Pet, had been the word he used when he silenced her.
The word resounding within her head.
Brushing her fingers through her bi-color hair, she releases an exasperated sigh.
Frustration, conquering her.
She, was no one's pet.
An abrupt knock on the opposite side, drawing her out of her daze, "I'm coming in." A woman chides, before sliding the door open.
"I'm Cerovella. I'll be your caretaker this evening." She informs.
"Cerovella," Mechelle repeats, "What do you mean by 'caretaker'?"
"The King has assigned me to watch over you. I had been informed to keep a close eye on you. As he does not trust the actions of a mortal. In the end, you are a priso--"
"I know what I am." Mechelle tiffs, "And, I am not a prisoner."
Her anger boiling just beneath the surface.
Cerovella stands, silent. As an eerie tension brews. A sense of guilt claims her, but only for a brief moment.
The wave of silence is broken, "I've been informed to aid you in your physical appearance. While you may be a mortal, you will not dress as such on Asgard."
Mechelle didn't intend to argue.
Would It matter?
No one would hear her, either way.
. . .
Evening fell upon Asgard and the clock continues ticking.
Although she hadn't been able to relax, during her 'makeover', the bath itself has been enough to ease her anxiety.
Words hadn't been exchanged during their time together and Cerovella had been certain to keep her distance, aside from applying the mortal's facial cosmetics and manipulating her tresses.
The cosmetics against her skin made her feel odd. She had never been fond of makeup. It wasn't her forte. Many women claim that it makes them feel beautiful, but for Mechelle, It had been the opposite. She felt weighed down, awkward.
The only sort of makeup she had ever worn, is eyeliner. That, she hadn't mind and the cleanup was easy.
The end result shocked Cerovella, herself.
The beauty of the woman nose of her, is exquisite.
Her Goddess crown atop her head brought out her cheekbones and freckles. The winged eyeliner located on her top lid drew out the brown in her eyes.
The cosmetics used had given her a natural appearance, with a hint of golden eye shadow located in the corner of her lids. It compliments her skin and the Asgardian dress she had been given.
Although, a tad plain, Mechelle takes appreciation in the effort given, in light of her newfound beauty.
It was the first time in several years, that she felt like a new being, and beautiful nonetheless.
And then, It hit her.
She had been beautifully dressed, bathe, and evenly brushed over.
"Why are you doing this?"
The woman continues, silent. Mechelle didn't intend to press on.
Being one of the King's servants, she knew Cerovella would refuse to tell her, being sworn to secrecy, no doubt.
Swinging the door to her chambers, open, she stands idly by for a brief moment, "Follow me."
Hesitant, Her heart rate elevating, gradually, as her breath becomes unsteady.
It seemed not only a second later, they had arrived at their destination.
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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...
