To Love A God

What Happens Now?

She sat at the table, a plate full of food sitting in front of her, but she couldn’t manage to eat a bit of it.  A man had come to get her that morning, a well outfitted guard, to escort her to the dining room to have breakfast. She poked at the waffle on her plate, her chin resting in her hand. She was too distracted to eat. All Rika could think of was Loki and her dream.

Her cheeks turned crimson at the memory of it. She put her hand over her eyes, trying to cover herself.  She couldn’t believe it still haunted her. She tightened her crossed legs, trying with all her might to stop the ache that started to grow in the pit of her . . . she blushed, moving on from that thought. She flipped her waffle over on her plate, why couldn’t she stop thinking of Loki? 

She let her fork drop on her plate and let her face drop into her hands. She took a deep breath and commanded her mind to shutup, she needed to focus on finding a way out to get to her sister.

She pushed her plate away and leaned back in her chair. Her simple, quarter sleeved, knee high blue dress  that Loki had given her was soft against her skin and, to her surprise, was actually rather comfortable. She wore a pair of black flats and pinned her hair back with a blow a shade lighter than her dress. She actually felt really pretty.

She looked sideways at the guard, wondering if she had any chance of getting passed him. She frowned, probably not, he was armed with some kind of automatic weapon she didn’t recognize, not to mention she had no idea where she was or how to get out of there. 

She sighed, “There’s not a way I could get you to let me out of here, is there,” she asked the guard, not really expecting an answer.

As she guessed, he made no response, didn’t even turn to face her, or even shake his head. She shrugged her shoulders, it was worth a shot. She looked around the room, taking in the layout. 

It wasn’t very large, really, but it was large enough to hold fifteen people, tops. The ceiling was about eight to nine feet high, colored cream to match the off white walls. It was bare. No windows and only two doors, one to the kitchen and one to the hallway which led to her room and many others. The table was long enough for ten, four one each side and two on either ends. She sat on the end closest to the hallway door.

She looked back at the guard and stood, noticing he came to attention and watched her when she did so, “I guess I’m ready to go to my next chore,” she huffed. The guard turned and opened the door for her, letting her through first. Two more were in front of her, leading her down the hall as the one from the dining room took up the rear.

Just as she thought, they took her back to her room. The one to her left opened her door and she walked in, ignoring the sound of the lock after the guard closed it. She looked around, sighing. She was going to die of boredom. At least that’s what she thought until she saw a book lying on the vanity across the room from her. She slipped out of her shoes and walked toward the desk that held the book. 

It was old, of that she was certain. The binding was a cracked and aged black leather, rough to the touch, with golden patterns etched in the corners and along the sides, making never ending knots. The pages were ragged and yellowed from their exposure to the elements over the however many years it had been. It was beautiful, she thought as she gingerly picked it up and flipped the cover open.

There was no writing on any of the pages, she noticed as she flipped through the aged paper. She closed it and looked at the spin, looking for any title, but found none. Why would someone have bound this book and not written in it? She softly ran her finger over the cover, feeling the age and history in the roughness of the leather. It was truly the most beautiful book she had ever seen.