“I don’t know what to say, but I’m going to want you till the stars evaporate. We’re only here for just a moment in the light; one day it shines for us the next we’re in the night. So say the word and I’ll be running back to find you. A thousand armies won’t stop me. I’ll break through. I’ll soar the endless worlds for only one sight of your starlight.”

-excerpt, “Starlight” by Starset

~ Regnelbrær Falls, Levendegrøn, Vanaheim~

Closing her eyes and breathing in the scent of pine needles and fresh cold water, Sigyn swung her feet over the edge of the two hundred feet high peak.

“This is and always has been my cliff, Fen,” she said, a shiver going down her spine from the wind whipping around them. She hissed through her teeth, strangely reveling in the feel of the cold air.

“It is the most beautiful place in the nine, don’t you think?  Look at the falls,” she whispered, leaning into the wolf, and pointing. “Look at those colors in the mist.  Valhalla, don’t they just put the rainbow bridge to shame?” He nudged her shoulder with his nose, whining softly, and she turned slightly to him.

“Surely you’re not scared of heights,” she said with a smile, rubbing under his chin as he continued to whimper and nose her shoulder.

“Oh, you’ll be fine, silly boy,” she chuckled, giving him a quick kiss on the top of his head before returning her gaze to the water. 

From up here she could still see her childhood dwelling.  Gods, her not-mother was no less cruel now than she was then- inviting man after man into their home, foregoing all her responsibilities to the girls.  Sigyn was very nearly taken against her will by any number of Freya’s nameless, disgusting, perverse bedmates.  Without using the fire under her skin to burn their wandering hands, fighting them off would have been near impossible.  She wasn’t close to her seven oldest sisters, but she knew every single one was abused by Freya’s visitors.  Sadly, they didn’t have her fire.

The only sibling she truly adored− the eighth daughter, just above her in age −was of course Nanna, and Sigyn would give anything to go back in time and kill every man the second they walked through Freya’s goddamn door, thereby saving Nanna from the same despicable and unforgivable crimes against children.  Perhaps some of them were hanged or locked up, but to her knowledge, they got away with everything.

Oh, but what if a woman accidentally commits magical arson one time, and a few nobles and elected officials unfortunately happen to be in the line of fire?  Well in that case, the country resorts to lying, shaming, spitting, throwing stones, and calling for a nice old-fashioned “burn them at the stake!” public execution.

“WITCH TEMPTRESS SEEKS FIERY REVENGE!” had been the headline of the lead story, along with a few genuinely flattering photos that made her look like every side was her “good” side.  The images were somewhat revealing, showing off a bit more skin than was typical since all these photos were taken at social gatherings involving alcohol and dancing and good-looking people.  Why did it concern them that she sometimes sported lower necklines and higher hemlines?  The unknown photographer captured her smirking and laughing and dancing with several attractive men, and even though the images were completely out of context, they fit the narrative: “witches like this one are secret whores who seduce your husbands, and your men pay for their magical services with their souls!”

Mmhm… make sure to either kill or banish ME for a mid-level involuntary manslaughter felony because− good heavens! −a little slut like me ruins “good men” by exposing my neck and knees at PARTIES.

But what happens to the child abusers?  Exile?  Prison?  Execution?  Uh… no.  They just keep abusing.  Keep traumatizing.  Keep genuinely ruining lives.

If I hadn’t been there to protect her, they very nearly would have ruined Nanna’s life.

She wiped a single tear off her cheek at the memory:

 Her blond-haired sister, red faced and wide eyed with panic, came running into Sigyn’s room and silently closed the door and turned the lock.  She watched confused as Nanna, the skirt of her dress torn all the way from the hem to the top of her thigh, slid down the wall and put a shaky finger to her lips before burying her face into her knees as she pulled up against her chest, sobbing silently. 

Sigyn’s eyes went wide with fear, letting the schoolbook in her hands fall to the floor with a thud.  She’d never seen Nanna in such a state of duress.  Hiking up her skirt, she ran to her sister, then dropped to her knees and wrapped her arms around her.  Her head snapped up at the sound of fast approaching heavy footsteps, and soon a heavy fist was pounding on her door, a male voice shouting for the “pretty little girl” to open the door.  Nanna clung to her, shaking her head rapidly, saying “don’t let him in” as tears streamed down her cheeks.  

When the huge brute of a man kicked the door in, he didn’t bother to discern which “little girl” he went after.  Terrified as she was to see him come at her, she was grateful that he didn’t go after her older sister.  Under ANY circumstance, Sigyn would sacrifice herself for Nanna, but that instinct increased tenfold right then because the girl was already in brutal shape, covered in black and blue finger shaped bruises from the man’s earlier actions.  No way in Hel would her sister be able to defend herself in that state.  

