Chapter Three: 'Til Death Do Us Part
Loki slumped against the door, too exhausted to continue fighting against the immobile barrier. Resting his head against the thick wood, Loki closed his eyes and sighed. It would be useless to fight. Anything he said or did could anger Death and risk putting Sigyn in danger. Heimdall could never reach Loki here, not while Death reigned supreme.
Through half-lidded eyes, Loki stared ahead into the room. In front of him, a large canopy bed curved upward toward the arched ceiling. Four black tree trunks made the bed posts and branched together in a thick foliage of green leaves and tiny glowing flowers. Vines snaked around the room, creating an intricate wallpaper along the brimstone walls. Moss covered the floor with a soft green carpet.
Across from the bed, along the same wall as the door, sat a large, dark wooden dresser. An oval-shaped mirror rested on top of it, eerily reflecting the room in the polished glass. Beside the mirror, a metal candle holder contorted in a series of flower-shaped stems, each holding a burning candle in the middle of the petals.
On the left side of the bed, double-wide doors covered a wardrobe. On the right, silky curtains framed a bay window, and another tree branch shaped into a window seat below it.
Curious, Loki pushed himself to his feet and strode over to the window. Outside, the sky had a hint of green in the darkened atmosphere. Below the window, a gnarled forest stretched on as far as he could see. The inky forest offered no signs of civilization except for a few sparkles of yellow light far off in the distance.
Lifting a knee to rest on the window seat, he placed his hands flat against the tinted glass in a hopeful search for an opening or a crack in the panels. Unable to find a latch to open it, he pushed against the middle pane. It didn't budge. Stepping fully onto the seat, he turned and hunched his shoulder before ramming it into the window.
Nothing.
Growing frustrated, he stepped off the seat and wandered over to the dresser. Picking up the metal candelabra, he removed the flickering candles and set them on the chiffonier. Then, brandishing the metal holder like a club, he returned to the window and bashed it into the glass.
This time, a surge of energy sent him flying backward into one of the bedposts. The candelabra landed on the mossy carpet with a damped 'thud', unharmed by the blast. Wincing from the impact, Loki slumped onto the floor.
So much for an escape route.
Fingers digging into the moss, he squeezed and gritted his teeth in pain as he stared at the window. He couldn't break down the door. The window wouldn't shatter. Some magical forces kept him from escaping. Even if he did manage to climb out the window, at this height, he might fall and injure himself. And then, he would have to traverse a forest containing who knows what while having no way to leave the Afterlife on his own accord especially when powerless.
The only way out of this place required marrying Death and then siring a child. He had no idea if she would let him leave afterward. Nobody could outrun Death. Nobody could hide from Death. If he escaped, he would spend the rest of his life looking over his shoulder and jumping at shadows, too afraid to close his eyes in case Death appeared to claim him in his sleep.
She ruled the Afterlife, and if he angered her while alive, she could make him suffer for all eternity once his time came.
He would have to bargain—strike a compromise to appease her because nobody could defeat Death in even the fairest of fights. If siring a child meant Death would spare him, Sigyn, and his family, then perhaps it would be best to give in and let her take what she wanted. The wedding would happen whether he wanted it or not; challenging her would only make everything worse.
Between the bed and window, a door on his left beckoned him to enter. A feeble groan escaped his lips as he hauled himself to his feet and wobbled over to the door.
Relief flooded him when it fell open without a struggle, leading into an intricate bathroom. A few steps below, a tiny waterfall flowed down into a small pond alight with more glowing flowers on floating lilypads. Roots extended from the tree planted in the middle of the water, circling the room to form a toilet, a washstand, a towel rack, and a smaller version of the dresser in the bedroom.
The flowers growing in the tree branches smelled heavenly, drawing him in. Loki let it lure him toward the water like one reeling in a fish. He stopped at the water's edge to peel off his clothes and set them in a pile away from the bath. The instant the burbling water touched his skin, he felt himself become lighter and his exhaustion melted away into a numb relation.
Sighing, Loki lazily swam over to find a seat on a submerged root and rest against the tree trunk. A bar of soap floated by on a lilypad, and Loki grabbed it to scrub off the grime of the eventful day. Once clean, he leaned back and closed his eyes.
Tomorrow, he would have to make a decision—one literally between life and death.
