A tale told between two points of view, spaced between vast oceans of time.
Within the depths of her psyche, Ava James grapples with a label that has haunted her since childhood: Crazy. Psychotic. Deluded. She's always suffered with hallucinations f...
After getting dressed and brushing out my hair, I found myself sitting in the bathroom for at least another hour. All I could do was stare at the delicate patterns etched into the granite floor, my mind swirling with thoughts of the conversation with Thorn.
After what felt like an eternity, I finally mustered the courage to leave the bathroom. Determination coursed through my veins as I set out to uncover the truth of what happened over a thousand years ago. I needed to know why I tried to kill Loki and why I took my own life. That was the biggest part of the jigsaw that had yet to be put into place.
When I left the bathroom, Loki was long gone, leaving behind only the lingering traces of his presence. I tried not to look at the messy bed, where the memories of our shared moments still lingered, threatening to overwhelm me with emotions I wasn't ready to confront. The turmoil of my feelings for him simmered beneath the surface. With each step I took as I left the room, I pushed aside the thoughts of him, steeling myself against the tide of emotions that threatened to engulf me.
As I left the room, frost giant guards stationed throughout the halls caught my attention, their imposing figures clad in armor, standing vigilantly. I kept my head down, avoiding their piercing gazes as I hurried down the long, familiar corridors of the palace. Each step echoed with a sense of urgency, driven by the determination to talk to the one person who could help me figure out what happened back in Asgard.
Finally, as I reached the grand doors of the library, a surge of anticipation coursed through me. I knew Jormungand would be in there, simply because I knew his personality. If he had downtime, he would be in the library; always. As I entered the grand library, I found that I wasn't wrong in my assumption. At the far side of the room, Jormungand sat at a desk, engrossed in his studies. A book was perched in one hand, while a quill danced gracefully across parchment in the other. His presence commanded space, a solitary figure amidst the vast expanse of knowledge contained within the library's walls. The walls of towering bookshelves stretched endlessly before me, their shelves stacked high with ancient tomes and volumes of forgotten lore. Each shelf seemed to reach fifty or sixty feet to the ceiling.
"I need your help," I said, my voice barely above a whisper as I closed the doors to the library behind me. Though my words were soft, I knew Jormungand could hear me. Jormungand's head swiveled to watch me enter, a delicate brow raised inquisitively. "Father said you did not wish to be bothered," he remarked, his tone cool and composed. "What can I say, it caught me off guard that he wants me to sit back and watch as he tries to destroy the universe," I replied, the weight of my words heavy in the air between us. Jormungand's expression shifted, his features taking on a thoughtful demeanor as he considered my words. The gravity of the situation hung palpably in the air. "At this point, mother, I don't know how to stop him. His power and influence have grown beyond measure."
I came closer. "You're not helpless. Why haven't you done something already? Why is it only now you're taking note that this is all wrong?" Jormungand looked grim. "You already know Hela and I started this mad quest because your reincarnation was envisioned. Father did not know that was our motivation at the time, but even after discovering it, he held no care as long as he still held our assistance. I've foreseen the devastation his ambitions could bring through oracles. But even with all my knowledge and power, I don't know where to begin to stop him." "I need to know what happened back in Asgard," I said promptly, the urgency evident in my voice. "I need to know what the catalyst for me was for trying to kill him, and why I killed myself instead."
Taking a deep breath, Jormungand stood and began to pace, his movements reflecting the weight of my inquiry. "That is the question I have been trying to answer since the day you died," he said solemnly. "Neither I, Hela, or even Fenrir can figure out the reason. You loved father through some very dark times- " "Exactly," I countered. "What could have happened that I turned on him? It's not adding up." He looked as lost as I felt. "Perhaps the deaths of Vali and Narfi? It happened near instantaneously with that." "There's only one way to find out." Jormungand looked perplexed as I came forward to grasp his forearms, the urgency evident in my touch. "I need you to extract my final memories of what happened the day I died," I implored. "It will take some time-" "No, it has to be now," I said firmly, my voice unwavering. Jormungand watched me with a troubled gaze, his brow furrowed in concern. "Why the urgency?" he questioned, his tone tinged with curiosity and apprehension. I didn't want to lie to him, but I also could not share the extent of what I knew about Thorn lurking somewhere within the castle walls. He would be killed instantly; but the alternative option was him killing Loki. I needed to unravel this mystery before it was too late, and someone died. My memories caused me to value Sif's memory and friendship too much to get her son killed. "Where's your father?" I asked, deflecting his question for the moment.
He frowned that I ignored his question, but he didn't push it. "If I ventured a guess, conversing with any number of his cronies that are assisting in this mad quest for power." He watched me carefully. "What has you troubled, mother?" Jormungand's voice broke through the tense silence, his concern evident in his expression. I let go of him and started pacing myself, the weight of my thoughts pressing heavily on me. "My memories play out when I'm sleeping. I need to be put to sleep to remember, and while I'm out, you need to keep an eye on Loki," I explained, my voice tinged with urgency. "Why?" Jormungand pressed, his brow furrowing with confusion. "We don't have time for questions," I snapped impatiently, the urgency of the situation driving my words. "I don't care if you trust me- " "I trust you," interjected Jormungand, his voice steady and reassuring. We locked eyes for a few moments, an unspoken understanding passing between us. I nodded my head in acknowledgment. "I need you to not ask questions, extract my memories, and keep your father safe while I'm out," I instructed, the gravity of my words hanging in the air between us.
Jormungand looked worried, his expression reflecting the gravity of the situation, but he obliged to my strange request nonetheless. With a determined resolve, he cleared off the nearby table of his books and parchments, creating a space for me to lay down. From the breast pocket of his finely tailored suit, he brandished a small vial containing a swirling purple liquid. "The absolute only way to extract the memories of your final days will be to unleash them all, mother," he said solemnly, his voice tinged with a hint of apprehension. "I have been trying to keep the painful ones behind an invisible wall, if you will, but once you drink this, there won't be any going back."
His words hung in the air like a heavy shroud, the weight of their implication settling over me like a blanket of uncertainty. With a steady breath, I nodded in understanding. There was no turning back after I took the potion. Against his words of caution, I laid down on the table, took the vile, and downed it. It was completely tasteless yet has the consistency of watered down syrup. I was unconscious before the back of my head hit the table. ***
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