B L A C K H E A R T
book 2 in the 'chaos series'
after enduring the trials of the void, lusine finds herself on earth. only a matter of time before she is reunited with loki, lusine finds herself questioning things she never questioned before as s...
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thirty three "and it was glorious, it was victory"
Casia emerged from her chambers after a brief, and very much needed, nap. She'd dressed in clean clothes, fresh to the touch, devoid of the blood of her new found intergalactic enemies and smelling of wintry spices she begged to cover the stench of death that shrouded her relentlessly.
It had taken more scrubbing than she'd anticipated. No amount of time spent rubbing the rough sponge on her skin was adequate to rid her of the grime of battle.
Even as the water flushed red, the itching of dirt remained.
Eventually, she admit defeat and clambered out to dress herself for what she was sure was coming.
If there was anything she'd learnt about Thor Odinson in the short time she'd known him, it was that he didn't give up. His determination was devastatingly honourable and admirable by all, friend or foe. There was a reason he was the one aiding the new age of peace.
And, so, Casia decided to venture from her room once more, despite the predicament it had previously gotten her into, to attempt to find him.
If there was something she could do to help whatever plan he'd formulated, which she was absolutely certain he had, then she would do it in a heartbeat.
She'd happened upon him by chance as he marched in the form of a determined warrior towards the dungeon. His jaw was wound tight. As tight as the taunt silk of an aerial dancer suspended from the ceiling, one wrong move from plummeting to their demise.
"Thor!" She called out to him and hurried down the remaining few steps to reach his side as he halted for her, the silken shirt rustling against her skin like leaves in the beginnings of fall.
"Casia, you should get some rest," He said gently, though the fire in his eyes was a familiar face.
One she knew she could never forget. Too many times had she peered into the mirror after a mission, successful or failure, and seen that burning rage. The desire for vengeance, blood-shed as the iron-price.
A drive that could never be satisfied, no matter the ichor upon the blade.
"I've had plenty," She replied, coming to a stop before him. A meek attempt to prevent him from walking away from her in her self-call-to-action.
Up close, the lines of bereavement were coarse upon his skin. No man, woman or child deserved those ravines, but many bore them all the same. In truth, there was little any soul could do to remain untouched by death's predatory talons.
Perhaps those unbroken lead the loneliest lives. To never have loved is one of the greatest tragedies known. Written in the stars above and Shakespearean fiction alike.
"I want to help you with whatever you've got planned because I know you and I know for a fact you're not going to sit back and let those fuckers get away with this."
