I spent my whole life training to become a ballet dancer—a soloist, a star.
Today, I’m a toy, a plaything, a distraction…
A sacrifice to a caged god, to the Norse trickster. Loki.
Trapped in a cave for the sins of his past, he waits for the end of days. Modern worshippers curry favor with gifts and trinkets, spilled blood—and women like me.
Women who resemble his long-dead wife.
We all have that look, you see. I’m supposed to be flattered that I remind him of a goddess in an age gone by.
Screw that. I’m furious.
The ones who came before me were sweet, docile, compliant—just like her. But I’m not sweet. I’m not docile, and I will never be compliant.
I am resilient.
I am determined.
I am—not—drawn to him.
I will survive this.
I will survive him.
My name is Nora Olsen, and I will not die here.