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smolvenger · 3 months

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A Court of Mischief and Purpose Chapter Nineteen (Loki x fem! Reader Hiddlesverse Crossover Series, A Court of Thorns and Roses AU)

Series Summary: Sarah J Maas's A Court of Thorns and Roses series reimagined with Tom Hiddleston's various characters- Especially the events in the second book: A Court of Mist and Fury. England. 1885. You are dying of tuberculosis right before your upcoming wedding to the Lusty Vicar of Aldwinter, Will Ransome. As you lay on what could be your deathbed, the god of mischief Loki appears before you with a deal. He will heal you in time for the wedding...if you spend a week of every month with him.

Chapter Summary: You complete your revenge.

Word Count: 7K (I REALLY wanted to get to the part at the end)

Warnings: mentions of sex, masturbation, and cheating (I portray the canon cheating in The Essex Serpent as bad and both Will and Cora deserving of punishment, and if you don't like that, don't read this), Supporting Women's Wrongs. Violence, Loki being Loki. Mentions of religion.

Series Masterlist

A03//My Ko-Fi//My Etsy Shop//Masterlist//Wattpad

Taglist: @asgards-princess-of-mischief @jennyggggrrr @five-miles-over @fictive-sl0th @ladycamillewrites @villainousshakespeare @holdmytesseract @eleniblue @twhxhck @lokisgoodgirl @lovelysizzlingbluebird @raqnarokr @holymultiplefandomsbatman @michelleleewise @wolfsmom1 @cheekyscamp @mochie85 @fandxmslxt69 @skittslackoffilter @mischief2sarawr

On Wednesday, you went out with your mother to shop for Cora’s birthday present in the next larger town. There were times you both enjoyed going there for little outings more than the sleepy white and brown town by the seaside could afford. You stopped at the first boutique for women you found.

Clothes, yes, clothes would do for the gift. You recalled what she would wear. Grey coats and no corset when she was researching and running about. The grey dress for parties. You recalled the bright red dress that forever drenched your nightmares in infamy.

Women walked about with their hats and little purses dangling. Mother got into chatting with a shop-girl about what was on sale. The bell over the door would ring as shoppers entered and exited. Roses blossomed in vases amongst the goods. Walking about, you noticed several lacy gowns full of little ornaments on mannequins.

Not those dresses. Nothing with frills and feathers. Cora didn’t like that. She wouldn’t wear it. Your secret goal was to find the perfect attire, be it a dress or a coat or even a skirt or blouse that Mrs. Seaborne would not resist adorning. You had to keep looking.

Sometimes there was a slight hint of masculinity in what Cora wore….like Lady Sif... You did miss your trainer and somewhat friend- she had a heart beneath her sometimes aloof and brash nature…

Wait a minute- how hypocritical you were! Admiring Lady Sif and feeling embittered to Cora! Should you do this at all? No, no you had to gather yourself. Focus. You pushed the thought away to your mind.

It took some searching, but you managed to find your Trojan Horse for the gift. It was the perfect one for Cora. A new grey coat with no worn frays or signs of use. Just like the one she always wore. Practical, but not frumpy, comfortable, and subtly pretty. Only this one was new, freshly made with hardly any tears. Perfect for running about in the fields and forests and muck, searching for Serpents in the wood and the Serpent in your fiancee’s trousers.

You bought it at once. You both traveled right back home. Refreshing yourself with tea and sandwiches, you picked up your new package and brought it to your room. Taking out the coat from its box, you laid it down over your bed. A body, a ghost, a figure lying down in the realm of either death or sleep.

Cora, Cora, Cora, Mrs. Seabrone, the widow, her, her, her- The equal half of the pair that ruined your life. You had done your subtler strikes against Will. It was now time to strike against her.

You went to your desk. Getting out a journal, you tore out a blank scrap of paper.

Grabbing a pen, you wrote five words down in big, clear letters.

Once it dried, you folded it up.

The coat’s sleeves had two sides of the fabric. She wouldn’t see it if it was inside out. For it would be in the fabric itself.

You got out scissors, your needle, and grey thread. Then you cut open a hole in the sleeve. Folding the paper up carefully, you tucked it inside. Then you got your needle and thread and patched it back up so the scrap of paper was concealed inside the sleeve.

Yes, your powers could have done that. But you were determined to do it with your hands, with real effort- it was freeing, satisfying.

You then laid the dress back out.

