loki

one

《 one 》

Freya combed through her hair with the nails on her fingertips. The crack in the mirror distorted her face with the reflection when she glanced up. A strand of brown hair fell into her eyes and she sighed.

That night was the night of danzleikr, and when she was younger, it was all Freya ever thought about. But over a course of a decade, when she stopped aging by the time she hit nineteen and the names of her friends lay forgotten to the worlds, dancing wasn't the first thing on her mind. It never was.

She kept parts of her hair braided out of her face using pretty golden flower clips. Angling her head, she fingered a white mask placed quite gently upon her vanity table.

"May you follow my shadow, mother," She whispered.

The mask was a gift from her mother, Sig, before she died in war. She would say the mask had just the right curves which complimented her daughters cheekbones. That the golden flowers brought out the green in Freya's eyes.

Her smile, the dimple right above her mouth, burned into Freya's mind like iron brands. She pushed it away with a hard swallow and drew the mask to her face.

With a smile, Freya turned away from her mirror and bundled the gold skirt of her dress within her fists.

The Asgardian dance wasn't meant for herself, she decided. It was for Sig, her mother. It was for her friends, and all the Valkyries Loki had killed centuries ago.

It angered her ineffably.