-oOo-
Vincent had been working for Death ever since he came into being millennia ago. In his time, he had seen Death do dubious things, and never once mentioned his disease to her face for fear of retaliation. Death, like most cosmic entities, had a rather unpredictable streak, and she had killed reapers for less. The one thing she hated the most was anyone questioning the importance of the sacred balance and the methods she employed to maintain it.
This decision of hers marked a new beginning toward something of which Vincent did not approve. Created as a reaper at the dawn of time, he worked for Death, collecting souls and bringing them into the Afterlife. He had no other purpose, and so he did his job and did it well. He knew full well his job often handled difficult cases such as a child passing away in a tragic accident or a well-loved elder succumbing to a terminal illness.
The sacred balance mattered, and he believed in it enough to keep all thoughts and concerns about his queen's decisions to himself. Even now, when she asked him to officiate a wedding for her, he agreed, knowing everything it entailed.
Death wanted an heir, and a powerful one at that, which meant finding a suitable partner. Vincent did not know what process she used to pick one, but judging by the buzz of excitement when a young god fell into the outer lands of the Afterlife, he knew a wedding soon follow. For reasons beyond his understanding, even Death required marriage to ensure the legitimacy of her heir and to erase all possibility of anyone ever claiming the throne. Vincent knew several of the death deities vied for the throne and only the sheer power of Death kept them from overthrowing their queen.
Power corrupts, and the numerous gods of deaths were not entirely satisfied ruling over one realm under the all-seeing authority of another. Even some of the reapers wished to take the throne for themselves but everyone knew they could not defeat Death. Sure, in the more mutinous factions, there were talks of imprisoning her, but for the sacred balance to continue unimpaired it meant leaving Death in charge of everything and accepting their roles.
Most of the Afterlife adored Death and did not question her ways. The news of a potential husband sent a ripple of anticipation throughout the capital of the Afterlife and into the connected realms beyond. As one of her trusted reapers, Death entrusted Vincent to fulfill the duties of wedding officiant.
The dawn broke and the wedding bells rang loudly in the towers high above the palace garden. Vincent stood beneath the wedding arch and held the sacred book of matrimony in steady hands. On either side of him, guards stood at attention, their scythe-shaped spears pointed at the sky, daring anyone in attendance to act out. Hoods obscured their faces and if not for the slight breeze rustling their leafy cloaks, they would look like statues. Dressed in their ceremonial regalia, their armour had vines twisted into the fabric and blackened metal. An extra flower pinned on their chest plates added some celebratory factor to their otherwise stoic sentry duties.
No maid of honor, bridesmaids, or groomsmen would attend the wedding. The lack of a wedding party surprised the crowd, which consisted mostly of the death gods, high-ranking reapers and officials, and a few well-regarded residents. The dais Vincent stood on allowed him to see the entrance of the ceremonial grounds and to study the faces of the attendees. Most of them looked happy, excited, impatient, or a mix of all three.
The only angry face in the entire ceremony stood on Vincent's left. The groom, dressed in a black robe decorated with an intricate design of vines, leaves, and roots depicting Yggdrasil on his chest, seethed in quiet anger. A metal, skull-shaped pin clasped his cloak together at the front. A dark green crown of flowing spikes similar to Death's crown sat nestled atop the groom's dark hair.
The groom's green eyes flashed and his jaw clenched in frustration, no doubt from failing to use whatever magic Death had blocked when he fist slipped through the veil separating the Afterlife from the land of the living. To ensure his compliance, a tangle of thorns clasped the groom's wrists together, effectively tethering him to the dais.
"It will be over soon," Vincent whispered to the groom.
Loki. His name is Loki, Vincent reminded himself.
Second prince of Asgard. God of Mischief. Sorcerer. And soon-be-unwilling-husband of Death herself.
If looks could kill and if Vincent could actually die, Loki's glare would have stabbed him a thousand times over. Swallowing a lump in his throat, Vincent's resolve broke first. He dropped his head to focus on the words printed in the book held aloft in his gloved hands.
He shouldn't be doing this. Loki didn't deserve any of this. In a reversed situation where the man forced the woman into an involuntary marriage to produce an heir, everyone would riot. They would want the man's head. They would string him up, cast him out, tear him down until only a shell of himself remained for others to shun forever.
Nobody protested the union here. Perhaps fear, loyalty, or respect for their Lady Death kept them from disputing the marriage. Perhaps they did not know the details of the wedding and assumed Loki stood before them as a willing participant instead of a man bound as a prisoner for his supreme master.
