimming with skilfully crafted lies, and t'was unbeknownst to her that it had been the whole truth and nothing but the truth. And now she witnessed that truth with her own eyes; and it was advancing upon her like a winged devil.

"If you do not comply… I can make this hurt like Hel," his teeth were clenched, taking her arm and almost pulling her across the hall towards one of the doors. Though she struggled, it wasn't too difficult to open the doors and throw her in. She was small and light in weight, making the difference in his strength great. Loki even had time to slam the door shut behind them and seal it with a spell of his own, no doubt that the Princess would escape.

Susceptible was the pure goddess to the sauntering darkness that was Loki that stepped forth with the debauched intent to rob her of her virginal light, knowing absolutely well that there was no means of escape. Her watering eyes flicked to the sealed doors, and in one last desperate attempt to save her dignity, Sevlyn lurched forward for the exit, only to feel a force around her waist drag her away from it.

Hysteria had begun to set in as fruitless screams of help escaped her lips, still attempting to will herself toward the doors, although she knew very well she was in the most futile of conditions. With rage and fear reigning her mental state, Sevlyn could only struggle and cry out.

She would not comply. Not in a thousand lifetimes. "You will not have the satisfaction of my compliance!" She yelled out in a quivering voice, tears streaming down her pallid cheeks.

Give up, little bird. You're in the hands of the devil now.

The scene Sevlyn was making was nothing near lady like in her attempts to yank the door open when it surely would not budge. Loki heard her claim her reluctance, rather loud and clear and couldn't help but roll his eyes. Hands took her by her shoulders as he tried to pry her away from the only exit. With the amount that he continuously pulled and shrugged, the dress she had worn was already becoming a bit worn down from it, and the bed was just a few feet away-

"I do not need said satisfaction. This does not require you to comply."

He'd rather give up on the fight of pulling her and wrapped his arms around Sevlyn's form and picked her up. Of course he wasn't done treating her like a ragdoll and simply threw her onto the bed. "It was only a suggestion. I didn't want the little bird to break so easily…" It was half spoken as a complaint, quickly following her onto the bed to straddle her waist. With his weight atop of her, it would be rather too difficult to escape his grasp now.

A fearful whimper slipped out of her trembling lips, shoulders turning rigid in Loki's administrative grasp as he forcefully guided her to the bed that awaited their presence. She arrived at the crescendo of her physical strength, squirming and writhing in his arms, and still she could do nothing to tear herself away from his painful grip. The vile king proceeded to push her down onto the mass of pillows and sheets; Sevlyn's strength slowly seeping out of her body due to her continuous thrashing against him, unsuccessfully trying to push his dense form off her.

And then there was the familiar sound of a strike across the cheek, the only thing the poor girl had successfully rendered after a series of infertile attempts to defend herself. Sevlyn quickly gathered her legs together beneath him while she had the chance…pointless really…and nothing could have possibly been of capability to calm her thunderous heartbeats when she laid eyes upon the murderous expression in his eyes.

"Why are you doing this?" She cried out, her voice stripped of completely of hope. "Please, please, I'm a virgin."

"If I did not know… would I have mentioned it—?"

Her yelling and squirming was going to get out of hand, but with the spell in place and the halls empty anyhow there wasn't anyone else to hear. The princess and old friend was helpless now- her heart beating out of her chest in fear. Taking a fist full of the front of her dress he leaned down to peel his lips back from his teeth and growl-

"This is punishment for your defiance. I own you. You should know to use cautious words around me— for now I will make you bleed."

There was more than just a means of lust, for it wasn't that at all. Sevlyn had always been favored as the daughter the family never had, treasured, prized, and loved by all. As childhood friends the two of them had thought of each other as siblings and perhaps ones day something more if the either of them had given a fifth thought about saying something. It all died away, of course, and it was a twisted sort of revenge that was rooted deeper and was connected to multiple strings. He had plans, of course. Plans that would involve Vanaheim, but first he was going to need her lips sealed, and why not do so with his own dry spit?

What use was there in carefully peeling away the layers of clothing protecting her from her last pure moments? He needed to clip her wings, claim ownership physically so that she may never forget. Cleanse her of the sentimentality so that she couldn't break down his walls. The fabric was ripping from her shoulders and sides, tossing the strips to the side.

