joyified

"Jotunhiem?" I whispered, as if to beg that I had misheard and mistaken his swift utterance for some other realm. But I knew that I had not, and the slight nod that he allowed confirmed the slow moving virus of pressure that flooded my stomach. I squeezed my torso tighter as if to press the sickening feeling from my body, but to no avail. His eyes had left the scars that graced my forehead, now waiting with patience as they bore into the opposite wall. I stood, studying him awhile, unsure that I had truly stepped into reality when my foot first hit the stone floor of my home. But with every moment of prolonged silence that seemingly stretche

I was brought to silence at his words as sudden realization overtook me. I closed my eyes as his words sunk deep into the crevices of my mind, their true intention winding through me, unforgiving. He meant to use me. For what purpose, I knew not. I was left with nothing- no understanding- and yet, it was clear to me that he meant to use me with the knowledge that I might not return with the breath of life still frequent upon my lips. But I was allowed a choice, was I not? I was allowed some will in my own actions, some rabbit hole in which to escape. My purpose lay upon my ability to trust him with my life- my ability to unhand my own soul a

Light met closed eyes as voices permeated my ears. I did not wish to open them, for I knew whose face my eyes would meet upon their opening, and I did not wish to find the match to the drunken breath that burned my nostrils. A sharp prod to the ribs forced a stifled cry from my lips as I allowed my eyes to open and fell back, cringing in protection of the next blow. My brother had awoken from his drunken stupor and found me unconscious in the valley where the God had left me, his words still echoing within my throbbing head. Before the blow could follow through, I felt sharp fingers lift me by the worn cloth of my dress, the stench of mead h

I returned my gaze to his as he spoke, his words lighting memories in my mind. A soft voice, gentle and clear; it had been my guide through death's clutches and returned my soul into the realm of life. Pale green, soft and misty. A comfort to my troubled mind and a veil from the cold. "She paid in blood for that which she fought for. Her life was taken swiftly and painfully- an image of purity." His voice fell to a whisper, soft and flowing like the ocean tides. "The fool of a child- the son of kings, begged for her life." He smirked, drawing his furs over his shoulder for warmth. "And it was given." I drew a sharp breath at his words. I c