Sylv had been escorted to a holding room, or, better known as a jail cell. They did not want her to think she was being considered hostile, but that it was merely for her own protection. Naturally she knew it was a lie, but to disagree would not be wise.
It was a smallish square-like room with only the most basic of ammenities. A bed, a latrine hidden behind a small wall, and a desk with a chair. How odd, she thought. She noticed a pen and paper on the desk. She sat down on the chair, wanting to write something. Something. Anything. Perhaps a message to Loki that I am okay. Perhaps a poem. Oh what am I thinking? Like it matters at all. He would never get it, this paper will simply be shredded and discarded from memory.
She locked her fingers and rested her head on them, as she turned her head to gaze out the tiny and secure porthole.
Think, Sylv. Why are you here?
She tapped her finger nails on the metal desk. The rhythm of the tapping resurrected a memory...
The great trumpets roared outside along the street and towards the palace. People ran around in celebration, pouring sand from the rooftops onto the crowds, as is traditional. All the markets were closed today, any sort of trading or business came to a halt. The entire continent seemed to have gathered for this very day.
The land of Kvivik had a new leader this day, Queen Dvoria. She hailed a great beauty and supposedly glorious power. Her mother had died unexpectedly after being poisoned by a traitorous handmaiden.
Though the mourning of the last Queen had ended only a week ago, today is a day of happiness and joy. Queen Dvoria had quite a bit to attend to, as the nearby nation of Njolon was preparing to invade and Kvivik had very little time to prepare.
Sylv herself was not celebrating. She had been banished here only some weeks ago and did not know the 'glory' of the previous or new Queen, and so her master decided she would work instead. She didn't mind, being around such happy people while she was miserable didn't sound any good anyway.
It hit mid-day and all the peasants and common folk made their way towards the palace, to witness the ceremony. Sylv was glad that all the noise would quiet down, even though her simple job of sewing the books of backs did not require much attention. She was last in the shop, her master leaving her the key to lock up and join the celebrations later. But she had no intentions of doing so.
After she placed the last book upon the shelf, for the first time since finding a master to take her in and give her work, realized she liked that little building. It was quiet, dark, a good place to gather your thoughts. It reminded her of the endless libraries on Asgard, where you could take any book you wish and go out into the fields or gardens and spend the whole day just studying or gazing upon the flowers and breathing in the invigoratig smells. Peace and quiet, it seemed to be her one and only wish, and it also seemed to be the thing she rarely got.
After locking the door, she looked around for any guards that may question her for not being where everyone else is. The smooth street lay empty, only the faint roar of the crowd could be heard in the distance. She quickly crept over the alley wall near her workplace and straight into the green grass. She sprinted across it, the fresh rain last night making the ground uncomfortably muddy. Nonetheless, being caught out-of-bounds from the city could potentially cost her the small bit of freedom she had.
She did not stop running until she reached the first trees, and for the first time, worrying that her snow-colored waist-length hair might attract attention. She grabbed it and tied it up with left over string from the books.
The valley's green grass and purple skies made it seem as if no evil or secrets could touch this place in a thousand years; yet just on the outskirts lay a dark forest, which very few venture into. However, this is exactly where Sylv headed into.
The great roots stuck out of the ground, nearly tripping her every so often, and the foliage covering said roots did not help. But she finally slowed her pace, occasionally take a cautious glance behind her. Her floor length work-dress caught on a twig, ripping it slightly. She panicked, only praying that her master would not notice later.
After 10 minutes of walking a steady pace upon a nearly gone trail, she turned into a vast gathering of ominous trees within the forest. These trees were different than the ones on the outside, much darker, as if they had evil souls trapped within their bark.
She made it in, having to occasionally bend very low to sneak underneath a frightening branch, and found it.
'It', of course, was her secret. A small collection of trees, a cozy cave leading underneath a tree and a hidden stash of her personal belongings. It was the only thing preventing her from ever trying to escape this god-awful planet. The knowing that she is still a goddess, even if no one here knows it.
She crept under the tree into the hole under the tree. Little pockets of light poked into this hole from the roots, helping her see her way. She felt around the dirt and felt the box. She lifted the lid up and took out a box out with it. She carried it up into the semi-light above.
Rarely could she find the opprotunity to sneak her way here, but each time she did, she felt the stinging pain of memories. She opened the chest and felt it once more.
Asgard. Her former life on it was one that she loved and missed dearly. She was a very skilled dagger wielder, some even went so far to call her an assassin. Though she had indeed done some shady work for Asgard in older times, she lost interest in it quite some time ago.
She took out two Sonnin daggers, beautifully decorated and forged with unbreakable and undulling metals. They were blessed with the magic of the Tiy tribes, powerful and ancient people were they, and equally mysterious.
Next to those were ten Shuriken, also known as throwing stars. A friend she had made on another planet made them for her as a gift. They are extremely dangerous, and perfectly crafted, for they have unmatched speed and damage.
Beneath that, she lifted up her traditional wear. The clothing she had worn nearly daily on Asgard. It was a cloud white, trimmed stunningly with black and red. The hood fell over the eyes, so as to prevent the enemy from seeing them and attempting to read her emotions. The chestpeice seemed like a simple cloth with red straps on the outside, but underneath was a nearly impenetrable leather tunic. The gloves were made of a similar material, but leaving only her fingers free.
One thing she had always regretted about this attire, is that while her feet, calves, knees and lower thigh were protected by an enduring long-boot, her thighs were always suseptible to attack, having only a flimsy black cloth to protect her from whatever may want to attack.
She put these all aside and looked at the bottom of the chest. A small trinket sit at the bottom. She stared at it a moment before grabbing it.
It was a necklace, the chain and pendant being made of the finest metal known to Asgard. The pendant was decorated with precious gems. The price of this necklace would be enough to buy the Queen Dvoria from her seat.
Sylv held it in her hands as if it would break with the simplest movement, though only the Mjolnir could even chip this. It was the norse symbol for love.
She ran her thumb across it and was tempted to wear it, but if she was caught with it, she did not even want to think of the punishment.
Sylv sighed and nearly cried. How petty her life seemed to her now.
Her banishment was not her fault, she had been wrongly accused of assassinating an ambassador. At the moment that man died, she was in the woods outside of the great city, keeping her senses sharp by hunting the animals.
She took her dagger and stabbed it into the ground, thinking about that day. Thor had seen her hunting for fun. He knew she didn't do it. But he did nothing to stop an innocent woman from a life being looked at as scum. She would get her revenge. One day...