a fire burning so bright ⟢

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Upended.

Picked up and placed somewhere else.

Two things that Freya was no stranger to. She was born of Magic, and regardless of this canine form it seemed she was destined to remain in its grasp. Once more pulled from a home she created, Freya had been somewhat fortunate that this time, she had almost felt its approach. Enough to warn, but not enough to do much with it, and as mortal as she was in this tawny body, Freya was at its mercy as much as the rest of them.

She hadn't seen Odin this time, instead she felt as if she had been torn through time and space, her body light, made up of nothing, floating in the array of cosmos as colour burst around her and swallowed up in the waiting Black Hole. 

Spat out once again, Freya retained the same body, holding strong in this form. It was, perhaps, one of the bodies she spent the most times in, aside from her Godly form. Then again, she had not yet truly died in this body, had she? Her cycle could not be regenerated fully, and so, Freya was once more faced with a world where her Kingdom was left, her throne still warm from her worthy ass, and her crown, woven from gold, all but clattered to the theoretical floor in mourning of her.

Her Soulbound, gone.

Her children, gone.

Her Kingdom, it remained -- but for her, it was gone.

The entirety of what she had built, carried on without her.

Now she was here — here that felt familiar yet not at all. New, foreign to her in a way that not much usually was these days, and garnering her attention as birdsongs symphonised in the air. She was met with the scent of sweetness, like the scent of her, but not the same. Freya was made up of the tempting scent of golden honey, but this land, it was made up of something different. Sweet, like flowers.

The sun was warm, its golden glow weaving through the edges of her blonde fur, and drawing her closer as she sauntered — steps easy, confident, and slow. Freya's heart thudded in her chest, so much more human than it had been before, missing those she held dear. Before, she might have locked it away in an frosty cage, determined not to feel it. Now... one might argue she had been convinced what humanity still had to offer in the way of letting ones heart feel something so true — aside from what her Soulbound were to her, nothing was so true as them — and she let it stay there, hurting with each beat.

Freya walked through wildflowers, head cast to the sun.

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It's a whisper, yet it was still as sharp as a knife, and Freya's blood was warm in her veins when she realised she wasn't alone. Whether this was a dream, real life, or some in-between, she did not care. All she knew was that even here, she could not feel the tethers that kept her Soulbounds to her, and her to them, and so it must be a place where things were more mortal than not.

For as old as she was, for all the lives she had lived, Freya wasn't so arrogant as to think she had lived and seen it all. For all she knew, this could be a place she had never yet visited, a kind of magic she had not seen, and so what could she say was real or not? The suns warmth was as real as one could get it, even if this might be a clever trick of the mind, or some articulately formed simulation and that was enough for her.

Reminded of her company, Freya paused in her movements and cast her head over her shoulder to spy a snake in the grass. A wolven snake, built of frost and slate, whose eyes from even here she could see were underlined red. Intrigue lined her stomach as Freya twisted on graceful paws to face her amongst the flowers, her words somehow pointed yet Freya was certain she had not met her at all.

"I belong where I desire to belong," she mused as she leaned down to the flowers that tickled her legs and inhaled softly their sweet scent, though her eyes of gold and green remained on the other. "Do you?" Freya asked, brow quirked. If this was a dream, Freya wondered just where she was going, but if it were a curated reality — the goddess wondered the point of it. If it were neither, and this was a true realm, then she was as curious about this as she was about the others.

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Her eyes remained sharp, remained trained on her, and Freya wondered if the glint of the sun portrayed them properly. Was it the sun that spun yellow in depths of blue, or was it true to her? The serpent was dappled, mottled, an array of winter and smoke, of ice and stone, and Freya was tickled. A pretty little serpent whose eyes were sharp and likely, her teeth just as much.

Freya favoured beauty in all of its forms, so long as she didn't feel as if they were coming close to her, and she rather did like the finer things on occasion, did she not? Lost to the world she may be, from those that knew her, loved her, feared her, worshipped her — it didn't leave her incapable. Where she went, they would follow, and if in this body they did not find her again, she was certain in her next cycle they would be reunited. When someone was as certain as that, what time did she have for complaining?

Her laugh came, and Freya's golden ringed gaze settled on her. It wasn't a laugh that was true humour, but one, she thought, rang with disbelief. Freya was open with the way she gazed at her, freckled face free for reading as she tilted her head to the side, pulling up from the flowers that tickled her nose. "This is merely a stop gap," she hummed as she slunk forward, tail coiling against her rump as she let the sun warm her back. "But one I intend to enjoy, nonetheless," Freya told her as she stopped a short distance away, letting her body stretch languidly in an arch as she toed the earth.

"Do you intend to enjoy it, or do you intend to hate it for as long as you are here?" The Goddess queried curiously as she settled, wondering just how much the serpent wanted to hate.

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