Amara Freyadottir, the heir to the throne of Vanaheim, has never been one for royal trivialities. She would much rather spend her days exploring the lands of Vanaheim and Asgard, finding places to read, and having fun with her best friend, Loki. How...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
"it was a simple lifestyle, but she had gotten used to it by now."
-TWO YEARS AFTER-
AMARA EXITS THE CLUB with her earnings for the night in one hand and her pepper spray in the other. She has heard too many stories of girls getting mugged or attacked while getting off work to not be overly cautious, even though the walk from the club to the apartment is only about half a mile.
Even at night, the streets of New York City are as lively as ever. The signs shine bright, the people talk loudly, and the cars drive recklessly. It truly is the city that never sleeps, along with being the city that never allows its citizens to sleep with all of the lights and noise.
When Amara enters the apartment, her roommate is already asleep in her bedroom, which doesn't bother her at all. She is forever grateful to Sophie for opening her home up to her, but sometimes the woman can be a bit much. She smokes cigarettes and often has a few troublesome men that hang around far more often than they should. It is the only place Amara has to call home, though, so she forces herself to endure it.
She showers once home, washing off the crowded grime of the club before getting into her bed. She eats a pack of crackers after her shower, too tired to heat up any of the leftovers. The two-year mark is approaching since she said goodbye to her old life, so she has been more lethargic than usual recently - more depressed, almost, although she is reluctant to use that word. It makes her seem weak, she thinks, weak for not being able to let go of it yet. For not being able to let go of him yet.
Before crawling into her sofa bed, she steps out onto the balcony, a pen and paper tucked under her arm. She sits on the old, rickety chair, placing her paper on the table next to her. The air reeks of manmade pollution, a smell she is not used to and one that she thinks she will never get used to.
Trying not to think about how pathetic this makes her, she begins to write.
May 11th, 2012 Dear Loki, The two-year mark will be here in only six days. I can hardly fathom it. It's been getting much harder to move on with daily life recently. All I can really think about is how much I miss you. I know you don't believe I mean that, but I do. I always have. One day, I hope we can reconcile and I can make you believe it. I would give anything to be able to do that for you. Maybe one day, perhaps all that I have already given will finally be enough. With love, Amara
She places the pencil down, reading over her scrawled words. She never sends the letters - she has no means to anymore - but she has always written them. Amara can only hope that, one day, Loki will finally be able to read them. It is a far-fetched hope, but it is about the only thing that motivates her to keep pushing forward.
After re-reading the letter a few more times, she eventually grabs her things and heads back inside for the night. She puts the letter in with the others, tucked away in the space between the sofa and the wall so Sophie will most likely never find them.
Once her newest letter is safely tucked away, she crawls onto the sofa bed, covering herself with the worn blanket that she has used for the past year and a half. Between her and Sophie, not much extra money was made, what with rent and the necessary living expenses. It was a simple lifestyle, but she had gotten used to it by now.
What she still hadn't gotten used to, however, and most likely never would get used to, was a life without him in it.