Shrieking “let go of me!” over and over until she was nearly blue in the face, Sigyn kicked and struggled under his tight hold.  She heard her sister pleading “take me instead!” while crawling over to him and latching onto his leg with her teeth through the fabric.  He cried out and grabbed the girl by her hair, then kicked her off him and dragged Sigyn to her bed.

She would have shut out that memory long ago if the experience hadn’t gone from sheer horror to downright wicked glee by the end.  In that memory with her sister, Sigyn was sixteen, and it was when she first discovered her magic.  Of course, she was petrified for her own body (she was a virgin, and he was huge!) but seeing her sister assaulted induced a hot rage far more powerful than fear.  That rage, that bloodthirst, triggered the silently lurking fire under her skin.  

His hands started sizzling the moment he ripped the dress straps from her shoulders, and within seconds his entire body was in flames.  Using all her strength, she managed to push him off her before she succumbed to her own fire.  Norns- she remembered gaping at her hands as the smoke billowed out from the tips of her fingers and standing taller when her eyes slid back up to the burning man in the middle of her room.

She still remembered the feel of her tongue sliding over her lips- still remembered thinking she probably looked like a godsdamn Cheshire cat, and wishing a mirror would appear out of thin air to prove it.  She would have watched him burn if Nanna hadn’t thrown a blanket over him and patted him down.  The expression on her sister’s face was seared into her brain- a mixture of fear, relief, and most of all, pain.

If only that abuser had come to her room first, she could have spared Nanna from unbearable trauma.   A century went by before Nanna allowed another man to touch her- before she realized that not every man was a disgusting monster.

Her beloved sister practically raised her, which was the pattern of Freya’s daughters.  Each girl was raised by the sister older than her, and that sister, by the one older than her and so on five more times.  Their not-mother just popped them out and left them to fend for themselves once they were old enough to walk.  Considering each was mostly well-behaved, it was probably for the best that Freya was an absentee parent.

Perhaps it was due to a shared distaste for their mother, or perhaps it was due to their birth order (Sigyn was the “baby” after all) that Nanna let her get away with everything, which included not telling anyone about her newfound magic.  No doubt her sister kept her mouth shut due to the way Sigyn discovered her abilities- it wasn’t a particularly good look.  She spent many years after that day playing with her fire as often as possible, and often for devious reasons.  Burning Freya’s tongue with still too hot dinner even after blowing on the bite repeatedly was a favorite little trick.  Key word being “was” her favorite.  Her current favorite little trick wouldn’t exactly “wow” an audience, but it was no less thrilling for her-

Maintaining a realm’s worth of space and time between that woman and myself.

Gods, she deserved a bloody standing ovation for that one.

Staring at the dangerously beautiful falls beneath her, she sighed, then let her heavy eyelids slide shut.  She buried her face in Fen’s soft fur and laughed weakly under her breath.  With all her rightly rebellious tendencies, it wouldn’t take the sharpest knife in the drawer to guess that she would fall hard for the god of mischief.

What would take a sharp knife, however, would be envisioning how the Hel she wound up meeting him in the first place.  If anyone told her during her “coming of age” years that the same fire that first saved her from the malicious touch of a cruel man would eventually send her to Asgard into the arms of a man whose touch she craved every second of every day, she would have laughed at the absurdity.  Come now, after experiencing a vicious introduction to the worst capabilities of men at such a young age, one would assume that she would be opposed to every biological male coming within five miles of her!  Yet here she was, not only physically craving one of them, but downright adoring and loving him with every ounce of her being.  To be fair, though, that experience was nearly 900 years so…

I’ve had some time to move on.

Vanaheim wasn’t particularly good to her, but when she and Freya first arrived in Asgard, she was still so unbelievably homesick.  Asgard was so different.  So unknown.  Of course, she corrected that “fear of the unknown” part quickly enough.  The best way to alleviate fear of most any subject is to immerse oneself in the study of that thing, or that place, or that…person.  For instance, learning what hides underneath a certain Asgardian prince’s leather trousers constitutes “studying” the subject.

Releasing another heavy sigh, she lifted her head from Fenrir’s fur.  Her first magic lesson with Frigga was the last time she recalled missing home- no, actually the moment she first saw Loki and his stunning emerald eyes was the moment she all but forgot that the evergreen realm even existed.