Sevlyn utilized what little strength she had left to shove at his chest, providing little effect as he had already begun the endeavor of removing her silken dress, her disheveled ebony hair fanning out on the pillow she had been viciously coerced to lay her head upon, feeling her virtue teetering precariously on an edge, about to plunge into the abyss of damnation. She heard the tearing of delicate fabric and realized her corset was the only garment left that clad her bare skin and full flesh. Everything Loki did to her afterward galvanized ceaseless tears from emerald eyes and pathetic crying sobs from ruby lips. There was nothing. Nothing she could do but direct her blurred and distorted vision at the canopy as the king proceeded to deflower her, ripping her chastity into shreds.

Not so pure now, are you, little bird? Demons, demons in her head.

Her eyes were screaming with fear as the entirety of her body clenched at the excruciating sensation between her legs, arms turning rigid as they ceased their vain attempts to push him away. All gone now. All gone now.

Clinching and truncating her facial expressions, the goddess cried heavily with a large volume of tears soaking her tender skin, her breathing jagged and erratic as the last of her dignity finally slipped away from her reach.

At the end of it all, she was naught but a broken, tarnished vessel.

A doll torn apart.

A shattered relic, desecrated.

It was over as soon as it started. Perhaps it wasn't as fun as he had thought, and the time seemed to have flown away or it was truly just that quick. He wasn't sated, but that wasn't the point of it. There was no pleasure in it, only the movements of a puppet taken by his own darkness and simply letting the shadows play their own part. The game just simply wasn't that fun, and he could lie to himself as much as he could, a part of him wouldn't believe it.

Catching his breath didn't take that long; there wasn't even a need for comfort because it was the girl's fault that she was in this mess anyhow. It was easy to break her; she underestimated him, let sentiment get in the way. He informed Sevlyn to watch her tongue and actions, yet she so bluntly discarded his advice and brought such a fate upon herself. The goddess's cries were all for nothing. Her fault, not his.

Eventually he stood up from the bed, and found a blanket that resided at the foot. Picking it up and lazily covering her with it. She looked rather crippled and the blood just didn't add to the negative mood he was brought in. There wasn't much for him to change other than the front of his clothing, for he hadn't removed much of anything. Leaning his back against the post, he folded his arms across his chest and stared down at her. An uneasy feeling was set in his stomach and he wasn't sure how to take it. For now, he planned to ignore it.

"I believe next time, you will listen to me. Will you? Will you listen to me? It is the wise thing to do, listen to your King."

Desperate fingers clutched onto the edge of the coverlet and it was pulled up to the goddess's clavicle, preventing exposure of the private, intimate portions of her naked body, and autonomously responding to the instinct of self-protection by folding and curling up her bare legs. Her back was pressed against the bedframe, averting Loki's hard stare and looking down instead, breathing tattered and uneven breaths. There was a persistent ache between her legs, and she could feel the tickling sensation of warm blood running down her inner thigh. A result of her brutally violated virginity. The reality of what had just transpired weighed down upon her like rocks. It hurt.

Slowly the goddess moved out of the bed, grasping onto the fabric that enrobed her as if her life depended on it. She would have to retreat into the bathing chambers for cleaning. Her legs quivered, and it was a struggle to move across the vast space toward the doors of the bathing room. The girl had shed rivers out of her eyes and was beginning to feel a little dehydrated. Loki's thwarting words were a dagger at her neck, forcing her to comply. After what had happened, she had to, right? Sevlyn knew she was in no position to defy, but must she concede defeat? Must she submit?

The blood streamed down her legs and seeped through her toes. She quickly hid them within the boundary of the blanket, although the king would most definitely have noticed from his angle.

"It is with sincerity that I speak, I hope you can live with yourself beyond this point in time."

Such were the times of war, the bringer of great despair and ruin. Blood and tears and screams and swords trapped in an endless storm raging amongst warriors of high passion, uproarious bellows and bloodthirsty shouts permeating the air, almost as thick as the predominant stench of sin. The once peaceful and tranquil plains of Vanaheim were no more, replaced with a tumultuous sea of blades black with blood. Raged did the war into the good night, profuse blood and separated flesh tainting earth's fertile bosom, and the moon, demure by nature, would by habit hide behind the rolls of clouds, but not tonight, not on this starless night, when the desolate black of the sky was illuminated only by a singular beacon. It looked upon, boldly, the basin of the world and stared down the cesspit of death and disgrace. Green curves of the realm had once brimmed and blossomed, the blooms of yellow and white irrefutable proof of its once mirth, yet such illusionistic idea had, upon dawning of unanticipated battle, transitioned to bleeding valleys of broken bones and tattered flesh and blood that will soon profane the taste of the slayed and slaughtered upon devil's tongue.

