The Lost Asgardian (Loki)

Entry 4) The Warning

"Heathens" by Twenty One Pilots
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AVA
My mother and I have never shared what one might call a close bond. She's always been a presence in my life, fulfilling the role of a mother, yet the connection between us goes little beyond the fact that she brought me into this world. We lack that deep, unspoken understanding; we don't share secrets, gossip, and I can't label her as my best friend. Our similarities are minimal, even in appearance. My honey blonde hair, sometimes mistaken for brunette in certain lighting, contrasts sharply with her burnt mahogany color. My skin tends towards a creamy paleness, bordering on cliché, while hers has a gentle tan. The sole confirmation of our relation lies in the shared trait of bright green eyes. Beyond that, we lack common ground, not even sharing common interests.
Your passage provides insight into the complexities of family dynamics and the narrator's relationship with their mother. Here are some refinements for improved flow:

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I suppose I bear a closer resemblance to my dad, at least that's what I gathered from old photographs of him. Unfortunately, I wouldn't be able to confirm nowadays; it's been years since I laid eyes on a picture of him. My mom doesn't keep photos of him—it's too painful to be constantly reminded that the love of her life is no longer around. Those were the words she shared with me once. She consistently refers to my father as the love of her life, even now, even while she's married to Monty. Despite her efforts to cultivate a normal family, I find it hard to see any love between her and her second husband, even though I sense she and Monty desperately tried to maintain a connection with him over the last three years. Maybe it was fear of being alone, as if being with each other was somehow better than having no one at all.


I'm grateful she has him in her life now. When it was just the two of us, my mom was a lot more hostile. Almost as if she silently resented me for existing. Growing up, I wasn't allowed to do much. Sports were too dangerous in her opinion, as were dance classes or even swimming lessons. Despite my enjoyment of singing, I wasn't permitted to participate in lessons at school, even when they were offered free of charge.

I've always been shielded because of my mental illness. My mom has never wanted me to really put myself out into the world perhaps out of fear it would reject me. Luckily when Monty came along, my mom was able to breath. She no longer watched me like a hawk, overprotecting and perhaps overbearing. She no longer had to escort me to every doctor's appointment and therapy session. Monty slowly coaxed her into allowing me space, and to even allow me to get a full-time job.

 Since marrying, my mother no longer looks at me as if I'm somehow stepping in and ruining her existence with my disease. She would always watch me with a reproachful gaze, and maybe even a pitying one. She still does, just not as much with Monty around. Nowadays, she tries more to be happy than she ever did previously when it was just the two of us. It's not being close with my mother on a personal level that propelled me into not revealing the necklace that I found slinking out of my bag. I knew what would happen if I told her. The same thing that happened on my tenth birthday when I told her a cat was talking to me. She rushed me to a child psychologist the first chance she got. If I actually told her about what I found she'd probably schedule an emergency appointment with Dr. Carter as soon as she got home from work. The woman may be a busy beautician, but she didn't fool around when it came to my therapy.

"Okay...So...You think that you pulled a 'Nightmare on Elm street' and took something out of your dreams...?" Bev questioned, her very dark brows furrowed. Her beyond curly black hair was even more outrageous today, sticking up in pretty curls showcasing her oval face. Beverly Kwon is easily the only person I can really call friend. We talk, we joke, and we even share similar interests. Why we don't communicate via phone or internet outside of therapy is rather simple; none of our parents permit us to use social media. Bev's parents only allow her to use a cell phone in case of extreme emergencies. Thankfully Monty convinced my mother I needed a phone if I was to be out in the real world on my own.