run away with me

Loki nods at you, then at the figure standing atop the golden platform that sits at the middle of the circular chamber you’ve somehow found yourself in. “Heimdall,” he greets.

“Prince Loki.”

Loki notices your puzzled expression. “He sees all,” he provides simply.

It doesn’t clarify things at all, but you nod once as if you understand. “Ah.”

“This is his observatory. We’ve traveled through the Bifrost.”

You look up at Loki, the only familiar presence in this strange, bright room. It feels like… you shouldn’t be here. You’re an outsider, a foreigner—he looks like you, but it’s clear, in this golden observatory, that he is from another world.

Literally.

“Your father is waiting,” Heimdall cuts through your spiraling thoughts. “You must not keep him.”

Loki exhales air from his nostrils, his chest heaving slowly, before he faces you with a small smile. “Right. Well. Off we go then, princess. Perhaps the Norns will hear your prayers if you ask that Odin’s in a good mood.”

“You brought her back?!”

The aged man with a single eye booms on the golden dais in front of you, causing you to startle and shrink behind Loki’s tall form. He, on the other hand, seems unperturbed.

“I couldn’t just leave her on Midgard,” he says. If he’s nervous, he doesn’t seem to show it.

“You should have.”

The man on the throne must be Odin.

You’re not very sure he’s fond of you.

Although it’s your first time meeting him, you mentally mark that you’re not too fond of him either.

You’d say something, bark out an acidic reply, but instinct tells you to hold your tongue. Only if you were being honest and paid close attention to the holes in Loki’s story, you’d be questioning his credibility. He told you Odin helped him find you—so why does it seem like he’s completely enraged by your presence?

Odin squeezes his eye shut. You imagine if he had two, to somehow lighten the weight of confusion and fear in your bloodstream.

It doesn’t help.

As if answering your silent question, he speaks after a measured exhale. “I helped you find her only to establish that you’ve made a mistake—a dire one at that—to keep you accountable.”

The comment stings. A mistake. But Odin goes on, not paying an ounce of attention to you, and furthers—

“She is a liability to you.”

“My responsibility,” Loki corrects swiftly.

“Asgard’s liability.”

Odin’s mouth flattens into a thin line. “You should have left her, Loki,” he repeats, barely controlling his tone.

You watch Loki’s head tip skyward from where you stand. “And if she’d died because of me?” he demands.

Something in you lurches at his words. Whatever danger Loki put you in, you didn’t expect your life to be on the line.

Oh, mercy. You haven’t even crossed off bungee jumping from your bucket list. Even that sounds tame in comparison to…

As if sensing your reaction to his words, Loki takes a step back to place a hand on your back. “I couldn’t let that happen,” he says in a softer tone.

Odin, however, hasn’t changed in mien. “Then it would have been a lesson for you. Not to dalliance on Midgard and put innocent people in harm’s way in favor of your recklessness!”

“It was a just a ring, by the gods!”

“It may be perceived as an act of war!” Odin roars.

The hall grows quiet. Even Loki is stunned.

Odin exhales again, clearly trying to regain composure. “Did you put it back?” he asks.

The prince doesn’t answer. Odin bangs a fist.

“Loki, did you put it back?”

He has the sense not to look up at his father. “Well, there’s a ring,” he mumbles vaguely.

Odin’s eyes narrow. You don’t completely understand how everything ties together—you, the ring, a possible war—and now is definitely not the time to ask.

“Is it with her?” He looks pointedly at you.

“What? No. Of course not.”

“Do not lie to me to protect—”

“I’m not lying!” Loki bristles as he steps forward and once again, shields you from his father’s wrath with his tall frame.

Odin regards you with a guarded eye. “The ring’s magic. It’s on her.”

Aaaand your mind stops. There’s magic on you? But you’ve felt fine all this time. Sure, you were a little disappointed when you didn’t hear from Loki, but you wouldn’t chalk that up to magic. It wasn’t like you were being mind-controlled or puppeteered by anything.

To your knowledge, at least.

You squash down any other thought before it forms.

“That, ah…” Loki coughs, lets out a single chuckle, as though to ease the tension. Odin’s eyebrow rises. Loki clears his throat.

“Might be because I may have kissed her.”

Your cheeks flame. Loki glances at you, offering you a charming albeit weak smile.

“That explains why it’s a very faint pulse,” Odin mutters. He seems unfazed by the knowledge that you and Loki shared a kiss. “A small relief.”

“Though still enough to track her, yes?”

Nothing in this conversation has made a lick of sense to you, but you’ve been trying to hang onto every word nonetheless… until that.

“I believe so.”

