Survivor's Guilt ~ A Marvel Story

~ 6 ~

My face burned as I glared at my father through my long eyelashes. He paced around my room, telling me about how he's fixed the whole mess. He put emphasis on the fact that it was my mess, therefore I should've cleaned it up but he did me a favor this once. 

I had no eagerness to start another argument with him today so I just sat and took it. He'd made me stay in my room for four hours. I'd missed the placing of the flowers around his tree. It's there that my father extended the guilt I'd felt for messing up the service. I was so fed up with the lies and the withheld truths. 

"The party will start in an hour and a half when the sun begins to go down, understand?" He asks, stopping his constant walking.

"Yes," I spoke plainly and shortly. 

"Good," He nodded. "I expect to see you there and there will be no slip-ups this time, correct?"

I took a long breath until it was at the top of my chest before releasing it. "Correct." I still sat in the black gown but I was expected to change into a dress of color. We were allowed to mourn but the time for wearing black was over. 

His armor clanked together as he walked out of my room, shutting the door behind him. 

I felt trapped. I'd always felt constricted but now I felt truly trapped. Even if I wanted to leave, the Bifrost was destroyed. There were rumors of other passages but the only person who knew where they are is Loki. Was Loki.

My jaw clenched as a tear ran angrily down my face. There was nothing I could do. I've tried crossing the line but it only led back to my father getting his way each time. And he claims I have the power of manipulation. 

There wasn't anything I could do except get up and get dressed. 

The new gown was a champagne gold color that barely grazed the ground when I stood. At least I wouldn't be tripping over the fabric tonight. The sleeves were long and billowed out around my wrists. 

I didn't care how I looked. What I cared about was how I felt but I wasn't allowed to care about that.

I didn't touch up my makeup or my hair and if anyone had a problem with it, they could fix it themselves. 

As I was hanging the black gown in a section of my closet, I heard a knock on the door to my room. 

I walked out of my closet and smoothed out the silk fabric before I opened the door. Before me stood the light-haired stable boy. 

"Rune," I said shallowly, still a little upset from earlier. Even though he'd extended an apology to me, he dragged me out of the main hall despite my kicks and screams.

"Princess," He says, forgetting that I told him those formalities weren't necessary. "Heimdall wishes to see you." I nodded, pushing the white hair off of my shoulders. Rune took a permanent position in guarding my bedroom door. No one was allowed in or out. My room was a glorified prison cell.

"Let him in," I told him without much more than a small glance. I noticed his eyes on me and when he saw I'd noticed, he darted his eyes around the room. Suddenly, I cared about my hair and makeup. 

Trying not to look too worried, I ran a hand over the top of my head as if that would magically fix any problems my hair might have.

Rune cleared his throat before walking out, leaving the door cracked. When the door opened again, Heimdall stepped in. He gently closed the door behind him.

"How are you?" I quickly asked. I hadn't seen Heimdall in some time. Last I heard, he was attacked and then eventually escaped. He's been in recovery ever since.