Loki's Daughter, Mortem and Mischief

Chapter One

Alot has changed since you heard of me last. So, let me introduce myself.

I'm Hela Lokisdottir. As the name suggests, I'm the daughter of Loki, God of Mischief and Lies. My mother was Sigyn Iwaldottir, the prettiest and kindest woman I had ever known. I had lost her about three years ago and life never really returned to normal. My Father was always different after that day, clingier, more worried. He was hardly the same father who had once gifted a child a dagger.

But all the while, he was distant. My father was quick to dote on me and would always drop everything if I needed help. But, he was always working. He was tucked away in his study, and from the crashes and yells I would occasionally hear-I could only assume he was practicing magic. Whenever I asked about it, he would just go quiet and quickly change the conversation. I didn't dare pry, after mother's death he'd grown touchier. I didn't want to set him off.

In the two years following her death, I accomplished a lot of growing up. I had turned sixteen, pretty much a full-fledged adult in the eyes of a Midgardian. However, by Asgardian standards, I might as well still be a baby. When you live in a community made up of only Gods and Goddesses who have lived about a million years, it's hard to be treated like an adult. In New Asgard, I was constantly reminded of my age and that I "didn't know anything." Which, was really quite insulting when you consider the fact that I'd only watched both my parents die, had become a refugee, assisted in saving the world, and much more all before I had even turned sixteen. I knew much more than they actually gave me credit for.

But continuing on, more about me. One particularly important fact to mention is that I was the Goddess of Death. Not an easy task to say the least. Though I had little to no responsibilities considering the realm of the dead, I felt like my life was like the movie Sixth Sense. Ever so often, I would see dead people. Now don't get worried, they aren't malicious and certainly are no Poltergeist. Oftentimes, they are just lost souls, unsure of whether it was actually safe to move on. I had to then spend time encouraging them to go, telling them that it was alright to let go of the life they had here. Sometimes, I felt silly promising them that it was better in the great beyond. Truly, I had no clue. But, I assured the souls (as well as myself) that nothing could be as bad as this world. The afterlife had to be better, it just had to.

However, other than the occasionally misguided spirit, my life was quiet. Boring, even. My father scarcely let me out of his sight, too scared to lose me as well. It was alright though, I could manage his watchful gaze as long as I had my books, my garden, and my bow. I loved to read, tend to my plants, and most importantly-hunt. I told myself that that was all that I really needed to keep me happy and entertained. Besides, madness was bound to spring up in one way or another.

Oftentimes, I would get my monthly dose of excitement through a friendly family brawl. It was almost like clockwork that my Aunt Hertha would arrive, promptly telling my father he was doing an awful job at raising me. Then, of course, my father's ego would bruise and he would jump at her with some equally nasty remark. It was so entertaining, it almost called for popcorn.

"Hela, darling!" Hertha called one afternoon from the garden gate, "What on earth are you doing?"

"Skinning a deer," I replied promptly as if it wasn't at all obvious by the poor animal who laid on my table.

"That is a man's work, Hela," she replied as she came bustling through my garden, stepping on my plants one by one.

"You shouldn't be hunting in the first place, but if your father's going to allow it he ought to keep you from the dirty work," Hertha insisted.

"Well I like doing the dirty work," I replied as I wiped off my hands, "It's half the fun. What are you doing here anyways?"

"I've come with medicines and potions," she said, opening up her picnic basket to allow me to peer inside, "I know they won't be nearly as good as what your mother used to make, but your pantry looked scarce the last time I visisted."