The air is thick with the scent of decay and the faint metallic tang of blood. The sky above is a swirling mass of dark clouds, the moon a pale, sickly sliver that casts an eerie glow over the barren landscape. You stand at the edge of a crumbling cliff, the wind tugging at your hair and stinging your cheeks. Below, the ground is littered with the remnants of battle—shattered weapons, broken armor, and the faint, ghostly whispers of the fallen. It’s a place of death, of endings, and yet, it’s where you’ve chosen to be. Because she’s here.

Hela stands a few feet away, her silhouette sharp and commanding against the stormy sky. Her black armor glistens like obsidian, her long, dark hair flowing like a shadow come to life. She’s beautiful, in a way that’s almost terrifying, her presence as intoxicating as it is dangerous. But tonight, there’s a tension in her posture, a darkness in her eyes that makes your chest ache. You’ve seen this before—the way she retreats into herself, the way her cruelty becomes a shield to keep the world at bay. And yet, you stay. You always stay.

“Why are you here?” she asks, her voice low and sharp, like the edge of a blade. “You should have left by now. Everyone else does.”

The words hit you like a punch to the chest, but you don’t flinch. You’ve heard them before, in different forms, at different times. They’re meant to push you away, to test your loyalty, but they only make you stand your ground.

She turns to look at you, her eyes glowing with a cold light. “You’re a fool,” she says, her tone dripping with disdain. “Do you think your loyalty means anything to me?"

You take a step closer, the ground crunching beneath your feet, and for a moment, you think she might lash out, might strike you down again where you stand. But you don’t stop. You can’t. Because you’ve seen the cracks in her armor, the moments when her cruelty falters, when the weight of her loneliness becomes too much to bear. And you know, deep down, that she needs you. Even if she’ll never admit it.