Ginnungagap—the primordial void, the yawning gap—was the empty space in which the world began. In the south, it bordered on fire and flame, and past the north, the ice lay thick, layer upon layer upon layer.

"North of the void the storm howled through darkness and cold over the desolate Nifelheim. The rivers welling up from the yawning gap were frozen to ice by Nifelheim's chill. Rime covered the ice."

She was the fires of Muspelheim, and he was the stoic, frozen north—and the space between them was the space where these worlds met.

But in that moment, he doubted something would spring from it, that something would rise from the ashes of their burning souls—that there would be any kind of rebirth. She left him alone in his chill, ice crawling over his skin where she had touched him, and left her traces of warmth.

If she stood by him long enough, maybe he would, finally, crack and melt.

Frost..fucking..heart.

He didn't want to meet her gaze. He didn't want to see what he could practically taste, to have it laid so bare in her eyes that he couldn't ignore it. He didn't want to let her in. He didn't want to tell her the truth. He didn't want to ruin something he had come to cherish more than he had anticipated. He didn't..

He didn't want to have to leave her alone in this dark world, because he knew how fragile she was.

But he was afraid, that it was what was going to happen, that the gap between them would yawn wider and wider until he couldn't detect even the slightest trace of her warmth.

All would be the cold, desolate darkness of his soul—he would be left to walk his lonely realm of stone and ice alone, dragging the heavy, bloodied sword in his wake.

She was protesting, and he didn't meet her eyes, frozen and stubborn, staring into the deepening darkness. Do you know what you are saying? It was the voice of his monster, of his deepest, darkest reason, so smooth and logical, so collected, not at all clenching its jaws together to keep the hot tears from spilling from icy eyes; it's voice nearly a sinister purr, you are sorry you were not there to help me take their home from them?

It hadn't even been a war.

It had been shameful and ridiculous and, yes, disgusting.

“Those babies—that woman--how can I…?”

You can't, he wanted to say, to turn those eyes upon her and stare at her and let her see how the salt nearly burned his whites to red with all that he held back—

But he couldn't. This was hard enough as it was. And the worst part? It was so much more rational than the time when he had yelled at Kahlua.

No, wait—the worst part was that he didn't want to hurt her.

But he feared, was dead certain, that he would.

"You are not awful," he finally said, speaking too slowly, each word cold and dead, simple weight falling from stiff lips. It wasn't her fault. She wasn't to blame. She hadn't been there, a wolf to pick off any stragglers, so ready to fight on slowly diminishing loyalties and whims and.. you have no right, he had yelled at the cretin desecrating Quinn's body.

And what right had Mauja had, to be just another number in the reckoning? What right had he had to stand there, with only a borrowed cause?

What right—when had he ever done something right?

Honesty is hard, brother.

"Elding, I..." And it was so tempting to say Roskuld, just to catch her attention and clear her stubborn ears, but she wasn't Roskuld to him—she was lightning, she was that stubborn kid curled up on the floor and crying because love hurt so damned much. She was.. he didn't know what she was. He just knew that he cared and that he was holding the knife to his own heart, pressing it in bit by bit with words because he felt like a liar, foul and vile. "I wasn't there to defend them," he finally whispered, ears angling back and terror lacing every word—just as it laced every beat of his heart, his pulse a roar, jaw trembling. And at last, he turned his head, eyes looking for hers. Looking at her was the least he could do—what she deserved, to stare into a gaze that was so unused to displaying anything but now it roared fear.

I'm afraid of losing you.

"I was there to make sure the Falls were lost."

It was barely more than a breath, just the faintest swirl of air in that vast, yawning void—that abyss that stretched between them, devoid of anything.

In that moment, it felt infinite.

[ @[Roskuld] ]

lord, the demands you're making-
help the monster on two feet
walk him down the hall, repeat
and when he's strong enough to stand alone
you'll notice what big teeth . . .