I Kneel to No One

Interrogations and Epithets

Beth POV:

My hands were growing numb.

              I estimated it had been at least a day since the visit from that creepy man that called himself Loki. I had been sitting in the dark for hours on end, singing random Hamilton and Disney songs to keep from going mad with boredom. The ropes binding my wrists were exsanguinating my hands to the point where I could barely feel them. I tried to move them to keep the blood flowing, but they quickly started burning from the friction against the ropes. Most people would find it impossible to be bored while kidnapped by a possible Norse god, but then again, I wasn't most people.

              With no window or clock, I had no way of knowing how much time had passed, and that's just while I was awake. I had no idea how long I'd been unconscious- or what had happened to me while I was. The thought horrified me.

              As I sat there trying not to contemplate my fate, I busied myself, exploring the knotted ropes tying my hands behind me by touch. The knots were well tied by someone who knew what they were doing, but unfortunately for them, so did I. I twisted my hands inward and pulled, not hard but persistently. Where the ropes crossed between my wrists in the newly created loop, I tugged back and forth with alternating hands, hoping to create friction and fray the rope.

              I did that for several minutes. Before long, I was delighted to feel frayed wisps of twine brushing against my knuckles. I fought not to cheer aloud as I blew a brown curl out of my face, for fear of alerting my captor (or captors) to my small victory. Progress, Beth! You're okay, you've got this!

              Grinning to myself, I tossed my curls (which now more closely resembled a mop of frizz) out of my face. I was about to resume tugging on my bindings again when I heard keys jangling in the lock of my cell door. I instantly unwound the taut ropes from my wrists, and let them once again go just slack enough to let in a trickle of blood flow. My eyes darted to the door as it creaked open. Expecting the blue-eyed man with the bow that had come through the door before, I was unsettled to see the man who claimed to be Loki stride through the doorway, this time holding his fancy glowing death stick. The blue glow from the stone in the center of its jagged blade cast dramatic shadows on his face, lending a menacing cast to his features. My eyes widened.

              Okay, just act helpless and obedient and hopefully he'll buy it, my brain whispered. Once he trusts me enough to untie me, I can look for a way out.

              "You used the door this time." I sounded more surprised than I meant to. I wanted to sound sarcastic and indifferent, but even to my own ears, my voice sounded pathetic.

              Loki (I'm just going to call him that for now) quirked an eyebrow. "Indeed. How observant of you," he countered.

              So he knows sarcasm. How nice. They teach that on Asgard, or wherever you're from?

              "They do, in fact." I stared at him. What?

              "Teach sarcasm on Asgard," he clarified.

              I gaped as a sick feeling began to form in the pit of my stomach. "I... didn't say anything," I said in a low voice, my trepidation growing by the second.

              "You didn't need to, my dear. I can hear your thoughts," Loki informed me, looking positively delighted at the terror on my face. It wasn't there for long, though, as it quickly shifted to disbelief.

              "No way!" I insisted with a scoff, refusing to believe it. "That's not possible!"

              "Oh, but it is," Loki hissed. "I can hear every defiant thought in your tiny mortal brain. Every moronic escape plan, every scared whimper you hold back- nothing is hidden from me."