Returned Memories
Category: Uncategorized

Buried under a dense fog of dreams Amora could feel her mind being yanked down into memories she fought all the time to ignore. Since Sven had come back to return them to her she was plagued as he had promised, when she dreamed it was of the life she had forgotten. Every thought, every moment, all that was erased by Odin and Owle was slowly coming back to her, much to her dismay. Being thrown back into a time when she was a much worse person left her bogged down by guilt when she woke, and that could only shadow her family in ways she would rather protect them from.

Tonights dream was a flash of a moonlit village, a tiny dwelling in Vaneheim where a clan had lived for generations. Pursuits of power had brought them here and Sven assured her this was a powerful clan, they would be just what Amora needed to increase her own abilities. The clan never grew in numbers but had persevered and on their ancestral lands, perfect for Amoras needs. Sven was there to assist her, but this was her task, her intent and he had no issue standing back and watching her work.

They had plans to command all the nine realms, and in order to do that they needed power. There was nothing easy about snatching thrones. So her kiss was lingering, biting and when she pulled back she smiled. “Make sure no one runs off,” she implored him, a finger trailing down his blue cheek before she started walking through the snow. She intended to use the weather to her advantage. As ice fell from the sky from storm clouds breaking up, letting a soft blue light color the ground she walked, knowing the patter of the ice that still fell would mask the sounds of her boots in the snow.

She didn't need to get her hands dirty, or not by much. At the center of a grouping of huts that made up the village she held her hands out before her. Green tendrils awoke from her out held palms licking along the bases of the huts and lighting them ablaze. She stroked the fires higher, and when the screams started she used those same green tendrils to hold the doors closed, so none could escape. She had no desire to see crying faces it would distract from her needs. So she closed her eyes focusing half of her energy on the flames and half on holding those captives in their fiery tombs. It took a while, between the last of the falling ice and the last screams dying off, but when all was quiet she looked across the field where Sven waited for her. 

Left to finish her ritual on her own Amora collected ashes from each of the dwellings that still smoldered in the crisp air. The tendrils of gray in the air were a mixture of smoke from the fire and fog from the steam created by the hot air twisting with the cold. It made seeing anything around her harder but she didn't mind. She used the ashes to cut runes into the slow, the dark coloring making them stand out. She used the same ash to mimic those runes on her skin, smearing them on her forehead and hands, one down the center of her chest ending just above her breasts.

The chanting that followed started low, and her tone slowly rose, the ancient tongues all but forgotten the path to magics now thought to dark for their worlds. Amora could feel the surging power but she kept at it, not wanting to waste of a drop of the potential she had unlocked there. So she chanted, and chanted, and as the sun started to rise she felt a trail of blood start from her nose. Knowing she had enough she wiped her hand across her cheek as she fell silent. There was a moment of focus and then she spread her hands, facing them up at the sky. She used those same powers, stolen from the people of the now extinct village to bring the clouds rolling back in, thick and angry, the icy starting to fall again in heavy painful little pelts. 

Amora could swear she felt the ice hitting her skin as she woke up, shaking, sweat beading along her skin. She rolled from her bed, careful not the jostle her husband and rushed to the bathroom being violently ill before she even felt the pangs of sickness. She sat on the cold tiles for a while, as her muscles worked through the shakes, goosebumps rising and falling on her skin. Her nightgown clung to her skin and so she moved slowly to change, feeling like she should shower before she crawled into bed beside Thor again. She took her time pulling free more silk to pull on, and when she slipped back into bed it was with the strongest urge to cry.

She wasn't that person anymore. Her lifes goals weren't just power by any means. She knew she had been power hungry before, but as her memories returned she recalled how truly horrible she had become. She had excuses for it all, anger with her father, sadness at her mothers death, Svens influence. But she had done all the horrible things all the same and no excuses made her feel like less of an impostor. Slowly Amora curled into her husbands side, pillowing her head on his chest as she tried to ground herself in the now. Now she wasn't cold, now she wasn't ruthless, unless faced with someone wishing to harm her family. She had been lost, cruel, fallen before. Now she was more, she wanted more and tried always to be better. No longer was she a young girl drunk off power and its pursuits, intoxicated with a man who wanted all the same. She curled against a man now who had all the power one could wish for, and was a better person then she could ever claim to be. It dint corrupt, it didn't harm or change him and as she pressed a kiss to her husbands chest she willed no more memories for that evening. She wanted those horrible images of the person she was to never plague her again, never wanting to see the look on her families faces if they were to discover what a horrible person she had truly been.

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