You held out your hand. Concentrating harder than you ever did before with your magic gifts, you waved it over the coat.

The dress lay untouched, like normal.

You then retracted your hand.

Loki cut in.

'My pet, why didn’t you do that with your dear Lusty Vicar?'

' He never was ‘my’ vicar….why have him when I have a god and a prince as my husband instead?' you teased.

‘Well…I cannot blame you for that.’

You heard a small chuckle of his. You settled the dress back into the box.

' But…you are right, Loki! Will got all those letters, all the things that will come up to him. And there is one more thing I shall do to him. But it’s…it’s not like this. They were equal in this…so I should!'

The next day was conveniently a Thursday. The time Will went to the lake to pleasure himself over his mistress in the ocean or lake or stream or whatever body of water it was, as Loki confided to you. Or swim bare, as Will once confided to you in his times past. When you were so happy, in love, that as you smiled and looked at him in adoration, Will would only look at you with secret boredom and annoyance.

He was doing it again. He was bare. And if he was touching himself or swimming or both, it didn’t matter. He would be away from his house again.

That would be his mistake.

You hurried to the vicarage, not wanting to take your time before anyone could see you. You scurried up the stairs into his room. Finding his clothes where they were kept in his shelves and wardrobe. With every item, you placed your powers on each one. Each dark sweater you once smiled over, each white shirt you once lusted over, each tan coat hat made you stifle a giggle, every green vest, pants, down to one last sock.

Then, before he would finish, you hurried out and back. Not leaving a trace. You’d have to wait until Cora put her own on. But no matter what he wore, odds are, it would work.

It felt good. Deliciously good.

The next day, the church would be empty. You hurried to the little safe. Again, you took out some money. Again, you snuck it in your shoe. Again, you hurried home and put it in a blank envelope. Your magic that night would slip it under Cora’s doorstep. As you had your alibi of sitting in the parlor reading the Bible, you could do it while looking at Second Corinthians and not outside.

Consistency was key. The council and congregation had to realize there was a certain gap each week in what they pledged to give and what was recorded as then. Once they saw the gap that was Will’s responsibility and someone found that exact amount in Cora’s possession….no matter how much Will insisted on his innocence, there would be evidence.

And no one would suspect you. For you were now the “Miracle” woman. Seemingly blessed by God. No thoughts in your pretty head except becoming a rectory bride and nothing else.

The next morning, it hit you that you had to keep up appearances and then some. Since you were “blessed” by God, you would be a blessing. That would make them all like you even more.

When you first returned after the disaster that occurred with Grendel, you would walk about. Feeling like a shelled piece, your center torn out and thrown away. You would notice the looks on their faces. Once, they had a silent mixture of pity and disgust for you being “ruined.” But now, after the miracle, the suspicious town who thought anything and everything they saw was a part of something monstrous, magical, and greater than themselves be it in terror or awe… Now, they liked you.

And you had to make them like you even more.

You looked up at your parents at breakfast over your poached eggs.

“Oh! How are the Crawfords doing? I hear Mrs. Crawford is fond of flowers, may I go pick some for her?” you asked.

Your mother smiled approvingly, asking of the neighbors back home.

“With the Trickster god about, not in the woods! You must be careful, but you may buy some,” advised your mother.

With a smile, you went out, got to the flower shop, and bought a pretty bouquet of daffodils for Mrs. Crawford. You called on in time for tea and she cooed over the gift.

“Oh my- what a sweet girl you are, Miss Y/L/N!” she exclaimed.

She then revealed her hobby- collecting cookbooks and recipes.

“Oh- please tell me the recipe for making those little cakes, Mrs. Crawford! I’d like to surprise the Sunday School class for this week! Poor little dears, they deserve something nice!” you said.

She scribbled down the recipe that she learned from her mother, and then handed it to you.

For the next week, your free hours were spent building up a rapport. Patting children on the head, smiling at strangers, doing little acts of charity. It was better to stretch it out rather than pile it on thick in one go. It would seem natural.

One day, Martha, Mrs. Seaborne’s maid, was walking out with the widow’s little boy. In her pockets, there were pamphlets. You recognized it as from a magazine that was notorious in town for its liberality. He was doing his best to keep up with his chubby little legs, one tall arm reaching up to hold onto Martha’s. You stopped and greeted them like friends.

“Oh, hello there! Tell your mistress I cannot wait for the party! And how well he looks! What is his name?”

