𝖎𝖎𝖎. daughter of guilt and glory

WHAT WAS ONCE HOME FOR VIVICA NOW FELT LIKE A PRISON.

The palace, with its gleaming golden pillars and cascading silk curtains, was a masterpiece of opulence, but it suffocated her. It was a gilded cage, the weight of its beauty pressing down like iron bars. Every intricate carving, every polished surface seemed to echo with the whispers of lies and secrets buried deep within the walls. They were shadows clawing at her throat, digging into her skin with unseen nails, begging to be unearthed. Yet every time Vivica dared to reach for them, they slipped away, evading her grasp like smoke in the wind.

That suffocating presence drove her away from the palace’s heart.

More painfully, it drove her away from the people she loved.

Her mother spent every waking moment at the Allfather’s bedside, whispering reassurances that felt hollow to Vivica’s ears. She couldn't bear to see her father like that — still, silent, and diminished. He was a god, and gods were not meant to wither. That's what he used to tell her. So, the sight of him, coupled with her mother's brittle optimism, was a weight too heavy for her to carry. So she avoided them.

Loki was an even more distant option. The idea of going to him crossed her mind many times, but it was always chased away by an inexplicable chill that crept into her bones. The mere thought of entering the throne room made her chest tighten. She would stop just short of the gilded doors, her steps faltering as if the very air before them bristled with warning. Loki rarely left that room, and so Vivica rarely saw him.

To escape it all, she turned to the gardens.

The sprawling gardens of the Asgardian palace were a sanctuary unlike any other. Flowers bloomed in every hue imaginable — rich purples as dark as twilight, fiery reds that rivaled the setting sun, and bright yellows that seemed to drink in the golden light. Vivica would sit for hours in a secluded clearing, where a crystal-clear reflecting pool lay cradled by smooth stones. A waterfall fed into it, its steady rush providing the only sound besides the songs of distant birds.

It was beautiful, tranquil — everything the palace wasn’t.

But the quiet had its price.

Here, in the stillness, her thoughts would creep in, uninvited and relentless. She would start with the beauty of her surroundings, marveling at the way the sunlight glinted off the water or how the breeze carried the faintest hint of lavender. But inevitably, her mind would drift back to her family.

To the fractures she couldn’t mend.

She had failed.

The realization was a constant, gnawing presence. She had tried to hold them together, to be the string binding them as one, but she wasn’t strong enough. And now, everything had unraveled. Odin’s collapse, Thor’s banishment, Loki’s ascension — it all felt like proof of her shortcomings. She had watched it happen, powerless to stop it, and the weight of that failure threatened to crush her.

Her chest tightened, and Vivica exhaled sharply, forcing herself back to the present. She extended a hand, her slender fingers cutting through the air in a practiced motion.

A gentle breeze stirred, circling her palm with a soft hum. With delicate precision, Vivica coaxed the wind into form, watching as it swirled into a miniature tornado. It danced above her hand, a perfect spiral of energy and grace.

Her lips curved into the faintest smile. For the first time in days, her eyes sparkled — not with sadness or regret, but with a quiet delight. She watched the tornado spin and shift, the breeze teased the edges of her hair as the small vortex twirled, and Vivica allowed herself to feel.

"Your powers have always been fascinating."

The sudden sound of Loki's voice startled Vivica, her concentration breaking as the swirling tornado dissipated in a streak of wind. With an unintended flick of her wrist, the current darted toward the reflecting pool. The vortex collided with the water, sending a spray of droplets into the air, cascading over both Vivica and Loki in a chaotic, glittering arc.

For a brief moment, Vivica’s laughter bubbled forth, light and unguarded, the sound catching even her by surprise. She turned to gauge Loki’s reaction, only to find his expression far from amused. His features were drawn tight, lips pressed into a thin line, his eyes closing as though shielding himself from some great offense. The disgust in his posture was palpable.

Quickly regaining her composure, Vivica lifted her hand, summoning a gentle current of warm air. It swirled softly around them, drying their clothes and skin in a matter of moments.

“Thank you,” Loki murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

Vivica studied him for a moment before turning her gaze back to the pool. “It’s a shame they’re still so unpredictable,” she admitted, a faint tinge of self-deprecation in her tone.

“You’ll learn to control them eventually,” Loki replied, his voice steady but distant.

Silence fell between them, broken only by the faint rustle of leaves and the melodic chirping of birds that punctuated the garden’s stillness. Yet the quiet was far from comforting. It lingered, heavy with unsaid words and unspoken grievances, until Vivica finally turned toward her brother.

“Why are you here?” she asked, her voice tinged with both curiosity and suspicion.

Loki sighed, lowering himself gracefully to sit beside her by the pool. His movements were precise, almost rehearsed, as though he had choreographed this encounter in his mind long before arriving. “Am I not allowed to spend time with my sister?” he replied lightly, though the unease flickering in his eyes betrayed the forced casualness of his tone.

Vivica didn’t respond immediately. Her gaze drifted back to the garden, her eyes unfocused, as if searching the vibrant blooms for answers that eluded her. “I just thought you had important meetings to attend,” she said at last, her words laced with a quiet frustration that she couldn’t entirely suppress. “Like you always do these days.”

