Another short chapter for you, not entirely happy with this chapter to be honest but I thought I'd post it to get your perception. All my work is finished for this week now so I can spend a good time updating and writing longer chapters. Thank you everyone for your wonderful reviews. Also, I'm incredibly worried that Frances is a Mary-Sue-esque character so I'm going to spend longer building her character in the next few chapters.


Life During Wartime

Chapter Eight


Loki left the room suddenly, one minute his eyes so fogged with lust that Frances worried he might take her then and then, and the next rushing from the room without a second thought. Her forehead was moist with perspiration, her breathing hot and heavy. She felt disgusting as she stood in the blood stained dress, back firmly against the wall.

The fire was now a dim glow, a shadow of its former glory, much like her. Not too long ago she had been prepared to fight, heavily armed and thirsty for Chitauri blood. Now she stood in the barely lit room, dressed like a common whore who was preparing to submit to a misogynist.

Steeling herself, she shuffled to the door, the dress making normal movement a difficulty. Her hand grasped the handle, but as she tried to open it, she realised it was locked. A foolish moment of wishful thinking on her part, of course he would of locked the door, rendering any escape impossible. She cursed her stupidity and ambled to the bed, seating herself on the soft mattress, appreciating the comfort it provided.

Sleep didn't come to her, and after what seemed like an age, she gave up hope of it ever arriving. The room was cloaked in darkness, although Frances was sure that somewhere outside her prison, light shone brightly. Her stomach rumbled hungrily, and although she was still consumed by a sickening feeling of dread, her body craved food. Frances wondered if Loki would return, and although the thought of him reappearing made her shudder, she desperately need sustenance. Time didn't seem to exist any more, and every moment in the room felt like a lifetime. Her dry mouth and carnivorous stomach only prolonged the experience, and the longer she waited, the less able she was to hold back a creeping depression. She was trapped, unarmed and at the mercy of a God who had taken a peculiar interest in her.

All of her life, she had never considered herself to be that interesting, never really an outsider but not a loud team player, she had always had friends but was never the most popular. The past few years working as part of the security operation had brought her out of her shell and awoken a ferociousness inside her that she didn't even know existed. Frances was rarely shy, but she didn't possess the same social finesse that her sisters appeared to have, but working as part of a top secret agency that spanned both government and military, she had learned how to project a certain air of confidence into her daily interactions. A lot of her bravado could be attributed to a lack of confidence she had felt since a child. Uncertain of her place in the world, she had always wanted to make something for herself, away from the confines of her families wealth. As a teenager she had immersed herself in literature, finding solace in the warm words that jumped from the page, the fantasy worlds of the writers imagination. Studying Literature was an obvious choice for someone so enamoured by the written word, and so was a career in publishing. After slogging away at unsatisfying, unsuccessful internships in the literary world, she had applied for the position of personal assistant to Edward Langley, a rash decision that had changed her entire world.

At first, her role was simply administrative, but as Edward learnt of her heritage and character, he had begun to trust her, giving her jobs a far cry from the standard role of personal assistant. In part, the progression in her role was down to her families wealth and reputation, and although Frances wasn't comfortable to ride on the coat tails of her parents, it was satisfying to be given more responsibility. But it was a responsibility and an opportunity that had led to her current predicament, locked in a windowless room, being held prisoner by Loki Laufeyson whilst he crushed the life out of the world.

An unmeasurable amount of time later and the sound of a key in the door shook Frances from her daydream. The door creaked open and her heart began to pound, scrambling to the top of the bed and bringing her knees to her stomach in a some what protective move. Light burst into the room, too painful to look at she threw an arm over her eyes and kept quiet as a figure entered.

"The fire went out," he said calmly. Loki, back to torture her further.

"If you do not wish to kill me Loki, you need to feed me," she spoke quietly, her mind focused on the idea of eating something.

The fire roared suddenly and Loki closed the door behind him, "I will feed you, but you can wait a little longer can't you Frances?"