a girl knows her place — head bowed, pallid features shadowed by the tenebrous curtain of her hair, mimicry of the queen’s own girlhood. svelte digits gather chartreuse fabric as she follows her mistress with swift-footed, allegro steps, blades hidden under her skirt, in case any dared raise a hand to the queen. the dead do not resent neither their keeper nor their queen ( for how could a girl made of frozen blood and rot not understand their qualms with death? ), but an usurper, a stupid asgardian hungry for the power of and reign over death, would have blades ready for both queen and handmaiden.
❝ mistress hela. ❞ contralto voice strong even as she speaks gently, as if one of the roaming dead servants would overhear them. she does not still, leather slippers soft on the frigid floor. ❝ a servant from asgard has been admitted; she brings news of the palace and of the all-father, but i need not rumours to know this. ❞
❝ he is dying. ❞
@helbound