Loki’s expression flickered, his calm façade momentarily cracking under the weight of her words. “Vivica, everything I’ve done — everything that’s happened — has been to ensure your safety, to keep you out of harm’s way,” he said softly, his voice carrying a sincerity that bordered on pleading.

Vivica hugged her knees to her chest, her posture defensive, her voice sharper than she intended. “You always say that, and yet somehow, I’m always the one who gets hurt.”

Loki paused, his sharp features betraying a flicker of hesitation. He seemed to choose his next words carefully, the calculated deliberation in his manner reminding her painfully of their father. It was the same measured tone Odin had often used in front of her, a voice that filtered truths and concealed motives under a veil of authority.

“And I’m sorry if it seems that way,” Loki began, his words slow and deliberate, “but you know it was never our… my intention.”

Vivica scoffed before she could stop herself, the sound low and bitter. She rested her chin on her knees, keeping her face turned away from him. “If you were really sorry, you’d give me some answers.”

Her words hung in the air between them, heavy and unyielding, like the storm clouds she had once conjured as a child, only to find herself powerless to dispel them.

Loki said nothing, but Vivica didn’t need to look at him to know he was weighing his response. He always was. The silence stretched, taut and unrelenting, until it felt as though the garden itself had paused to listen.

Finally, Vivica scoffed loudly, making sure the sound reached him, before standing and smoothing out her dress with deliberate precision.

“Where are you going?” Loki’s voice rose behind her, tinged with alarm — perhaps even a flicker of worry.

Vivica didn’t look back. “Well, if you don’t plan on giving me any answers, I don’t see the point in continuing this conversation. Goodbye.” Her voice was sharp, decisive, and she turned sharply on her heel, striding toward the palace.

As she walked, Vivica felt a faint, childish hope that Loki would call after her, that he’d finally give her something, anything, to hold on to. But no words followed her. Only the suffocating weight of silence.

Vivica moved swiftly through the palace corridors, her steps echoing faintly in the quiet. She weaved through the grand halls and shadowed passageways with purpose, her mind set on only one destination.

The healing room was dimly lit, the soft glow of the hearth casting flickering shadows on the walls. Sif and the Warriors Three were scattered about, their expressions somber as they discussed something in low tones. Vivica’s sudden presence drew their attention immediately, their conversations halting as they turned to face her.

“I want to help you get my brother back home. What’s your plan?” Vivica’s voice was steady, but the urgency and desperation beneath her words were unmistakable. She stood at the threshold, her posture radiating determination.

The group exchanged uneasy glances, a wordless conversation passing between them. It was Sif who finally stepped forward, her face softening with sympathy, though her tone remained firm. “We have no plan,” she admitted quietly, shaking her head.

Vivica’s shoulders slumped, the weight of disappointment pressing down on her. “Oh,” she murmured, the single syllable heavy with disillusionment. She had naively believed that these warriors — Asgard’s finest — would already be prepared to act. The truth stung, sharp and bitter.

Across the room, Volstagg sat at a table piled high with food, tearing into a platter with unrelenting enthusiasm. Fandral watched him with mounting irritation, his composure finally breaking.

“Our dearest friend banished, Loki on the throne, Asgard on the brink of war, and yet you manage to consume four wild boar, six pheasant, a side of beef, and two casks of ale. Shame on you! Don’t you care?” Fandral’s voice rose with frustration, his hand darting out to grab the platter.

Volstagg’s jovial demeanor vanished in an instant. His hand shot out, intercepting Fandral’s attempt with surprising speed. “Do not mistake my appetite for apathy,” he said firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument.

The tension in the room thickened, the air practically vibrating with unspoken grievances, until Sif stepped between them. “Enough!” she barked, her voice cutting through the charged atmosphere like a blade. “Vivica is right. We all know what needs to be done, but we’re too damned afraid to do it!”

Her words hung in the air, heavy with accusation.

Hogun, who had remained silent, approached the hearth where faintly glowing healing stones rested amidst the embers. He carefully plucked a few stones from the fire, the flickering light reflecting in his solemn eyes. “We must go,” he said simply, placing the stones into a pouch at his side. “We must find Thor.”

“It’s treason, Hogun,” Fandral warned, his voice hushed as his gaze darted nervously around the room.

“To hell with treason, it’s suicide,” Volstagg countered, his eyes flicking toward the door as though expecting guards to burst in at any moment. “And shh! Heimdall may be watching! It’s said he can hear—”

“Yes, yes, we know!” Fandral interrupted, exasperation dripping from his words.

Vivica stepped forward, her voice breaking through the tension. “My brother would do the same for us,” she said, her tone resolute. Her words carried an unshakable certainty, silencing the room.

For a moment, the silence was profound, heavy with unspoken fears and the weight of the decision before them.

Then, the sound of footsteps echoed from the hall, and a guard appeared in the doorway. Everyone tensed instinctively, their hands moving toward their weapons.

“Heimdall demands your presence,” the guard announced, his voice grave.

The warriors exchanged wary glances.

“We’re doomed,” Volstagg muttered under his breath.