Tracked. It triggers something stored in the deeper recesses of your brain with the speed of a switch being flicked on. The notion that you’ve been tracked since the night of the costume ball makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. Despite your best efforts not to show just how rattled you are, instinctively your hand rushes to fist the back of Loki’s tunic.

Your heartbeat pounds in your ears, making your head throb; at the same time, you feel yourself go lightheaded—then, cold and hot at the same time. It doesn’t make any sense.

It’s like you’re doused in ice cold water. The bite of reality is harsh.

None of this makes any sense—where you are, what’s happening, the implications of a possibly stolen ring that could possibly start a war with who-knows-where, and what you might possibly have to do with all of this. Panic starts to mount, building from your belly and spidering throughout your veins.

“—never mind the Midgardian girl—”

Breathe. You have to consciously remind yourself to breathe as it finally sinks in that you are somewhere else that isn’t Earth, there’s a possible war and oh shit that word alone pingpongs in your brain. Magic? Tracking? Possible death? All things that are apparently, very real.

“—you must return the ring to Vanaheim—”

Maybe this is some very bizarre dream. Maybe… maybe you fell asleep on the couch, thinking about Prince Loki, and somehow started lucid dreaming that he came into your apartment to whisk you away into a fantasy world. Yes—that seems like a rational, logical explanation.

You pinch yourself—and wince.

Your mind starts to reel while the pounding of your blood gets more intense.

Breathe, you take a shuddering breath, and close your eyes—

You don’t have the energy to stop yourself from crumpling to the floor behind Loki in this strange room.

My presence is strong, and the Norns know they must have been tracking you as well.

Though still enough to track her, yes?

It could have been perceived as an act of war!

They float in and out of your unconscious mind. Yes, a dream, that’s what this is—another one of those hyperactive REM cycles where your brain conjures up things your cognizant self could never think of on its own.

Coolness ripples over your skin as a woman gently commands, “Wake.”

Your eyes fly open, vision blurry as you adjust to the white and golden ceiling of…

Definitely not your apartment. Your heart sinks. Not a dream.

“There. All fine. Satisfied, Loki? You could have done it yourself, you know.”

“There’s much I’ve yet to learn from you, Mother, and observing you is most effective.”

There’s a smile in her voice. “You mustn’t lie to your own mother, dearest.” Fondness.

“But it’s true.”

“I taught you this simple spell when you were but a boy.”

“So it seems I’ve forgotten it in the long years I haven’t had the need to use it.”

“Hmm.” There’s amusement in her tone now.

A woman bent over you comes into focus, her motherly aura overpowering the other first impression that fights for a place in your mind. Regal—if not her posture, her bronzy gown and shiny jewels decorating the crown of her head are a dead giveaway.

“Welcome back to the waking world, princess,” Prince Loki grins, pushing off the wall he was leaning against to approach you. “Next time you decide to faint, please do so in front of me. That’s where my eyes are, you see, not the back of my head. I’ll be better equipped to catch you then.”

As you sit up, you note that Loki’s lost some of his serious air here—not that he was severely serious to begin with. Given the nature of the conversation before you blacked out—war, liabilities, kingdoms at stake probably—of course it would have been unwise for him to have the kind of playful, teasing glint his eyes currently assess you with.

“You’re in the infirmary,” the woman tells you, ignoring Loki like she’s used to his antics. “My name is Frigga.”

“My mother,” Loki supplies.

You nod once, slowly, your chin bowing for a cycle of breath. “I take it I’m still…” You raise your head, hesitating, not wanting to verbalize the end of your sentence.

“Still on Asgard?” The corners of Frigga’s mouth pull upward in quiet understanding.

Your heart manages to sink a second time. You nod.

“This is all real?”

“Which part of it, my dear?”

All of it. Being tracked. Magic. A world that isn’t Earth. You stare at Frigga, hoping she can comprehend what your eyes try to convey.

The compassion in her eyes says enough.

Would it be embarrassing to cry right now?

Oh, go right ahead. You’ve already fainted in front of Loki’s dad within 10 minutes of meeting him—well, sort of meeting—let’s cry in front of his mom and bring the record of embarrassing yourself in front of Loki’s parents down to 2 minutes.

“I’m sure this must all be very overwhelming, but time does happen to be of the essence in this certain situation,” Frigga says delicately.

“I did bring you here without even sparing you a moment to change out of your… er…” Loki puzzles over your outfit: a worn sweater and leggings.

“Pajamas.”

“Right.”

“And overwhelmed is definitely an understatement.” You bite your lip, fisting the linen sheet draped over your body. How is the ceiling so impossibly high? Why does the scenery outside the arched window across your bed look so familiar and yet so foreign? It’s green: plantation. You have that on Earth. If you tried hard enough, you could convince yourself that you’re still there.