Anyone with half a mind could see the clear defiance in Loki's eyes and could tell by the way the thorns encircled his wrists that the young prince had not come here of his own volition. Vincent did not know whether an unwavering adoration of Death was worse than ignorance as an excuse for the crowd to turn a blind eye to Loki's situation.
Reapers did not have much knowledge of magic and only used their basic gifts of teleportation, near immorality, and the ability to traverse between the Afterlife and the land of the living to fulfill their duties as psychopomps. Nevertheless, despite the dampener placed intentionally by Death to suppress his magic, Vincent could feel the power flowing through Loki like a dormant volcano waiting to erupt. One small crack in the block, and the prince's magic would burst out.
It just needed a little assistance.
A chorus of music rang out, jostling Vincent from his musing. Everyone rose and turned toward the entrance of the garden. At the end of the stone path stood Death. Her black trumpet gown brushed the ground, fanning out around her feet in a long cathedral train of dark lace. Sheer long sleeves covered her arms, ending in a lacey flare.
Her bouquet of black nightshade and orange marigolds offered the only visible color on her person aside from the green crown tucked atop her hair. A black, floor-length veil obscured her expression as she moved down the path toward the altar.
The crowd fell into a hush, watching her glide along to the music. The trees around them bent down to sprinkle leaves and petals onto the path before her like a woodland flower girl. When she passed the last row of people and stepped onto the dais, the branches straightened again and became still.
Death stopped on Vincent's right side and peered at him expectantly, frowning when he hesitated. Up close, he could see a lock of her hair drifting along her cheek from where it came loose from her Spanish rose updo. Her lips were the same dark red as she usually wore.
Coughing to hide his concern, Vincent tugged at his collar and cleared his throat. Facing the crowd, he spread his arms in welcome. "Today, I welcome all of you to the glorious wedding of our Queen, Lady Death and Prince Loki!" Reading word-for-word the script written by scribes and preapproved by Death allowed him some relief in not improvising a speech on the spot. "We will begin the vows."
He motioned for Death to come closer because Loki refused to move. "If you would please hold each other's hands."
Death had to yank Loki's arms forward and grip him tight to keep him from pulling free. Wincing in sympathy, Vincent smoothed his expression and continued, hoping Death wouldn't notice his diminishing resolve.
"Please repeat after me, my queen," Vincent said, starting with the bride this time. Traditionally, the groom said his vows first but Loki pursed his lips and sneered when Vincent looked at him. He hoped Death would take the slight change as respect to her throne instead of hesitation.
"I, Death, take you, Loki, as my husband," Death repeated, her eyes boring holes into Loki's resentful expression. "I promise to share my life to create new ones, to love you above anyone else."
Vincent held out the rings in his upturned palm. Death's sharp fingers plucked a ring from the two. After pulling Loki's closed fist apart, she slipped the ring onto Loki's left ring finger and held his fingers open to prevent him from removing it.
"This ring symbolizes my loyalty to you, and together, nothing could break this bond," Death finished. She gave Vincent a small nod, beckoning him to continue.
"Prince Loki," Vincent turned to the stiff Asgardian. Loki's eyes flashed and his jaw clenched in an obvious display of defiance.
"Prince Loki," Vincent repeated, shoving down the thoughts swirling in his head. He couldn't end the ceremony now, not when Death glared at him and dug her fingernails into Loki's wrists hard enough to draw blood and keep him from moving.
Loki showed no sign of having heard Vincent's address, so Vincent leaned in to whisper into his ear, not caring about Death watching his every move, "It will be easier if you cooperate."
That earned him a scoff, and Vincent swore he saw something flare in the young man's eyes but it flickered out and died as quickly as it came. Loki's shoulders slumped ever so slightly, finally giving in. Yet he gritted his teeth and glared straight at the top of Death's veiled head in a final act of resistance.
"I, Loki," Loki began, his words coming slowly and through a clenched jaw, "take you…Death…"
The name sounded like a curse when Loki spat it out. To her credit, Death didn't react aside from a slight incline of her head; she just stayed silent and waited for him to finish.
"...as my…as my..." Here, Loki's stoic dissent started slipping. Vincent stared at the book to avoid watching Loki falter while struggling to speak the words that would forever bind him to Death.