“Oh, hello there! And he- you have never been introduced! His name is Franklin, but we all call him Frankie,” explained Martha.

You bent your knees down to greet the little boy. Though you addressed him, his eyes would flitter anywhere but yours. They only flicked to you as you smiled, exuding warmth. Then you got back up to greet Martha. You asked her a little about the pamphlets. She rattled on about some bold, interesting, and brave ideas about slums and the treatment of the poor. So much, Frankie let go and was about to waddle away. She then gasped, out of her own spell, and gathered the boy back up.

“Already such a handsome lad! And so well-behaved!!” you cooed.

Martha bounced him a little and smiled at you.

“Perhaps you and the Reverend shall be blessed and there shall be a third in the vicarage soon!” Martha replied.

Loki’s voice rang in your head.

‘There better not be.’

You made sure to have such interactions with someone at least once a day. It was a little fun though. One benefit of being a clergy spouse was the opportunity to get to know others and do little acts of kindness for the community. To think, even before you were betrothed to Will, you could have done it. Done things like these for others, only with no plan behind it. Perhaps you would in Asgard.

You questioned Luke on his doings and said you would pray for him. You gave a beggar in town a few coins and he returned the favor by showing you an abandoned church. You told Mr. Banks to please stop drinking in excess and gave Mrs. Banks money for her pains. You smiled at grumpy old Mr. Cracknell despite his sneers. You gave flowers and gifts and cooked and baked for everyone- now they would all love you.

You once overheard two ladies smile at you. As you left, you heard their whispers- “She truly is a Blessed Lady!”

All would respect their miracle woman. See her as perfect for their Lusty Vicar. For his house and bed and ministry. At least, sweet and innocent. And at most- the Perfect Ideal of a Woman blessed by God Himself. And never suspect the secrets inside you.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The evening arrived for Cora’s birthday party. You put on a nice dress of velvet and navy blue. This was partially for Stella, so even if it wasn’t the bohemian style your friend had a weakness for, it still was apt you should don her color. As you continued to get ready, you found your hands shaking as you put on your last bit of jewelry.

Gathering your gift placed in a box and wrapped up in ribbon, you headed to her house. Arriving at the front door, you lifted your hand to knock. Part of you hesitated. Your hand floated above in a trembling mess, curled and crumpled, as if to squeeze yourself into reality.

The old hesitation seeped in like tea levees in a forgotten cup of water, one that was once boiling and now grew tepid with each passing second. Should you do this? The coat was already in your hands, too late to be ungiven…should you just give it to her like a decent person and not use its magic? Should Cora be punished?

What if your father was right, and it was just “silly jealousy”?

Were you just bitter about Cora’s rejection of traditional feminine norms? Did it shock you to the point where you were upholding traditions blindly? Criticizing her for being an unfeminine woman? Feeling anger in her brashness and her boldness, because you projected your insecurities on her unfairly? You felt in your soul women should be considered equal to men….yet here you were, your heart turned against another woman! An unfeminine woman! An unconforming woman! Must you be a hypocrite and tear her down?

Not to mention her past. Cora’s husband hurt her and beat her. What a nightmare that must have been!

That was one odd similarity between you both- you loved two men, two cruel men- Mr. Seaborne and Will. And while Will never once raised his hand to hurt you, he didn’t have to.

And it must have been uneasy- having one little son who it was rumored was an “odd” child. And part of you…admired her wanting to pursue a passion, of bravely entering a male-dominated field, and wondered at the discrimination she must have experienced…

Your mind was reeling as you knocked on the door.

The maid, Martha, opened it. She greeted you kindly. “Ah there! Miss Y/L/N! Welcome in! Cora- come quick! Miss Y/L/N has arrived! And she has a gift!”

As Martha stepped aside, you came into the warmth of the house. A fire was crackling and there was chatter in the next room. You took a deep breath to steel yourself, as Cora walked to greet you. Donned in slightly fancier attire and her usual grey.

“Oh- hello there. Welcome in,” she greeted with a smile. Her voice a low mezzo.

You walked in and presented the present.

“For you, happy birthday Mrs. Seaborne,” you replied with a kind smile, despite your stomach churning. Perhaps you should just leave it, not enact what you set up inside, and let it alone.

Martha dutifully took the present and left. Cora went up to you with a smile.

“How glad you could be here! I hope I can call you my good friend, Miss Y/L/N,” she said.

Your senses reached out and could feel something in the pocket of her dress.

It was a letter she was going to send tomorrow morning.