Hm.  She wondered what he was up to right now, not that she really cared what he was doing.  She hadn’t seen him since early that morning, and it wouldn’t bother her if she didn’t see him for another day.  Or another week for that matter.  Or two.  Or…or…

Wait… what?

She frowned, the line between her eyebrows deepening, and she turned around to look at the portal.

I don’t miss him…

…at ALL.

She didn’t even want him.  No, the only thing she wanted was to stay in this spot, on this cliff forever.  No, that wasn’t true either.  She didn’t want to stay in this spot.  She wanted to be at the bottom of the falls below it.

Chest heaving in a slight panic, her eyes went wide.  What the Hel was wrong with her?  Not only did Loki suddenly mean nothing to her, but now she also wanted to hurl herself over the edge of this cliff?  Since when was she suicidal?!  She slid her eyes to Fenrir.  He had a death grip on her dress with his teeth, his big brown eyes sad and scared, as if he knew her thoughts.

“Fen?” she asked, voice cracking as he whined, then growled softly, then whined again.

This made no sense.  She would never see Loki again.  The man that she was supposedly madly in love with would be gone from her forever.

And I couldn’t care less.

Like being hit out of nowhere with a ton of apathetic bricks, she felt nothing for him.  Is this why she felt like tossing herself from this cliff?  Did it have something to do with the blood bond?  Did she feel nothing for herself ultimately because she felt nothing for the man she was now bound to?

No, that couldn’t be right.  She was supposed to feel what he felt, which meant he didn’t care first.  Well, now that was just mean, wasn’t it.  After all they’d been through together?  How dare he not care for her anymore?  Again, not that she gave a damn either way.

Dear gods, what is HAPPENING to me?

She wrinkled her nose, suddenly overwhelmed with love for Vanaheim of all things- the home that she supposedly disowned, or more accurately, the home that disowned her.  Yet somehow all she could think was that it was the most perfect place in the nine and that she wanted to die in this perfect happy place, and then she would never feel pain again.  Loki was the source of all her pain, slowly killing her bit by bit, just as Freya said to her an hour ago, and jumping was the only way to escape that pain.

Has he even expressly said that he loves me?  

Not even close.

She said it to him a thousand times, but supposedly he just couldn’t say it.  If not for his godsdamn blood magic making her feel that he loved her (maybe…possibly…?), she would justifiably believe that he just wasn’t bored with her in his bed yet.  Then again, he was a convincing actor and liar, so she would be wise to take the lovey-dovey feelings coming through the bond with a grain of salt.

Oh gods, forget it.  At this point, what the Hel did it matter?  He probably wouldn’t even miss her.  She felt happy up here on this cliff, and she wanted to die happy.  Being immortal was overrated.  Living forever made time nonexistent and age insignificant.  She was nine hundred years old, but she had no less time to live than she did the day she was born.

Loki wasn’t just pain− he was eternal pain.  Setting aside how stunning he was (in every sense of the word) and how much she wanted him− used to want him −he was ice, and she was fire.  If she had the power to melt his heart, he wouldn’t freeze her to death, but the fire in her veins didn’t even have the power to warm her anymore.  He was destined to snuff her out, to turn her into a frigid immortal…just like him.

No no no no no, she could end all that pain right now.  At this happy moment, she could end it.

As though her mind wasn’t already screwing with her by caving in on any rational thoughts whatsoever, it added to its own madness by replacing those thoughts with the darkest visions she could imagine, and hopefully she was indeed imagining them because they were more than a little disturbing.  She didn’t have the gift of foresight, so these “visions” were nothing to worry over.  They wouldn’t happen.  They wouldn’t happen because they were too horrible.

Loki hangs from the Bifrost, and… oh gods, NO… he falls!

She rubbed her eyes furiously trying to force them to see only her physical surroundings, but it was to no avail.  

He is naked and alone in a sterile room with no light.  His once beautiful hair is too long and tangled.  He is emaciated.  Strange alien beings strip him and BURN him!   And then…

Is that Midgard?  What is wrong with him?  His once emerald eyes are now unnaturally blue, and…. Is he killing mortals?!  WHY?!

With Fenrir still tugging furiously at her skirt, she cried into her hands as one final image flashed across the backs of her eyelids-

Asgard on fire.

That was it.  She really would jump now.  It was too much.  She may not love him anymore, but she didn’t want to see Loki fall or die or burn.  If those things came to pass by some strike of terrible luck, she didn’t want to live to see any of it.  She was happy here.  Her home, her cliff, her waterfall.  

If I go back to him, he’ll draw it out, watch me slowly bleed to death, and if I’m going to die either way, I’d rather do it on MY terms.

She stood to her feet, ignoring Fenrir barking loudly as he looked in all directions, searching for something.