Far off to the north resided a region still unreached, and with the great barricades erected there was hope that the royal grounds could remain inaccessible for as long as they could delay the forthcoming attack. But the armies were ruthless butcherers, cutting, shooting and hacking their way through the elite Vanir battalion and thus the hills piled with more dead and the severely injured left to suffer the same fate. Blades never ceased their profligate song, sung the loudest when piercing through Vanir flesh.

A thousand years could not wash away the smell of the carnage.

The ebonette child with the viridian eyes knew what was upon them. Her family, her people, her world. Walls of solid rock and brick could not always deter truth and breed ignorance, and in such a case, the tenacity in the purpose was futile. One could share a gaze with her and say that she knew, very well, the highly priced cost of war. She knew what it meant for those running for their lives and those fighting courageously on the battlefield. So here she was, in her chambers, hands tightly clasped unto one another, overlapping fingers, knees on the ground and eyes keenly shut. Her lips saw no cessation, inaudible words of prayer incessantly coursing out from small lips, chubby, joint fingers tucked underneath whitish chin.

A rap on the door and she stopped, eyes the first acute respondents to open and gaze outward with crushing anticipation.

"Your mother has requested to see you, princess."

Legs seemingly possessive of their own form of consciousness, the little lady scampered off down the hallway in a series of clumsy footings and chaotic stumbling until she presented herself before her sweet mother, dress crumpled in every manner and skirts overly rutted due to unremitting strains of the knee against the fabric on stone ground. The queen was already clad in armour, a fine piece of silvery steel with gilded ends and textured embellishments, though for one confused moment, the little girl had wondered if that was at all her mother for she had failed to recognize the craggy femininity of the person donning refined metal. She looked different, her mother, different yet still so beautiful, disparate only with a touch of hardened delicacy to her presence. Sevlyn had never seen her mother in warrior form before.

"Come here, min lille rettferdig jomfru"

The intrinsic glow of her eyes had only dimmed a little, glazed over with a shining layer of tears that refused to fall. Queen Joaurra saw how they gleamed like the ancient stars reincarnated, and for a moment away she was transported from queenly obligation as though no such thing existed, for she only saw her daughter, her sweet, precious child who meant the universe and beyond to her.

How regretful to think yet again of how likely it was that the queen would be unable to watch her child transcend childhood and transform into the beautiful woman she was fated to be.

Sacrifice was nefarious destiny's royal trick, and how lamentable the disposition of her soul, having been indentured to ill, partial fate. Her realm needed her, people were dying, and the rulers had taken an oath in the eyes of the heathen gods that they would die defending their good realm. Some would think this honourable, yet there was naught close to the sensation of prestige that existed within her swelling heart, for this was to her, an act of abandonment, disgraceful ignominy, if she were not to return, little Sevlyn would grow up, alone sans the love of a mother. Her love. This was violation of motherly responsibility.

This was goodbye. The most hurtful of types. "My little girl…" Oh, Norn, how was she going to do this. Attempting her hardest not to choke on tears whilst lifting Sevlyn's hands, her soft, delicate hands, the queen gently placed them against her smooth cheeks, turning into them to plant a soft kiss.

"Mama…"

"You do understand wherefore I must leave, do you not?"

"No. Mama, I don't." She was so adamant. Just like her father.

"Bad people want to come into our city and do terrible things, as they have done to the preceding villages, my dear, and your father and I must stop them. We can stop them." The Queen tucked a strand of jet black hair behind her daughter's ear.

"Mama, please don't go. Please stay with me here."

"I cannot. But I promise I will return to you, my child. I'll always, always, stay with you.." Averting her own daughter's pleading gaze, it took her a while to reestablish eye contact. For how much longer she could refrain from shedding tears, she did not know. "You have the purest of hearts, my daughter, you have that of what makes you the magical little girl that you are, do not ever lose that light."

"Trust me when I say I will do everything I can to come back to you. I will not go gentle into the good night."

Sevlyn stared at her.

"Do you accept my promise, little one? My eskling?"

"I do."

"Then I shall see you soon."