A love letter to Will.

You felt your jaw and fists become tight.

“Oh, thank you! Please excuse me- I’m going to get something to drink,” you excused.

Promptly turning around, you began to walk over, your head spun for a bit. You found the dining room did have some red punch. Guests chatted with each other, ignoring you. You made yourself drink slowly. You urged your breathing to slow despite your racing heart and mind.

She called you her friend to your face, yet had the audacity to continue to pursue the man about to be your husband!

You took another sip. You felt some of the cold punch dribble on your mouth. You grabbed a napkin and wiped it. The little red drops look like blood on the crumpled cloth.

You then made up your mind about her. It didn’t matter if she pursued science or housewifery, it didn’t matter if she wore corsets or refused them. It didn’t matter who she was or what she liked. And it especially didn’t matter what happened in her past.

Even if it all explained why…in no way could you excuse or condone her actions.

If Will had forced himself on Cora if he lied about you to her… there would be nothing to forgive. She would be a victim as much as you.

But that’s not what happened.

A thought began in you, growing, spinning around in your mind in its quiet, angry, bitter delirium.

She knew Will wasn’t free…and she did it anyway…

And for that, Cora would receive punishment. There was no regret in your systems now. You would enact the gift when the time was right.

It even made you more motivated to enact the next part of your plan here- one seed was planted when Martha carried that present away. Now you had to figure out where to send the next letter. You were glad you remembered. Even if the present didn’t work- you would at least figure out where to send the letter.

But for now, you had to calm yourself. Take deep breaths and take note of the current moment.

A small group of people were gathered in the parlor. Saying you felt better after getting a little dizzy, you went over to meet them. You took note of those you knew. There was Mr. Charles and Mrs. Katherine Ambrose. A couple that lived close to Will. They were looking forward to having you as neighbors. They already viewed you as such as you went up to greet them. Charles shook your hand excitedly.

“How good to see the lady of Reverend Ransome! How is he today?” he asked.

Ransome…that was an odd name. Once you would have loved and now…how hollow it felt. Empty. It was going to be Stella’s name in another lifetime if it wasn’t you. Ransome- like the word “ransom”. Which meant to hold someone as their prisoner. To trap. There was a second meaning to the word to. And also the bargaining, the deal. The money paid would set prisoners free. So you would have been ransomed to be a Ransome and in need of a Ransom. Perhaps others would see the second meaning if you married him and lived a life of lies in that tall, white vicarage.

Only you knew which meaning it would take on for you or Stella had either of you married Will.

“He’s lovely. Said hello to us after everything he did. He was busy as a bee today- helped a farmer whose sheep broke out into the field. Then he was off to scold Mr. Banks about his crudeness over tea and biscuits,” you reported.

Katherine promised to indulge you in secrets of marriage and housewifery, gathered in gossip and recipes, and should the time come, child-rearing. You smiled and listened to her.

A few others trickled in. Luke you recognized was finger-combing his short hair. All sipping on drinks and biting off bits of treats before dinner of roast lamb.

As you sat down to the little main course you saw Martha bouncing along Frankie. Cora turned her head to the maid, nanny, and now it seemed, a cook too.

“Martha, make sure Frankie is in his bed by now, please.”

“Oh, of course, Miss,” Martha replied.

Cora turned around and began to pour out small glasses of wine for everyone. But you found yourself looking at Martha.

You took note of the look on Martha’s face. She hadn’t left but was staring at Cora. Lovingly, full of longing, blushing cheeks and soft eyes with a little smile…she hesitated before she turned and left.

Part of you was a little shocked. You were surprised- you knew your husband liked both men and women, so you shouldn’t be so shocked. It was the kind that took you by complete surprise and made you a little worried for her. But you looked down on your plate of dinner and ignored it, pretending like you didn’t see as you began to take nibbles off your side dishes.

Excusing himself, Luke turned around to leave for the parlor. Everyone gave little looks in confusion. Then he returned with a bouquet full of red roses. People gave little gasps, smiles, and the little laughter of delighted surprise, except for the birthday lady. She sat up, her posture rigid and her small eyes darkening, her round face still pale.

He knelt and gave the bouquet to Cora in a flourish.

“Roses for your birthday, our dear Cora! In addition to the present!” he declared.

But the object of this grand gesture did not change one bit in her face or body.

“Oh…thank you, they’re very nice,“ Cora replied politely. She took the flowers, set them aside, and continued eating. All as she did, he smiled big and tried to pay compliments, but she ignored him.

