❝ if one were to throw themselves from yggdrasill’s roots, into the aether below, would you still see them? how vast is your vision, great gatekeeper? ❞ not in the intent of self-murder does she ask; the act of disgraceful suicide sends souls to hel, stripped eternal of valhalla’s glittering halls ( yet, were she to abandon her duty, would she ever truly end? handmaiden to death herself, story borne from lies — does a soul lie hidden beneath her ribs, like prey in thickets? would she go the way of the soulless, cast to ash and forgotten on tongues of all? ). intentions leave her questioning, speaking out of turn, soft leather soles quiet against the vastness of heimdall’s gate. asgardia is foreign to her, bustling with laughter and chatter, bodies bursting with blood, hearts alight with the towering gilded spires and kingdom; a denizen of hel would know where safety of silence and unseeing welcomes her with decaying arms.