A Love For Eternity (LokixReader)

Chapter One

(A/N: First off, thank you for reading! Secondly, this work has many references to trauma and near-death experiences that Y/N has experienced over the years. The chapters 1-3 describe some, but there are sub-plots that are going to be structured from these events later on. I will include a brief notice at the beginning of those chapters, but this will be the only warning until after chapter 4. Please note that the Y/N character is physically 24 years old, so there may be mature themes. I something goes 'wrong' during a theme, I will put a notice. Otherwise consider this as your only content advisory. Thanks for reading!) 

(Your Pov)

The first time you almost died, there was no one to blame. Not yet. No one besides the weather, maybe, for causing the disease to grab hold of you. You don't remember it, for the sickness had crashed suddenly over your young body. Barely 4 years old, already on the road to death.

But there was no one to blame for being sick. It was the result of a weak immune system. A virus, infection, or something rather. Technology wasn't as specific in those days.

Nothing more than bad luck.

There was no one to blame, until your father stole the witch's spellbook. You suppose now, he's the source of all the trouble. Because that witch knew more magic than you ever have. That spellbook had more magic in its pages than your father could ever hope to wield. He was a beginner mage, barely two years into his practice. Underqualified for performing any magics without supervision, let alone for trying to heal his daughter.

But just because he resorted to crime, doesn't mean he's stupid. He did try to learn, practicing spells on other forms of life before your own. Lesser forms, often telling you the stories of his endeavors in a weak attempt to humor you. You can remember weeks passing this way. Every day he was another step closer. Some plant saved, or a small animal.

Until the witch returned, rage dripping from her cloak and bleeding from her fingertips. A mortal stole her book of magic. It didn't matter if it was for a worthy cause, it was still a crime. A slight against a magician. So instead of helping the thief heal his child, she cursed you.

So, if you want to believe in the good and evil of humanity, perhaps your life is the witch's fault. For cursing you to "a miserable and gruesome death. Worse than all that have come before."

Of course then, she had meant every person to have come before. Your death would be a plague for the family, worse than all your ancestors' destinies.

Well, no beginner mage would leave their child with such a curse. Already sick to a great extent, perhaps that's why the witch left so early. Assuming the worst for you, and a greater grief for your thief of a father as substantial punishment.

Dad had other ideas. With all his basic knowledge, he used what powers he could to reverse her curse. And you were alive. But his lifeforce was drained, and he left this world. Leaving you for your mother to take care of. His life fueled the simple, desperate spell. "My daughter will not die."

So, via chain of events, this really is your father's fault.

Twenty years passed, nearly on the dot. You were still aging then, and you learned. Your mother took up her husband's practice, teaching you when you came of age. Making sure not to make the same mistakes. Making sure to gain knowledge of good magics, from the right sources.

And you were happy. Through the tragedy that had plagued your family, you prevailed.

Now came the first death.

Twenty years came to an end, and the witch returned. You don't quite know why. But upon seeing that you were alive- despite your father's death- she tried to kill you, your mother, and destroy what was left of your family's good name. Setting fire to everything you had built for yourselves.

But against two seasoned magicians, and aging herself, she was slain in her efforts. Burnt amongst you. Every heart lost its beat. Your father failed, your mother failed, you failed. Even the witch failed.

Three people died that day.

Three bodies were found.

Only two were buried.

You awoke six months later, once your body had finished healing enough to function. you were still missing most of your left arm- something that bewildered you for quite a few weeks. The people who investigated the fire had found you breathing, and within days you were showing signs of surviving this predicament. Your arm grew back the following month. A trick you quickly learned you had no control over. You experimented, but you simply couldn't figure out how to control this new power. Nor much of the other areas of your life.

You were on your own.

In the wonderful year of 136 B.C.

Somehow immortal and unaging, even after the months passed since your first death. Most likely your father's fault, if these stories are true.

For the first few months you grieved. With your parents gone... you had no one to turn to. None who would listen, anyway. When you are a 24 year old woman in ancient times, few people want to hear your opinion. Especially if it has to do with magic, immortality, and the death of one's family. Those topics were reserved for the Greek Artisans.

The following years you tried to stay local. Just in case something happened, you would be near civilization. But when you didn't age past the day you died, soon the townsfolk became the problem. Five years later, you were stoned to death. Killed twice over 6 years.

You awoke stranded in the middle of the desert for carrion birds to pick apart your body. They hadn't, thankfully, and from then on you became a wanderer. Every other year you moved to a new area, and didn't return for another fifty years. Long enough for most to forget your face, and hopefully, your whole existence.

Time passed. You lived and you travelled until the next milenia came to an end. A thousand years came and passed. You died, occasionally; always in a way more gruesome than the last. Thanks, witch. But your father's spell made your heart beat time and time again. So you may wake up and see the next century. Every kind of people, every kind of place, every sort of belief and religion come and gone in the blink of an eye. At times, if you got bored, you would sleep for a decade before moving on. Settle beneath a tree in the middle of nowhere, and doze off. Your body would adapt to your environment, and keep you alive. Spare these adaptations, your body made sure to stay as close as possible to how you were on your first death. Young, healthy, scarless, and now, infertile. That's what happens when your body refuses to have periods.

But after one has seen so many things of this world, sometimes life starts to lose meaning. Just a repetitive, useless, meaningless existence. There was no point in religion, as your soul would never leave your body. As others settled down, married, and created families of their own, you found yourself in a jealous position. Because you couldn't have that.

You lost the joy of life. Humanity seemed so bleak.

Until he arrived, anyway.