Oh, good grief! Was every person in town in love with Cora!? Did she have admirers popping in everywhere to swoon over her!?

Then again, it would cause a rift in your plans. For the third letter you had already decided that you would leave it in church where a member of the congregation would pick it up. You would have to take note of where Luke and Martha sat in church. If they discovered the letter, heartbroken as they would be, they wouldn’t tell a soul. Especially Martha considering this was her employer!

It then hit you…everyone loved Cora. Everyone owned up to Cora and offered their hearts. She had her pick of anyone in town, any soul…

And she chose your fiancee.

She knew he wasn’t free…and she did it anyway. The thought emerged again.

They began to talk. Soon there was a two-layered cake delivered. It had a coating of white buttercream that seemed delicious on the outside, but the inner cake was bitter and stale to your tongue. Yet the others greedily devoured the pieces anyway, only wiping away the cream on their mouths with napkins.

You reached your powers out. You found her room, her desk, her letters. Where was it- where was it? There were letters. Of course, the love letters from Will. But nothing- she must have already sent things! Oh, you couldn’t find anything! Was it hopeless? Should you plant two letters in the church?

But then, right before you could search further….a miracle occurred.

“I only wish to have more evidence. Mr. Sawyer of the Royal Institution was interested. He wished to see my notes on the fossils. Though it appears I will have to give him a hypothesis that he considers ‘great’ enough. That’s what I wish for my birthday,” Cora sighed.

“Do not fret, but keep at it. They will listen soon!” encouraged Katherine.

You took note as you delicately ate. Remembering the name. Etching it into your mind to be reached again.

You bore the rest of the party patiently, then said you were tired and excused yourself. The Ambroses cooed saying that the little parsonage bride would indeed need it in her excitement for the upcoming day. They escorted you back home.

The next day, you stopped at the library. You found the address of the Royal Institution of London, copying it down onto a piece of paper.

Once you got home from the party, you got out an envelope. You got out the second love letter, the “come quickly” letter being tucked in your bookshelf for Sunday.

The second love letter you placed in an envelope.

You then got out another piece of paper.

“Dear Mr. Sawyer, I have some unfortunate news regarding Mrs. Seaborne. I found this letter in the possession of Reverend Ransome, who is already engaged to a Miss Y/L/N. She is not of character fitting for your halls of science. Sincerely, Anonymous.”

Scurrying out, you sent it out to be mailed.

Now you only had to wait for Church. Use your senses to note where people sat. Then you’d plant the last letter.

Saturday Afternoon, no one would be there. You crept inside. Your senses reached out, feeling who sat where. You took note of where Martha and Luke sat. Even the Amrbose’s too, for they were fond of their neighbor and if they discovered the letter, wouldn’t talk. Martha liked the far left in the corner. Luke enjoyed the fourth in the middle from the door. The Amroses took the second pew to your left.

You got out one of the red, sturdy books of common prayer that sat there. Often there were pamphlets with the service order planted in the books. You picked a spot where none of Cora’s allies would sit. From your coat’s pocket, you got out the letter. The “come quickly” letter. The one that would shock and damn the most, for you had to get it to where it would reach more people.

You planted the letter inside the book. To make it, Will left it there by accident. A letter too juicy for anyone to resist or just leave.

Sunday morning, you delivered the little baked cakes for the children. and set it aside in the kitchen. They all cheered and gobbled them up, uttering thank you’s. You were immediately becoming a favorite to them. They went up and asked questions until they had to be corralled to learn about Mary and Matha. But even the old lady who taught them couldn’t resist one. She picked up a warm cake, sniffed it, and you saw her shoulders sag after she took a bite.

You went to the front row of the church. This was all normal. What was always done, despite your racing heart. You didn’t dare check your senses to feel when the moment happened. It would make you too anxious.

As people filtered through, if they didn’t find interest to go chatting with the miracle woman, you took note. Even during the service, your back turned to see all of them.

Finally the organ blared and it began again. You then returned to the service to look with pretend adoration at Will for one hour. In his white robes with a blue-green sash with gold ornaments, he stood before the crowd a the sanctuary. The bright, sunny day letting a bright light over the brown church.

“For our announcements, in just a month, we shall have our rescheduled wedding. We hope that those invited shall be available to join. And then, my dear Miss Y/L/N shall make me the happiest of men.”

