A/N: I've been writing this story a little bit at a time in response to a prompt on norsekink. So far, I have released a segment of a chapter each day, and am now starting to bring them all together and post them to my main accounts. This prologue is the only part of the story that will be in the 1st pov, so don't freak out if you really don't like that sort of thing. Chapter one will be up in 2-3 days, and from there, I will post one chapter a week (maybe two if I'm in a good mood).

Hope you enjoy the story!

Who does this mortal think she is?

We've all heard the stories, they tell them all over Asgard. All about how she changed our prince for the better, how she made him a man worthy of the throne. I don't believe a word of it.

I look down at this woman, peacefully slumbering, hunched over a cluttered desk, ugly snores emitting from her mouth. How could someone this unkempt and mousy ever gain the attention of a royal, especially one as proud and magnificent as Prince Thor? I and my sisters cannot comprehend such an absurdity. It would be laughable if it wasn't true.

I've snuck away from home on a very important assignment: rid Asgard of the headache that is this woman. I cannot kill her, that goes against all my principles. Even a murderer would be spared by my hand. I don't believe in executing the guilty, I prefer to let them live, let them suffer.

In the name of Asgard, the All-Father, and Prince Thor himself, I will make Jane Foster suffer.

My first step is to cast a light sleeping spell, to ensure she doesn't awake during the process. I pick her up, she is pathetically light. No meat on her bones at all. Add one more reason why it's impossible for her to have truly captured the prince's heart. I have already prepared the runes in the middle of her floorspace. Most of her collection of trinkets and Midgardian devices are pushed off to the sides, leaving plenty of space. I drop her in the circle, maneuvering her arms and legs in the correct spots. If I do this wrong, I could end up turning her inside out or something equally unpleasant. I magically bind her body when I'm through, and I remove the sleep from her eyes. They spring open and she's gasping, looking around and trying to move. Her whole face goes white when she realizes she can't. Sweat shines on her brow. She meets my gaze, without recognition and with many questions.

She asks who I am.

Someone who loves Thor.

She asks what is happening.

You are being judged. You have sinned against us and now you will be punished.

Her terror grows, and her attempts to free herself become more erratic. I smile to myself. Let her fight as hard as she wants, as much as she wants. She cannot escape. Her fate is sealed.

She fights harder, tears filling her eyes and running down her cheeks. I should smash her face in for being so weak. This is a woman who has no business consorting herself with Asgardian royalty. I'd like to see her try and fight a battle. She'd be without a head in seconds and she'd scream and cry the whole way through. So spineless, so powerless, so unworthy. She makes my skin crawl.

She looks at me again and she asks me why.

I tell her she knows why, and then I start to chant.

The ancient runes light up with power; bright white that seeps into the chalk drawn lines. They reach her struggling body and enshrine her. Her screams of fear turn to pain as the magic courses through her being, changing her at her very core. Her limbs elongate, bones cracking and snapping into new places. Her fingers curl into themselves and grow pointed at the ends. Her voice steadily lowers in pitch, going from light and girlish to impossibly deep and animalistic. She expands out of the circle. I must back away to the wall to avoid her crushing me. A tail grows between her legs, long and covered in dark purple scales that crawl up the rest of her body, until no human flesh remains. Her face grows outward into a snout, smoke puffing out her nostrils as her new set of bone-gnashing teeth push through her old ones.

She rolls over on all fours, her back arched outward. Something ripples beneath her skin, then bursts forth coated in a thick layer of slime. Massive wings stretch out, at least ten feet all around. Her body is so large now, that when she tries to stand, her head bumps the ceiling. She pushes through it, dust and plaster raining down around her.

The next time she screams, it is not a scream at all. It is a roar. The anguished cry of the monster she's become.

I hear other voices now, those of many mortals who have left their homes to find the source of the calamity. They scream when they see her. Many in fear, others in anger. A series of loud popping sounds ring out. Tiny projectiles bounce off Jane Foster's skin. Whatever they are, they are harmless against her, only making her turn to her attackers. She raises her claws as if to calm them. She tries to speak, but that is beyond her capabilities. All that comes out is harsh grunts. It serves to further enrage the crowd, who resort now to throwing fire at her. One person hurls a bottle of ale stoppered by a flaming cloth at her tail, and she unconsciously swats it away. It flies through another building's window and explodes. A male voice shouts a female name again and again as he runs.

Jane Foster roars in pain. It seems that last attack did have some effect on her. The mortals take this as a war cry. They all run in fear for their lives as Jane Foster stumbles around like a drunk, still not used to her new body. Her wings flap- presumably all on their own- and carry her off into the night. And now I think it's time to take my leave.

I do not know where Jane Foster will go from here, but I do know that I will hear of her again soon. A dragon is a creature of myth, nothing more than a storybook legend from times long passed. Now that I have made it reality, it's only a matter of time before the gatekeeper takes notice, and then all of Asgard will have something new to talk about. I imagine my prince will be eager to take the beast on. A dragon's head would make an invaluable trophy. I may not be a killer in my own right, but I am not one to stand in the way of a hunter after his prey.

However long it may be before that day comes, I return home on this night content, and triumphant. I know in my heart of hearts, that beats with years of wisdom and immeasurable love for her people, that I have done well here on this night.