I'm lying to you // Natasha Romanoff x OC Odindottir

Chapter 16 - The Statue of Liberty, a Pirate and a Bird Boy

Cyrus' pov

Wandering down the stone casket corridors, the long, plastic lights flicker in a sad old dance. However - amidst the simmer of the synthetic sun beams - a shattered shimmer of cold emerald glints. The flashes grow to a constant haze of rich green, which forcefully crafts the shapes of the furniture to looming slabs of sage metal.

Choirs of piercing murmurs ebb from the walls themselves, encasing me in a cacophony of whispers. Among the man-made shadows of unnatural uniformity, a blinding prick of deep, verdant light evolves into the faceless figure of hollow, onyx robes and sheets. Stature and frame grow from skeletal shards. A face emerges from the solid mass of pale flesh. Hallowed features etch deep into its human mould.

"Sister," plumes of white steam tumble past my parted lips. Her slithered lips curl into a line of proud success.

"It appears it is," running her slender fingers through her inky hair, her plain clothing morphs into the ever-elegant pieces of her dark armour.

"Why are you here?" I seethe, gaining the base elements of my own battle-wear. Fragments of the worlds' finest metals - Asgardian gold, Venir silver, Musplelheim titanium - fuse into a seamless collage. Rather tightly - across my chest, back and thighs - near-featureless plates of this medley encase me.

"So you think I'm here to kill you?" a breathless laugh escapes her lips, "Now what kind of a greeting is this, sister?"

"Why, after over 2000 years, do you visit me now?" I fire back, the biting stench of morbid air searing my lungs.

"Ah," the cool grin not once leaves her lips, "perhaps because I have a destiny and a purpose to fulfil."

I hesitate as I assess her regal, unfaltering posture, "and tell me, do I get a cut in this great purpose?"

"It cannot be fulfilled without you," she responds, satisfied, "and I may have to do nothing myself for your input."

"What-" flashes of my childhood teachings flicker across my vision. The dreaded end to our people by the return of its princesses.

The superficial pieces begin to fall into their deadly places.

"You seek return to Asgard," she confirms, "as do I."

"'And with their awaited return comes the rising of Surtur and the razing of Asgard'," I recite the doomsday passage.

"Ragnarok," she confirms the pained truth.

"And you wish to... encourage me to come with you?" I meet her blazen glare.

"Well I must admit, I thought I could leave it up to you," she ponders upon her words, "but these fickle Midgardians have... meddled with my certainty."

"You believe I am too weak to fulfil my ethereal purpose?" I fume at her insolence.

"Yes," she states simply. Before continuing, she ponders to gage my reaction: a solid stare and unwavering stature. Her voice softens slightly to one of which you might expect from an older sister, "These mortals are nonsequential to our being. They will mean nothing as the realms are destined to scorch in Hel Fire. You are my people, sister; you deserve to be beside me on a throne of-"