You took note of those little wooden chandeliers. The cloudy, grey overcast day rather than a sunny one, their wicks were dry and unlit.

And he was standing right under one in the middle as he spoke on.

‘Do it, my dear,’ Loki whispered to you.

You made one of the unlit candles on the chandelier shake. Wriggling.

‘Fall’ you ordered it through your magic.

It then tipped over the side where Will remained for the announcements. There were a few gasps, and before he knew why-

PLUNK! The candle hit him right on his curly, auburn head.

He jumped his white sleeves up to his head with a noise he made out of pain. It wasn’t enough of a fall to do him any real harm, only a bit of pain.

The congregation burst into laughter. As did you. For all the tension inside of you, it was much needed.

The service began and then ended. When you checked it the next day…it was taken. You let out a smile, a deep breath through your system. A member of the congregation had “happened” upon the letter and took it. And likely read it. How could they not? Small places need entertainment. The content was far too shocking, too entertaining, too scandalous for someone in a small town not to read.

And they would do what people in a small conservative and religious town with nothing else to do did.

They would talk.

Then Mr. Brown would tell Mr. Miller would tell Mrs. Miller who would then tell the baker who would whisper it to his daughter and she would tell all of her friends at tea time and then one would tell Ms. Price and Ms. Price would tell Mrs. Banks who would tell Mr. Banks who would tell his drinking buddy Mr. Plume who would tell old Mr. Cracknell who would complain about it to Mr. Charles Ambrose who would then tell his wife Katherine. And by then Katherine wouldn’t talk and swear to secrecy about her neighbor but it would be too late because the silent melodrama behind everyone’s backs was already in its run.

The next two days, you could sense it. There was sadness, a pity on people’s faces as you greeted them. There was some hesitation when they talked- but they were even kinder to you than before.

When they interacted with Will, you noticed a cold politeness. One woman, after he left, crossed herself as if she met a demon. Some people seemed silently furious at Cora. Glaring at her.

The rumors started to circulate at last. The sweet virtuous, wonderful bride. The miracle bride. The bride who was blessed by God himself…only to suffer as it seemed her vicar was being tempted. The devil moving him to deny his oath before God. An oath he was ready to make before all of them. An oath already broken.

And you were now the figure of pity- poor, sweet Y/N! The bride God blessed! Now thrown away! What was he thinking?

So it would make the last three steps of your plan fall into place.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

It was Wednesday and Will was going to be here for dinner. Your mother rolled up her sleeves and began to cook away. You promised to wipe down every surface clean and sweep the steps outside. As you stepped out with a broom, you looked out at the front. Nervousness tightening your chest.

It was time to enact the next step. Part of you hesitated to do this.

But Will would be here tonight. It was the right time it would work- a time after he left when rumors were running high.

And if you did, then everything would start falling into place. You just had to gather your courage to do it.

You set your hand before the door.

This is going to hurt him more than it shall hurt me, you thought as a comfort.

You waved your hand over the front of your house at the door. Concentrating hard.

Nothing happened. Not yet. It was all coming into place. You swept with more of a flourish.

Once you had finished your errands, you saw your mother hurry out.

“What is the matter?” you asked.

“Oh, apples! I forgot! There is a new shop here with orchards from farmers! This fellow, Mr. Armstrong grows the finest apples! I forgot to buy some- I must be back in time to finish supper!” she chatted, putting on her hat as she scurried away.

It wasn’t long before she hurried and set the apples in a bowl. Though you insisted on being there to help with dinner. You had to learn to cook for your husband, you said. Preaching works up an appetite.

Another dinner, another evening like no other. Will got up a napkin and wiped the sauce off of his goatee before he continued. He reached a hand to hold yours, though it felt like a grip on you. Your mother cut everything into bits taking small bites. Your father devoured his plate within a minute.

Will looked over you, his eyes as soft as a lamb.

“I must keep you in my prayers now- and will help you. The council who appointed me- The Reverend Eckheart, Moore, and Bishop Green shall be here. And you shall pray the council meeting goes well, yes?”

“Of course, love,” you replied with a small voice.

The council meeting. He thought they would sip tea and discuss theology. How little did they know…a man who the town thought an attempted murderer, rumored to be unfaithful, with evidence of him giving money from the church to his mistress. A woman who was probably by now exposed as a ruined woman to the largest and most prestigious institution of science.

Part of you wanted to wait longer to see it all happen.