…or someone.

Peering over the falls, she hesitated.  The pressure at the bottom would most likely rip her apart.

Come now, it’ll be over soon.

Cringing, she turned her back to the edge and closed her eyes.  She didn’t want to see it.  Just as she started to take that final step backward, Fenrir howled, and she looked up to see what he was on about.  At the base of the cliff, she saw Sinir come charging through the portal.  Naturally, Loki was in the saddle, and the sight of him gave her pause.  Her eyes caught his as he rode full speed up the mountain, the roar of the falls drowning out the sound of his horse’s hooves.  With his hair whipping behind him and his intense gaze focused on her, he looked almost like…. well…. a dream— an exceptionally good dream.  She tilted her head sideways, feeling a pang in her heart as he neared.

Huh, maybe I DO feel something for him.

She considered taking a small step forward, thinking maybe she might stay a while longer, then she looked away from him and down at her feet.  Whatever small desire was growing within her- the desire to hold him, to feel his arms come around her -faded the moment she dropped her eyes.  No longer concerned with what’s-his-face down there, she stepped back and fell off the edge.

Loki cried out “NO! SIG!” just as Fenrir caught her wrist between his powerful jaws.

“OH… GODS… FEN!!” she screamed in agony as his teeth ripped through her skin and dug into the bone.

Legs dangling heavily beneath her, blood poured down her arm, and she looked down.  As though being lifted from a trance, the realization that she’d just jumped off a cliff hit her like a ton of bricks.  What a brutal way to end it all.

She grabbed at the rocky face of the cliff with her free hand, wishing she’d put more effort into those rock climbing courses during her academy years.  She tried swinging her legs to propel herself forward, but that only made Fen bite down harder on her wrist, his paws sliding further toward the edge as he whimpered around her skin.  She heardher wrist bone cracking under his sharp fangs, the excruciating pain stealing her breath in the worst way.  Reaching for the rocks, stretching just that much further, the tips of her fingers only barely grazed the stone, not enough to get a good grip.

Oh fuck- how do I FIX THIS?!  I DON’T WANT TO DIE.

She heard Loki then- more than that, she felt him again, the bond burning brighter within her core when he appeared on Sinir, out of breath and panting, at the top of the cliff behind Fen.  Seeing him so close, only a few feet from her, she felt every inch of her body, even the parts that were now breaking apart, ache with love for him, and by Hel did he love her back—She could hear him screaming it in his thoughts.  He wasn’t “pain” incarnate, nor was he death.  No, he was just Loki, and he was the only thing in the entire universe that she wanted.

And now I’m going to lose him.

The tears streaming down her face no longer stemmed from the pain in her wrist, or her shoulder dislocating, or her blood-covered fingernails ripping off from scratching at the rocks.  No, it was from the wretched reality of knowing this was the last time she would ever see him.

“Hold on!” he called down to her, his voice cracking as he dismounted.

“I… can’t…” she managed, nearly suffocating from the strain on her ribs and lungs.

Through blurred vision, she watched him drop to his knees, then to his chest, and finally reached his long arm to her.

“I’ve got you, Sig, come here,” he said through his teeth, his forehead beading with sweat.  

His fear swelled to a fever pitch, and he gasped, trying to push himself far enough down to grab her without falling over the edge himself and killing them both.  Fuck, he couldn’t stretch far enough.  One more inch, just one more, come on, come on, please!

Please don’t leave me, Sig!

“Reach, love!” he shouted, his heart pounding as he glanced with wide eyes at her wrist in the wolf’s powerful jaws.

Oh gods, her arm was shredded, tearing apart like a rope with too much weight, and he watched in horror as Fenrir lost his death grip, her wrist whittling away with nothing for him to hold onto.

Nonexistent though it was, time came to a standstill, and suddenly only she and Loki lived…

…in all our pathetic TRAGEDY.

She stared, absolutely shattered as his face disappeared behind the freezing mist that quickly enveloped her body- her soon to be corpse.

I can’t undo this.

The fall was so long, so horrendously far down, that she had enough dreadful time to remember that he called her “love”.  He’d finally voiced it, blatantly and fearlessly admitting that he really did love her.  And, honestly, that made everything so much worse.  Her agonized scream was drowned out by the falls as they tumbled over her.

Stomach in his throat and heart breaking into a thousand pieces, Loki yelled “SIGYN!!” at the top of his lungs, and without a moment’s hesitation, he jumped after her.  If she was going to fall, then by Hel, he would be there to catch her.

FINAL THEME SONG: “STARLIGHT” BY STARSET