Survivor's Guilt ~ A Marvel Story

~ 5 ~

I stared at my broken reflection in the mirror that hung delicately above my washroom sink. My hair hadn't been brushed in days and I felt numb.

None of that mattered to my father, however. In his mind, after the funeral this afternoon, we needed to have a celebration. When I'd asked why that was necessary he told me it was because the family needed to show everyone that we were staying strong together. 

Were we not allowed to grieve?

Getting out of bed the past three days had been the most difficult thing I've ever had to do. Getting out of bed knowing that my brother wasn't going to be at breakfast that morning or dinner that night was more painful than any injury I'd received in training. 

I stepped into the warm shower, letting the water drench me from head to toe. I'd dreaded getting into the shower but now that I was here, it felt nice to be clean. 

Just as I started to feel alright, I remembered why I was getting a shower, and why I was getting ready for today. 

My brother's funeral is today.

I'd given up holding back tears. The water falling from the top of my glass shower mixed with the saltiness of my tears. 

I turned the water off and stepped out, covering myself with a white towel. I tied the towel above my collarbone so it stayed put while I grabbed a second towel and began to towel dry my hair. 

The shower had temporarily darkened my white hair a light brown, weighing it down with water. I threw both towels into a bin that some of my lady's maids would take to have washed at the end of the week.

I opened the door of my bathroom that led into my room. I walked into my large closet next, finding a long black dress that I was supposed to wear to the funeral today. It was sleeveless and straight, pooling around my feet in a black silk pond. 

There was a cloak that was attached to the dress that I hadn't realized was there until I put the gown on. The cloak didn't attach itself to the shoulders because there wasn't any fabric to attach itself to. Instead, I was sewed on the back of my dress, covering the zipper. About halfway down the cloak, there were two hoops on either side. The hoops were meant to slide onto my middle finger so that when I moved my arms, they resembled the wings of a dragon; the animal that I was assigned. The way Loki was assigned a snake. The sharp angles of the dress and the golden jewelry that shined in even the darkest of rooms made me feel as though I was another creature entirely. Not a goddess.

Even on the saddest of days, I was supposed to wake up and put on the most extravagant dress to prove where I sat on the hierarchy. The worst part was none of it mattered. I could prove time and time again that I was strong. Time and time again that I could fight like my brothers but in my father's eyes, it didn't matter. He would never see me as their equal. 

I will prove to him, to all of them, that I can fight and I will prove that I can rule.

I turned on my heels, letting my dress follow me out of the room.

As I was about to walk out of my room, something caught my eye. My brows furrowed as I saw a metallic tray sitting on my neatly made bed. 

I hadn't made my bed this morning and I certainly hadn't ordered food or tea. 

Slowly, I approached it only to find that there wasn't food or drink on the engraved tray. Instead, there was a simple note. 

The letter crinkled as I picked it up, inspecting the black ink that had neatly been painted across the paper. My heart stuttered as I read what was written.

Glad to be home, sister. Made your bed for you.
Love, Angela.

Angela? She was home?