"as my...w-w-wife." His eye twitched, visibly uncomfortable saying the vows. Vincent couldn't blame him. "I promise to share my life…to create…new ones, to love y-y-you…you…you…"
Judging by the way Loki reacted to the vows proclaiming Death as his wife, Vincent suspected there might be another woman involved. If true, then this entire situation would fall into ruin because, though bound through marriage, Loki could never love Death as his own. The marriage would fall apart and the anticipated heir would needlessly suffer from the lack of respect shared between husband and wife. Another reason for marriages to only happen between two loving partners, not someone forced into an unhappy union either through societal expectations or for fear of retribution from one of the most formidable cosmic entities.
Once again, the voice in his head reminded him of how wrong this all was. Loki didn't want to be here; he had another woman to love. Death should not have positioned herself between Loki and whatever lover he had nor treated him like a prized pet instead of a beloved husband.
No matter how he felt, Vincent had no way of stopping this. If he refused to continue the wedding, Death would find someone else to officiate. As much as he hated the position Death forced him in, Vincent knew Loki needed someone on his side. And from what he could tell, few in the Afterlife would risk their positions—and their lives—by helping Loki.
Vincent could do more alive than dead. He just needed to bide his time and figure out how to circumvent his queen unnoticed.
Death started to get annoyed at the delay. The trees around them whipped in the wind and the clouds above swirled in the beginnings of a storm. Dust flung up to strike their exposed skin, never touching Death. The attendees gasped and began whispering amongst themselves.
The shocked expressions in the crowd and the velocity of the storm increased every second Loki refused to continue. Any moment now, and Death could snap, annihilating them all. Using the book to shield himself from the stinging dirt, Vincent peered around the edges to watch Loki's reaction.
Loki paled, turning his already fair complexion into a washed-out sheen of stark fear.
"To love you…you…you…" Loki choked out, his eyes blinking rapidly against the onslaught, unable to bring his hands up to protect his face, "above all else."
Death released Loki's right wrist to let him grab the ring from Vincent's shaking palm. The reaper swore he saw her smirk when Loki slipped the ring onto her finger.
"This ring symbolizes my loyalty to you, and together, nothing can break this bond," Loki finished. Then he licked his lips and added, "Except for a divorce."
The ammendent onto the vows must not have bothered Death, because the storm lifted and the clouds parted to leave an inky, star-filled sky above the garden. The wind subsided into a gentle breeze, and the guests calmed down to stare wide-eyed at the dais.
Still clutching the book like a lifeline, Vincent peeked over the top of the bound pages at the couple.
"Are you forgetting something?" Death asked, all hints of anger gone.
His mind blanked for a moment and then caught up to him. "Uh, you may kiss the bride."
Death grinned and reached up to flip her veil over her head. Unobscured now, her brown eyes blinked lovingly at Loki. She snaked her hands around the back of Loki's neck and guided him down to her level. Loki stayed stiff the entire time, eyes scrunching in disgust as Death's lips locked over his.
The crowd, completely over their surprise at Death's sudden outburst, cheered. A flair of music pealed when the two broke apart. The vine around Loki's wrists loosened and fell to the floor, letting him step free from his spot.
Before he could turn tail and run, Death looped her arm through his elbow and hauled him down the steps. Everyone cheered when she marched down the aisle towards the palace, Loki struggling to match her hurried pace.
The guards at the door bowed at Death and her trembling husband. The newlyweds disappeared into the abyss, leaving Vincent to ponder what he had just done.
I went down a rabbit hole for wedding dresses, and now I'm really looking forward to my future wedding (if I ever (hopefully) find a guy). Most places will consider a marriage null/invalid/having no legal binding if one or both members of the wedding were physically incapable of giving consent or if consent was obtained by fraud or force. I've been to a lot of weddings, and thankfully, none of this happened at any of them.
Vincent is another reaper of my own creation. He appears in "A Little Bit of Mischief."
Also, I don't know if anyone else is getting messages from a bunch of random people about art commissions. At first, I thought it was touching, but now I realize it's probably just spam. It's gotten annoying though because I think I have a review or a legit message from someone genuine but it's just people (or bots, idk) promoting their art. I don't know how to stop getting them, so if you have any advice, please let me know because I'm kinda at my wit's end. If you want to make your own art for free, then go right ahead. Just know I'm a broke college kid; I can't pay for art. I apologize for this little rant; I don't know what to do about it other than ignore them.