Loki's Daughter, Mortem and Mischief

Chapter Five

HELA'S POINT OF VIEW
I felt terrible.

When my father looked me dead in the eyes and told me that he was disappointed, I felt like I had acquired the flu, watched a puppy die, and failed a test all at the same time. I truly wished that he would've kept yelling at me and told me he was angry. I wished he told me to go "straight to bed" or that he "didn't want to look at me". But no, he had to be disappointed. Which frankly, was even worse.

I couldn't be angry at him if he was just disappointed. Instead, I had to feel sorry. And sorry, I felt. I had so badly wanted to figure this mess of papers out, to get to the bottom of my father's obsession. But I had come out empty handed, and I was none the wiser for it. I felt stupid for even thinking I could have outsmarted him. And god, I felt dumb for not even thinking about the spells he would cast to protect his stuff. All I had gotten out of this endeavor was a pair of very blistered hands.

My father kneeled in front of me, tending to my wounds just as my mother would've. He was being too nice to me. Hell, he was always this kind to me. And yet, I had completely betrayed his privacy and sent him into a panic. Truly, I was doing a great job of repaying his tenderness for me. I could hardly do more than look down at him, just sitting silently with tears rolling down my cheeks.

"How many times do I have to say sorry until you aren't disappointed anymore?" I asked softly, sniffling quite pathetically.

"Darling," he sighed, "I know this better than anyone, simply saying sorry doesn't mean a thing."

"Why?" I questioned as he finished wrapping up my hands.

"Well," he said before sitting upon his desk, "I know that I've told people sorry even when I didn't mean it. And you are your father's daughter, who's to say you wouldn't do the same?"

"Because I feel bad, I really do," I insisted, "I'm sorry, I-"

"Just listen, I'm trying to teach you something," My father persisted before he explained, "If you're truly sorry, behavior should change. Your actions are what make up for your wrong doing, not your words."

"What could I do to make it up to you?" I asked quickly, "I'll do anything, I'll even take up another shift in the fishery."

"Hela," he sighed, "You know it's not that. I'm not trying to punish you here, or even put you in some sort of debt to me."

"I feel like I'm being punished," I argued.

He rubbed his face, taking a moment to think. I could tell that at this moment, I was only exasperating him.

"I have apologized just about a billion times in my life," he began, his voice soft and succinct, "But I probably only meant it a handful of the times I've said sorry. That doesn't mean I didn't feel bad in the moment, though. In fact, I felt terrible. I was angry that I was caught, or annoyed that I had gotten in trouble. I was apologizing because I felt sorry for myself. Do you understand?"

"I'm not just sorry for myself," I said, hardly even realizing that I was lying through my teeth, "I'm sorry I scared you, really."

"I'm sure you are," he said with a nod, "Sorry that you scared me so much that now I'm disappointed in you."

"But-"I attempted before he quickly shut me down with a simple shh.

"I think it's best if we turn in for the night," he said as he stood up, "It's far past midnight and I would love to sleep just a bit before the rooster crows."

I nodded and followed him out the door. My heart sank all the way down to my feet. That awful feeling still remained despite my profuse apologizing.

"Now please, bunny," he said, shutting the door behind us, "Just go to bed. You look tired."

"I will," I promised softly, dragging my feet to my room.

"Goodnight, dear," he said as he retreated to bed, "Love you always."

Love you always. UGH. As soon as I closed my door behind me, I grabbed a pillow and pressed my face into it. I wanted to yell and scream and cry. I was so incredibly frustrated, I couldn't handle it.

For once in my life, I just wanted to be in trouble. To have my father be angry at me, enraged enough to not want to talk to me. That would've made it all the easier. Eventually, his anger would be melt away and I would be back to square one with no problem. I would be able to simply try my scheme again, figure out his madness.

But no. No, he had to be disappointed. And he just had to be a good enough father to try and teach me a lesson out of all of this.

Sometimes I think it would be easier if we weren't so alike. Then, at the very least I'd be able to get away with more. Now, he can see straight though my lies and can always tell when something is up. I have no secrecy! With me as his carbon copy, I couldn't get him angry. He understood my motives far too well for him to get angry. It was annoying.

Laying in my bed, I stared up at my ceiling, just stewing on the way I felt. I was angry, frustrated, sad, and annoyed all at the same time. My heart felt heavy and I had an awful pit in my stomach. I wanted desperately to get out of this rut. But how?

As I laid in bed, I came up with two options for myself. First, I could easily make it up to him somehow. I could show interest in his studies and allow him the opportunity to properly explain himself. By showing restraint and taking the time to listen, I could show my Father that I was truly sorry. And all the while, I could also show him that I could be trusted with his secrets. Perhaps I could even show him that I could be an asset to whatever he was working on.

But then, there was option two. I could forget about being sorry altogether. Despite being caught, I still deserved to know what was going on it that little office. My father had been keeping secrets from me and keeping an extremely dangerous device within my home. Was what I did so awful? No. All I was doing was trying to put an ease to my overbearing curiousity. The curiousity that my father had planted in the first place. Did I truly have anything to actually be sorry for, or was this all my Father's fault in the end? I could easily screw being sorry and pursue my curiousity without his consent.

Sitting in the pitch black of my room, I weighed each option whilst all the while the pit in my stomach only grew.

What was I going to do?