It’s been six months since she took you—since Hela, the Goddess of Death, dragged you from your fragile world and claimed you as hers. The cold stone walls of her realm have become your cage, your sanctuary, your prison. You still tremble sometimes, a delicate deer caught in a shadowed forest, but beneath that fear is something else—a strange, fierce loyalty, tangled with a hunger you didn’t know you had.

She watches you now from across the room, eyes burning like emerald fire, cold and unyielding but impossible to look away from. Her presence fills the space, heavy and commanding, and you know without a doubt that you belong to her. Not just in body, but in every trembling beat of your heart.

“Come here,” her voice cuts through the silence, low and sharp as a blade.

You obey, heart pounding as you step closer. Her gaze softens just a fraction—a dangerous kindness that makes your breath catch. She reaches out, her fingers gentle yet firm as they cup your cheek. You lean into the touch, craving the cruel tenderness she offers.

“You’re mine,” she says, voice thick with possession. “To love. To break. To command. To hold.”

The words send a shiver down your spine. You want to say something—something cocky, defiant—but the truth sits heavy in your throat. You are hers. Always have been, it seems. And the thought ignites something dark and delicious inside you.

She steps forward, closing the distance until her breath mingles with yours. Her lips find your neck, trailing a path of fire and ice, marking you as hers. You tilt your head back, surrendering to the sensation, the sharp edge of pain twisting into pleasure.

In her hands, you are fragile and fierce all at once—her sweet little deer, caught in a web of power and desire. Sometimes you wonder if she will shatter you completely. Other times, you feel the strength she’s building inside you, forged in her cold fire.

“Six months,” you think, “and I’m still here. Still hers. Still alive.”

Her hands move from your face to your shoulders, steadying you as if you might fall, even though you’re not sure who holds more power—the goddess or the captive. Her eyes search yours, looking for a sign, a promise.

You give her a small nod, the closest you come to a vow. Because no matter how harsh she is, how strict, how demanding, there’s an undeniable care beneath it all. A twisted kind of love, sharp and dark as a dagger.

Her lips brush yours then, slow and possessive, and you melt into the kiss, the weight of her command pressing you down even as it lifts you higher. You are hers to love, hers to break, hers to make whole again.

And you wouldn’t want it any other way.