#victoryqueue

A calm sort of detachment had fallen over Sigyn since she’d left Loki and America’s apartment. It was nice, actually, being able to look back on the events of the last few months and not feel anything. In some ways, it helped her rationalize everything and come to peace with it.

She’d been at fault, throughout it all: picking fights where she shouldn’t have, letting her childish fear of abandonment rule her thought processes. Trying too hard to hold on to something--to someone--that simply didn’t want her anymore.

Things had changed, and she, in her stupidity, refused to accept it.

So. The problem was definitely her. And thus Sigyn sought out a way to fix it.

First, she handed over control of the museum exhibit to one of her other partners, who’d helped bring it to life with her. She also left a tidy sum of money to keep it going and to build the next museum. She enhanced the wards and made them unbreakable, and said a silent goodbye to Tommy as she left the museum for the last time.

Then, her various apartments and all the items within. She donated her Midgardian clothes and household items, sent her books and pets back to her Papa’s hall in Vanaheim. She deleted all the information off her phone and donated that, as well.

And then... there were only a few things left to do. Letters to write. Ingredients to gather. Sigyn caught and killed a mourning dove on the roof of one of her apartments, a vague sense of discomfort invading her numbness at the thought of its life-long mate waiting for it to come back to the nest and never arriving. Same with the swan. But unlike her, they would likely get over their heartbreak soon.

Skeleton key, bittersweet root, candied fruit... and the ashes. She cut out a picture of Loki in the paper, in front of his presidential slogan, and held it over a black candle until it caught fire. (She was meant to gather up all her feelings as the picture burned, but that was hard to do when they had locked themselves away and you didn’t hold the key to get to them.)

As the potion brewed, Sigyn sat down to write her letters. And promptly came up empty.

What was there to say, really? Sigyn fought to find words as she stared out a window, watching the sun rise higher into the sky as the day passed her by.

Finally, when the potion was done and the sun had long since set, Sigyn sighed and wrote whatever came to mind.

Loki,

I’ve hidden the antidote somewhere. Unless it’s urgent, please don’t retrieve it. If you do... I’ve left instructions.   Sorry. But I can’t handle this anymore. I suppose I finally found my limit.

Sigyn

And next, to her father:

Papa,

We’ll both have to play this carefully. I’m going to do something you probably won’t approve of (though that’s never stopped me before), and you’re going to have to help keep the fallout from getting too bad.

That makes no sense. I’m sorry. But just don’t bring up Loki, or anyone from Midgard. Tell me that Ragnarok did something to my memory. Do not bring up Vali and Narvi, or the Young Gods. I’ll only remember Theoric and his death once this is done.

I’m sorry. I love you. But this will make me happy again.

Sigyn

With the letters sent off, Sigyn poured the small amount of potion into a bottle and set the stopper. Taking one last look around her, she said goodbye to everything she’d known for the last few decades and went home to Vanaheim.

Her Papa’s hall was quiet as everyone settled down to bed. It was later than she’d thought. Which meant no one could stop her.

Sigyn eyed the crystal bottle. She felt stupid and weak, doing this. She was supposed to be as strong as the mountain and just as unmovable. She was meant to weather through anything and everything. This... seemed like such a coward’s way out.

But how much more was she meant to lose? Her parents, her freedom, Theoric, her beautiful boys, the Young Gods, Loki... how much more could the Norns throw at her before she truly did just want to disappear? Sigyn couldn’t let that happen. The Nine depended on her too much; without constancy, without order, chaos reigned.

No. It was better this way. Everyone would be happier without her, and she would be happier without them.

With that, she drank her potion. It went down tasting sweet and sour and bittersweet and salty, and Sigyn expected it to hurt.

It didn’t. It was as easy was breathing, as falling asleep. In one heartbeat the grief was there... and the next it wasn’t.

Her father found her sitting at her window, watching the dawn. Njord studied his beloved youngest daughter for a few minutes, uncertain of what to do, her letter in his hand. Sigyn didn’t often act without thought, but this felt as if she had leaped off a tall cliff without looking for the bottom.

What was there to do? He didn’t have the counter-spell or antidote. He couldn’t ask anyone to try to take it from her. It had been her choice and she had trusted him with helping her deal with the consequences.

“Sigyn.”

His daughter blinked slowly, then turned away from the window. A confused look crossed her expression before she smiled broadly.

“Good morning, Papa.”

It would have hurt less to have his still beating heart cut from his chest. That smile -- he hadn’t seen her smile so happily in decades. Not since she and Loki had become estranged.

Still. He had to test the spell. Even knowing Sigyn was a powerful sorceress... he had to know.

“Rikki and Tommy have been asking after you,” Njord said evenly, watching her expression.

Sigyn blinked at him, once, twice, then shook her head. “I’m sorry, Papa. Who? Are they from Midgard? You know I haven’t been there in centuries.” She rose to her feet and stretched, casting one last look out her open window. “Do you mind speaking to them yourself? I’m going to visit the orphanages today. I feel as if I have not been there in a long while.”

Rising on tiptoes, Sigyn kissed Njord on the cheek and smiled up on him. Then she hesitated. “It’s strange, I felt as if I was forgetting something important... but I can’t recall it at all. It must not have been that important after all.”

He wasn’t entirely sure how he managed, but Njord fixed a smile on his face and nodded. “Maybe you’ll remember in time.”

“Maybe,” Sigyn said absently, undoing her hair from its braid and humming as she brushed it out. “Give my apologies to Lady Rikki and Lord Tommy, please, Papa.”

Njord left her singing to herself. Once her bedchamber door was closed, he looked one last time at the letter she had written him before crumpling it in his hand.