Everyone then gathered to be by the fire in the parlor to read for a minute as dinners settled. A domestic, normal scene.

Will then announced he would leave. He shook hands with your parents and embraced you and kissed you on the cheek. It almost pained you- a glimpse of what could have been. Even of what was.

You were scared to enact your step. But you wanted your revenge more. You would not let your mind run wild- you would act rather than dwell. It was now or never.

He left, closing the door.

You waited, counting the time. You turned back to your knitting in the parlor. Your heart raced. You could sense him there already walking.

You took in a deep breath. Remembering the mantra.

“This shall hurt him more than it shall hurt me.”

Sitting down to your needlework, you turned your head away. You urged the magic on the front side of the house as he began to walk away.

‘Go alight now,’ you ordered.

It complied.

From outside of the front door, a fire grew. It’s smoke spread. You turned your head down and began to knit as if not noticing it. For surely the Miracle Woman was only attending her womanly needles per her duty as a wife to the church!

Then there was smoke in the parlor.

“Fire! There’s a fire!” shouted your father. Your mother screamed. And you screamed with her in your planned terror.

Mother pulled all of you out of the back door before any of you could be hurt.

Neighbors ran out, pulling out to make a makeshift fire department.

“Fire! There’s a fire! Fire at the Y/L/N house!”

Will, with what little decency in his holy heart he had, hurried back to see the damage. You wailed out tears and clung to him like any sensible damsel in distress.

The neighbors hurried with buckets of water, and Will helped. Instead, you leaned on your mother, hugging her and crying, shaking it out per the innocent little victim. The Harris’s got wind and ran out, and soon the fire was silent by the water people managed to get out and toss at it. Even before it could creep in and destroy the place or hurt any of you.

But the front door and area were charred some, there was no denial about that.

“Oh, thank you! Thank you all! How frightening!” you said, tears streaming down your face like the little ingenue you pretended to be. You smiled at each one.

“Don’t worry, we promise, you’re safe now!” assured Mrs. Banks. From her white shawl, she reached out a hand to squeeze your shoulder.

“Why…what happened? There were no lamps, no candles there, nothing that could be alight!” your father wondered.

“Hm, looks like it started in the front,” Mr. Harris noted.

“There was nothing there! Could it be an accident? Oh- to think the house nearly burned down! How horrible!” you would cry, shivering like a doe in a rainy forest. Perfect for him to wrap his arms around, the image of a victim and now the one who began it.

“What happened before?” asked Mrs.Harris in concern.

“Oh, nothing! Reverend Ransome came by to visit, he just left. Then it occurred!” your mother reported. “We shall be fine, just careful! Just some charring in the front- nothing big!”

People would wonder. But you felt their eyes on him.

By the next morning, You knew the rumors would turn.

They already knew of the rumor of the affair. Now…with nothing else but the fire…

Someone tried to kill you, kill their precious miracle woman. There was nothing that could have caught fire by accident and it was started from the outside.

By someone who must have been out.

And it was Will who was there and was seen just outside and left right as it began.

The talk would turn.

Did he want to…kill his fiancee, the beloved darling YN, the miracle woman who emerged from Loki blessed by God? Why…then that made it even worse!

Moods would turn against him. Bad. People were polite, but their eyes would soften at you. Poor, pitiful Y/N! If this happened- then the Lusty Vicar was a Lusty Scoundrel! They frowned but kept polite. Oh, if only some act of God would happen to set him and his little tart in their place.

But one act was on the way. The last step in your plan.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Three days passed. And each morning you checked your senses to see where Cora was. It made you nervous. Your heart racing.

Then one morning, you woke up in the early dawn again. Your parents were still asleep. You could only wrap a shawl around you. Though the golden and emerald wedding ring remained on your desk. You fit it around your finger. Not too loose to fall off, but not too tight to squeeze it.

Stomach rumbling, you could only sip on a little coffee. Picking an apple from the bowl, you took a bite of it. Tasting the juices that tickled down your throat and crunched like bones in your mouth.

Your senses alerted you. Cora was wearing the new coat. She was in the marshes, in the woods.

Now. Now. Now! You urged. It was finally time. Time you would go home.

You got a letter left on your desk. You wrote it before and would leave it planted. Explaining that you loved Loki, you married him already, and that you were going to reside in Asgard already with him. Especially to fight Grendel. And that Stella once she was healed would be returned home too.

Then you set off. Your heart raced as you went through the woods in only your nightgown and shawl as you hunted Cora’s path like a predator.

