A new day ascends over London.
Mechelle's phone chimes and she snatches it from her back pocket, viewing the notification.
Fr: Christina
I need you to come in early. Be here at 12, please.
This seems to happen more often, than not.
Mechelle was beginning to think she had no idea what the word "relax" meant, or what it felt like, for that matter. At least, here lately.
Preparing for the day ahead, Mechelle readies herself.
How long has it been, since she had a vacation?
In fact, how long had it been since she were able to relax, for a full decent hour, uninterrupted.
Flicking her wrist, she checks the time.
11:48am. Shit.
Shoving her wallet into the bag, she scurries out of the door, securing it behind her.
The dark sky looms above her, as the wind howls in her ear.
"A storm?"
Her heels tap against the cement, rhythmically. Her body is strained, as she skips through the street.
Although, the storm that had been brewing above her, was no ordinary storm.
Nearly blown off her feet, Mechelle takes a moment to catch herself.
Abruptly, her vision darkens.
. . .
Rousing from unconsciousness. The cool silken sheets against her skin relaxes her, for a brief moment.
Her eyes pop. The ceiling above stretches out before her. As she examines her surroundings, taking note of the rich delicacies. The room is drowned in gold, with a glimmer of jewels.
The dresser that sat nose of her, had been one of the few pieces that hadn't been showered in gold, along with the round table and chair that rest in the corner.
It didn't take a genius, to figure out Mechelle had been lying in an unfamiliar room. A girl could only dream of such riches. Although, that girl wasn't necessarily her.
As she attempts to take in her current setting, a voice could be heard, from the shadows.
"You've come to."
Stepping forward, an unfamiliar face, is revealed.
It had been obvious that time had aged him. He carried his staff with pride, in his right hand, as he approached the cautious female. His clothes clung to him, leather and metal, all in one. His head held high, as his chest hung forward.
"Who--" Mechelle began, only to be interrupted.
"Odin. King, of Asgard." He spoke.
King, of Asgard?
His words were familiar.
Mechelle recalled her conversation with Jane and Erik.
Asgard is one of the Nine Realms. Home of the Æsir, tribe of Gods.
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Fanfiction**Editing In Process** "The God of mischief." "You speak those words, as if you know who I am." He grins. Captured by the God of Mischief, Mechelle seeks to find a way home. Uncertain as to why she's a prisoner on Asgard, she attempts to hold he...
