Amora was used to being alone. It was the bane of her existance. Her powers, her ambition, her determination. Shunned from an early age, Amora had been forced to abandon everything she loved. Family, Asgard... Thor. The demi-god had always held a special place in her heart. At some point, prior to Amora working with Loki, there had even been mutual love between them. Then Thor had left her. Abandoned her, in favour of Sif! It was unbearable, so the Enchantress had gotten to work. She had been upset, and still was. Her time and efforts had moved into training in the field of sorcery. Amora had learned quickly, driven as she was, until one day: Out! Tossed out as if she was Surtur the fire demon. The only one who had shown her affection had been the wrong man. Amora did not want; had never wanted Skurge's affections. He was a pawn. True, his death had been upsetting. The Executioner had for a long time been the only man who geniuenly cared for her. Not even Amora's own parents had been around enough for the Enchantress to even know them. Lorelei was dead, by Amora's own hand no less. Now Amora would join her in Hel.
For Amora did not wish to live anymore. As an Asgardian, there were very few ways for her to die. However, a slit throat was lethal no matter who you were. A life on Midgard was not what she wanted, and the persistance of Odin and Thor's power against her prevented her from leaving the realm. Preventing forever. An eternal life on Midgard was not in Amora's wishes. At least in the afterlife she might be forgiven. It was with these thoughts in mind that Amora walked around the sparse room, to a small table in the middle of the floor. Upon it lay a large knife, the handle carved out of sleek and soft wood. The blad was sharp. It was an Asgardian weapon. How fitting that it would be the weapon that killed the finest sorceress Asgard had ever seen. The unappreciated Asgardian, the shunned Asgardian, the Asgardian whom no one could love. However, before it killed the Enchantress, she had one thing to do. Say goodbye. Not to friends, not to Loki, not to any former accomplish. But to the man who had left her all those years ago. The man who had broken her heart. For though he had broken it, Amora needed to see him one last time. To make sure her image of him was pristine and perfect as she dragged the edge of the blade across her throat.
Amora knew where to find him. After all, he had been the one to drag her to where she currently stood. And though she'd been mostly unconscious, her ears had caught the words: 'I'll be making arrangements for Loki's departure to be tried before Odin. We will depart in four days. I'll be staying at Stark tower." The words must have been directed at some other person with him. Perhaps another one of the Avengers. Amora hadn't cared at the time. Her body had been a wreck, and her power was exhausted from the ordeal of fighting. Sorcery always had it's price; it drained the user of power. Though Amora's spells were powerful and she had astounding stamina, the blonde had fought with her magic for many hours. Drawing together energy into a harmful body was an easy feat when there were only a few. Make a few thousand, and you soon lost it. But that had been two days ago. And in those two days, Amora had decided her entire future, or lack of it. The final goodbye was nearing its time.
Stark Tower was a glistening building of glass and steal. Amora detested it from the moment she stepped out of the teleportation circle she had conjured up. However, the building did not attract her attention for long, for there stood Thor. Still looking like an Asgardian, the god that he was and had always been. He was working on something, but Amora could not see what. Her eyes were too busy pulling in every detail of his broad back and the bulging muscles of his arms and legs. Then she stepped forwards. The sound triggered something in Thor, and he turned around, grabbing Mjolnir as he did. "You!" he exclaimed, and with three long steps he launched forwards, grabbing her throat with his hand and hoisting her up into the air. He didn't hold tight enough to strangle, only to hold her secure and ensure that the Asgardian woman did not try anything.
"Please, Thor," Amora began, but stopped when she could feel his fingers tightning slightly. "I'm not here to harm you. Quite the opposite. I'm here to say goodbye." Amora did not elaborate, but instead locked eyes with the angry blue ones of Thor. Her own green eyes were soft, softer than they ever were. An eyelash clung to her cheek.
"What do you mean, 'goodbye'? Is this some joke, witch?" The word, slung from Thor's mouth in such a careless manner, stung Amora. How lowly he thought of her. To think that at one point, they had been lovers. Seeing them now, no one could ever imagine it. The thought would have caused tears in another's eyes, but not in Amora's. She was strong, years of exile and training and using of men having drained her of most emotions. Apart from the one she had kept locked up inside: the affection for Thor.
"No joke. My love, this is the last time we will see one another. I swear on my life, and on my powers." Amora's voice was a hoarse whisper. Her eyes were shining with tears that she would not let fall. Not now, and not ever. For she was of Asgard, and Amora was strong and beautiful and would look upon the face of Hela with raised chin and courage. Same as she would face her former lover.
Thor stood silent, still as a statue. For a few minutes, the only movement was Amora attempting to shift so that she could breathe more easily. Suddenly, Thor's hand opened, and the Enchantress crumbled to the floor and landed in a heap. Turning her head up, Amora's eyes once more locked with those of Thor. "If I ever see you again, I will kill you," Thor muttered. "You will stay away from Lady Sif, and from Jane Foster. Or I will bring you to Hel myself. Understood?" The cold eyes were a dagger. Amora's mouth tightened in an effort to keep from crying as she nodded. Slowly getting to her feet, Amora longed to reach out and stroke the man's cheek. But she couldn't. He'd break her hand if she even tried. So she suited herself with one last lingering look, before opening a new teleport to that same old room and to her knife.
The body of a blonde woman with her throat cut and the weapon still in her hand reached headlines. Tony Stark thrusted the paper into Thor's hand, and he had read. Of all the possible outcomes of their last conversation, it had not been this that the god had anticipated. For though she had tried to kill him and all those that he loved, Amora had and always would be, his first love. One lone teardrop rolled from his cheek, landing upon the paper. Right on the false name she went by in Midgard: Amora Lorelei.