Your thoughts reached out to Loki.

'Listen to me! It’s almost time!' you cried. 'Hm, yes my dear, time for what? I do prefer specifics,’

'Loki-I’m going to complete the last part of my revenge. Then I am about to give a signal. When I do- open a portal. And take me home to Asgard, Please!'

'Oh, anything for you,’ he agreed.

You caught your breath. Beneath the dirt had gotten on your little slippers. On the bottom of your skirt.

It was a similar scene. There in the chill woods where the birds sang about and an owl hooted over his night’s hunt. The little mist. The light wind made it cooler. You had known it before. And you would not stop to pick flowers anymore.

You were so familiar with this, this dream, this nightmare, this dance where you could recall each step.

So when you went behind a tree and turned to the field, the sight shouldn’t have shocked you.

Will and Cora. Her in the new grey coat and him again undone in his shirt and tan coat. The same scene again.

You thought you were strong, a brave person, thought you could take it, chew it, devour it, and digest and it shouldn’t bother you, it shouldn’t have…but…You felt the cold shocks, the electricity made with ice running down you. Pat of your vision blurry, making yourself small. Feeling small.

This time, Will placed his green scarf over Cora.

They talked a little bit. You couldn’t hear their words. Only small. Romantic.

He grabbed the long end and gently tugged it over so she would be close to him.

The exact same tug that he did at your skirt not long ago.

Yes, you were crying, small tears down. Your breathing faster and your mind whirring. Yes, you were shaken just like the girl you were before. Your mind was stricken with panic to where it wasn’t clear. You knew it would happen- yet why did it hurt again? You felt almost on the cusp of panicking, collapsing. Your failure and imperfections there in your soul, twisting like a knife to your chest. Your thoughts strangling you.

‘I’m not good enough, I’m not good enough, I’m not good en-’

‘You are good enough, Y/N Darling, you are to me,’ Loki cut in.

His voice broke out. You felt calmer.

You hid behind a tree. And waited. For whatever conversation, be they talking with their mouths or sticking each other’s private bits up the others, would be done.

You were different now- and this time, you had everything in place. You were not going to run. Fury was building in you. Ready to explode, run, scream. Yet you kept silent.

'Loki…keep me calm, steady, please…'

'Yes, my love- you are brave. You’re a brave, wonderful, clever woman. I love you, Y/N. You are my True Love, my wife, and my princess. I love you so much.',/em>

'I love you too.'

'Is that the signal?'

'No…I’m waiting for them to stop…'

You looked back.

Cora was alone now. Will must have walked off to the woods or fields or wherever. No scarf around her neck. The mantra repeating in your mind.

"She knew he wasn’t free. She did it anyway.”

Your eyes glared at her. You stepped a little out to see clearly. Though she was in the distance and you must have been just a figure, at most a phantom. Her small eyes down on the ground and a blush on her cheeks, nothing in her blonde hair streaked with red but her lover.

You kept your eyes focused and took a breath as you lifted your hand. Letting your anger run cold.

“She knew he wasn’t free. She did it anyway.”

You let that phrase be your guide as you pointed with a finger.

With a breath, you got out your magic. Urging it to tear the sleeve open from the outside.

After she did, she went up to glance at you.

Cora felt something off, feeling it funnily on her arm. She reached inside. Then her nose crinkled at feeling something. Then she got out the scrap of folded paper. Curiously, she took it out. She unfolded it and flipped it over to the side with words.

You stepped out of the tree. You gathered your face to be still, your body still. Only a woman in a bridal-white nightgown staring calmly at her, only your eyes showing what anger you held in your heart.

You waited until her tiny, scrunching eyes saw the phrase you had written. For just one second to pass for her to process it.

One second to react. To look up. To see you in the woods, the paper shaking in her hand.

It read:

“Mrs. Ransome sends her regards”

In a heartbeat, flicked your wrist, triggering the magic on the coat.

The coat burst into flames and Cora with it.

Your senses alerted you that Will was some distance in the field, praying. Wearing his coat- one that you cursed.

With a flick of your wrist, you let it burst into flames too.

It was poetic. Stella’s suicide attempt would have been a death of water. So it seemed fitting that theirs should be fire.

You turned around. You would not watch to see if Cora survived.

It didn’t matter.

As you walked into the woods, you heard her. The high-pitched, womanly, tormented scream of Cora Seaborne.

You smiled a little as you walked further and away.

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