But you aren’t.

“I’d like to go home,” you say, meeting Loki’s and Frigga’s eyes. But as soon as the words are out of your mouth, you remember why you’re here in the first place.

Loki looks at you, seriousness making a brief appearance once more. “Can’t have you going where you’re likely to be found. Like I told you on Midgard, you are safer here. Under my protection.”

Frigga hides her snort of laughter behind a fist. “Well, this surely is a first from you, my son.”

Loki turns to his mother with raised eyebrows. Frigga’s eyes twinkle with mirth; she stands and kisses his cheek, and then turns to you.

“Before you make your decision…” You fidget under her intense motherly gaze. “You should know the predicament you’re in. I trust my son to be forthcoming with you.” She looks pointedly at Loki.

“I’m anything but.”

“Forthcoming and honest, Loki.”

“Yes, mother.”

She turns on her heel, and it seems both you and Loki wait until the sound of her footsteps fade from earshot. With a wave of his hand and wisps of green shimmers, a chair materializes next to your bed. Your jaw drops.

Loki seems pleased with your reaction, settling into the tufted chair with a grin on his face.

“So, princess.” He sobers ever so slightly. “Shall I start with the good or the bad?”

“Uh.” You huff out a disbelieving, nervous chuckle. “Maybe let’s start with why I’m here before we touch on why there are good and bad things.”

A thoughtful look crosses Loki’s face. “Fair.”

“So?” You glance at the greenery outside the window, and when your eyes meet Loki’s, you notice that they bear a striking similarity. Vibrant, rich.

Loki is quiet for a moment. He doesn’t look away, but holds your gaze; it reminds you suddenly of the waltz you shared. It feels like forever ago.

So, to start. My entire third year in uni is 100% online. My classes started getting overwhelming - like mind numbingly overwhelming - around November. I had exams every day single day at 6 PM that I prepared for, and I had reports, post-tests to take that seemed never-ending, on top of study material. I didn’t have the drive or motivation to do anything anymore, and it was just. So draining. I can’t explain how dark of a time it was for me; it felt bleak, it was exhausting, I just kept telling myself, “Just make it to December,” like it held all the answers. I didn’t really want to talk to anyone either.

December was full of even more academic stress. Prefinals and finals. It was even more frustrating because I felt like I wasn’t learning anything, and that my education was being shortchanged. All my courses have lab counterparts, and we had to do everything online and rely on theory. Retention and attention span? Found dead in a ditch. Especially with lab content that I knew I could only appreciate if I was actually doing it. 

That hard work and emotional stress saw its fruits though, because I passed all my courses thankfully. I did fight tooth and nail for it. So I thought, hey, maybe I’ll finally do something creative; but I didn’t. I still didn’t have the energy for it. I thought emotionally I could take a break, but I couldn’t.

My aunt was diagnosed with cancer. Bad. I don’t want to get into detail, but it’s definitely not something one can go through on their own. My aunt’s living with my family now, and we all try very hard to be positive for her. My mom never cries in front of her, and I never cry. I knew I had to be vibrant and positive; I was always called a bringer of joy, so I tried to live up to that. I still am trying very hard to live up to that, especially on the days she has chemo.

And so whenever I had time to myself, I said, okay, try to write. But I couldn’t. The self-doubt about my abilities as a writer came to the fore. That people forgot I existed, that it wouldn’t even matter, that I spend so much time planning and plotting and stressing over word choice and for what? Everything just came out clunky, and then I started just. Not writing altogether.

I withdrew into a shell. I didn’t want to do anything. Talk to anyone. 

Every struggle is just magnified to the hundredth power because of the pandemic. It’s been mentally, emotionally taxing. But this year, I wanted to change my outlook. I missed the positive Belle, the optimist that I was known for being. I started keeping a happiness log. Became less critical of myself and my writing, and now that we’re more or less adjusted with chemo and how to go about the days when she has side effects, it’s a lot better.

Anyway, it’s a process. Things are by no means all right or perfect, but they’re definitely better. I’ve been looking for possible flexible work I could do alongside studying, if it’s even possible. I thought about opening commissions, but only if anyone was interested. Started being more active for those endorphins. Tried writing, again, and hey, something came out of it!

Anyway, this turned into a long, oversharing ramble. Haha, I’m sorry, I don’t know where I’m going with this! I guess I just wanted to get it off my chest, as well as just put a disclaimer that I’m not going to start putting out chapters every single week.

Thank you for reading, and I’m sorry for the heaviness! This will only come once in a blue moon. I’m going to continue churning out (hopefully good) content that will help you take a break from the world because that’s what I enjoy, and so that’s what I would like to put out as well :)