Amara Freyadottir, the heir to the throne of Vanaheim, has never been one for royal trivialities. She would much rather spend her days exploring the lands of Vanaheim and Asgard, finding places to read, and having fun with her best friend, Loki. How...
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"the scenes from her prophetic dream are replaying in her mind at an incredible rate, flashing in front of her eyes so it is all she can seem to see."
AMARA CANNOT EXPLAIN how absolutely sick of canned food she is. For as long as she has been down here, her only options have been corn, beans, and sliced beets. There had been a can of peaches early on, but that was one of the first things she ate upon realizing there was no escaping the cell. She regrets that decision greatly, yearning for the taste of something sweet, or, rather, the taste of anything that isn't corn, beans, or beets.
The worst part about being locked in the cell is not the food, however. It is the absence of the awareness of time.
Is it daytime or nighttime? What day of the week is it? How long has she been down here, exactly? Several days? A week, two? She has absolutely no way of knowing, as there is no natural light that penetrates the stone walls she is confined in.
Her mind has been wandering in boredom, and most of her thoughts are of her mother. Why would she do this to her? What reason is there for keeping her completely locked away from the world? Amara trusts her mother enough to know that it must be for her safety, but at the same time she has always known her mother to be honest with her about the severity of a dangerous situation, and since no situation has ever been severe enough to warrant an imprisonment for Amara, she really has no idea what to think.
She fights back a groan as she forces down one more bite of beans before pushing away the can. She lies back on the mattress with a huff, her hands laying on top of her stomach. She has slept away so much of her time in the cell, yet she still feels incredibly tired nearly all the time.
Against her mind's wishes, her eyes drop closed and she begins to drift off into a light sleep.
* * * *
"Amara... Amara, can you hear me?"
The voice is so faint that at first, she simply mistakes it for her own mind. It takes her a moment to realize that the voice is nowhere near her own.
"Amara, can you hear me?!"
Her eyes fly open when she realizes exactly whose voice it is.
"Loki!" she yells, scrambling up from her mattress and looking around the cell. "Yes, yes I can hear you! Where are you?!"
Loki's voice is full of relief when he speaks next. His voice doesn't seem to come from a particular area, she realizes - instead, it seems to be coming from everywhere, surrounding her like a thick blanket.
"Alright, Amara, listen to me very carefully. The cell you are in is called the Illusionary Cell - it is an imprisonment of your mind, not your body. I can get you out, but it will most likely be very loud and very bright. Is that alright?"
"Yes, that's fine!" she yells, not knowing where to look when she speaks. "Just please, get me out of here!"
"I will, darling, I will. Give me a few moments and I'll have you out."
As soon as Amara hears those words, a loud whooshing begins to sound from all around her, as if she has been swept into a tornado. Her hands fly to her ears protectively. A moment later, light begins streaking in through minuscule cracks in the stone wall. It is the brightest light she has ever seen, causing her to screw her eyes shut against it. Both the whooshing and light continue to grow in strength until they overtake all of her senses. She may scream, but it is too loud for her to be certain.
Then, all of a sudden, it is dim and quiet once again. A second later, she hears his voice directly in front of her, feels his touch on her arms.
She opens her eyes, cautiously lowering her hands away from her ears. Her eyes scan the room only to find that she is in a barren glass cell, the door obviously broken into. Loki kneels in front of her, smiling in the slightest.
"Welcome back," he says, his hands coming to hold hers. And as much as Amara wants to say something, she can only seem to stare at him.
The scenes from her prophetic dream are replaying in her mind at an incredible rate, flashing in front of her eyes so it is all she can seem to see. Loki mercilessly launching an alien attack on helpless Midgard. Loki fighting his brother with the intent to kill him. Loki choking her to death, their centuries of friendship and love seemingly erased.
Loki inches from her face, both his hands cupping her cheeks as he looks at her with nothing but concern in his eyes. "Amara, are you alright?"
Her eyes snap up to meet his for the first time, full of conflict and uncertainty. He stares at her with concern and confusion.
After a moment, she forces a nod, pushing herself to stand. "Y-yes... Yes, thank you, Loki."
He helps her to stand on wobbling legs, obviously aware of something being wrong. He doesn't have time to ask before Amara speaks up again. "Where am I?"
"The Asgardian dungeons. It was the safest place for you while you were incapacitated, I presume," Loki answers. "Are you sure you're alright?"
"I'm fine," Amara claims, beginning to talk clumsy steps out of the cell. "I will be even better once I finally get some answers out of my mother."
Before she can get any further, Loki rushes in front of her and takes her arms. She looks up at him with an unusual shock in her eyes. She makes a heartbreaking realization then; her mind wants her to be afraid of Loki.
"I know you want answers," he begins slowly, choosing each word carefully, "I do, as well... but I need your help with something first."
Amara furrows her eyebrows, asking a silent question.
Loki sighs, looking around the room for inspiration before elaborating. "I... I need to test a theory that I have, and I cannot do it without your help. After that, I will help you find your answers, I promise, but..." He sighs, shaking his head. "I-I need to do this, Amara... Please help me to."
No, Amara's mind instantly tells her. Whatever this is could lead to the prophecy coming true - don't do it.
But then she looks into Loki's eyes and sees the look of true desperation they harbor. A desperation that she has seen so many times under so many different circumstances. A desperation that spawns from confusion and yearns for answers, for the truth. The whole truth.
A desperation that is the sole reason why Amara cannot deny him.
Against her better judgment, Amara relents and nods. "Okay," she says, voice barely above a whisper. "Okay..."
She feels wrong about the agreement as soon as she makes it, but she knows there is no turning back now.
