Winds of Winter ｡ Loki Laufeyson

1 - NO DENYING THE INEVITABLE

It had been a cold night in Asgard the night Skadi Ullrdottir was born. Her mother, Beira, the Winter Goddess and one of the longest living Horae, birthed her in the late hours of the night, her powers so haywire with each burst of pain, that Asgard experienced a terrible winter. All trace of winter was gone by morning and it seemed to stop snowing the moment Beira was handed her newborn daughter. She was beautiful, so beautiful that even Beira's husband, Ullr, the God of Archery, shed many tears as he looked upon his daughter that evening. And Beira knew that her husband wasn't usually a man that shed tears very often.

Beira swore that she had never seen a more breathtaking life form in her entire existence. Her daughter had tufts of platinum hair that covered her scalp like peach fuzz and bright, azure eyes that resembled a marvelous, warm summer sky on a bright, sunny day. She was so small, and barely cried all night as she laid within Beira's arms, the woman refusing to ever part from her little girl, even when a maiden hand offered to clean her up so that she could get some rest.

As the years passed by, Beira watched her daughter grow up and couldn't be more proud of the person that she became. Skadi was like her in many ways; so compassionate and empathetic, precious and intelligent, gifted and beautiful. She was Beira's entire world, even down to her final moments where Beira knew nothing but pain and the comfort of her bed.

For all the time that she has been alive, Beira never thought that she would die so soon. The woman always thought that she would at least get to watch her daughter marry someone ─ more specifically, Loki, as she was no fool to the attachment the pair had to one another ─ and hold her grandchildren before death took her in his grasp but, alas, she was wrong.

There was no denying the inevitable.

An illness had crept up on her, tangling itself around her bones and squeezing at her organs so painfully that Beira often found herself tearing up at sudden movements. In result, her skin had became a nasty shade of milky white and her face had sunken in, revealing the structure of her skull. Her eyes were a dull shade of blue and barely held any life within them anymore. Even though she was sleeping longer these days from exhaustion, her eyes still carried deep purple bags beneath them, and her lips had drained of colour, becoming a dull shade of faded pink. Even if her family told her that she was as beautiful as ever, Shiva knew that she looked terrible on her deathbed.

She tried her best to stay strong for her family whenever she is awake and she finds them at her bedside. She forces smiles and holds back her coughs, raspy breaths and pained grunts, just so she can reassure them that she isn't in pain ─ when in reality, she was.

Beira didn't want them to feel sad and for them to fall into a darkness that they wouldn't be able to climb out of again after she was gone. She wanted them to be able to smile and see the light after she was laid to rest, but she was afraid they wouldn't. Afraid that her endearing husband would push their daughter away because his broken heart would make it too hard to even look upon their daughter that just looked too much like her. Scared to leave her fellow Horae goddesses that, over time, had become like her own kin, as she knew they would be lost without her by their side. But most off all, she was scared that her daughter wasn't ready to take on all the responsibility that comes with her death.

As a Horae, Beira has only one job: to keep winter at a perfect balance in all the nine realms. She brings the season when it's her time to step forward and Emblr's ─ the Goddess of Autumn ─ time to take a step back for the year. And so, when she passes, her daughter will have to step up and take her place as the Goddess of Winter, just like Beira had done for her mother, and her mother before her. It had been a gift stowed upon them by their creator, Beira's bloodline gaining the extraordinary high honour of winter.