Jóhanna was alone once more, with no-one talking down to her or treating her as a lesser around others. It was a bittersweet feeling; something she couldn't quite place as good or bad. On the one hand, she was free of servitude that came along with being under the employment of Asgardian royalty, however nor had she known the soft caresses of the slim, younger prince since she had landed here, on Midgard. Since he had sent her there… And Jóka was starting to wonder whether it had been a clever method of having her banished to a realm in which she would be no trouble to him; to Loki.

"Can I take your order, miss?" A woman, short and plump, asked cheerily, her tone almost mocking the inner workings of Jóhanna's mind. "We've got a number of new specials, if you'd like to try one of those! Though, you look like you'd appreciate something a little more balanced than the ribs…"

She was right; Jóhanna looked sickly. Pale skin had turned pasty in her long absence from Asgard; and her eyes, once alight with mischief and the hidden thoughts of tricks, now had faded into a dull, greyish boredom and no spark of chaos was hidden behind them. Jóka's lips were dry and cracked, and heavy, sickly bags hung low under her eyes the colour of fresh bruises. It was hard for her to even bring her sorry self to care anymore; her home and all that she had known had been stripped from her in its entirety. Whether the girl had been away months or years, she'd lost track of, but every day felt like an eternity to her, and even the image of Loki himself was blurring from a mix of tears and faded memories… She doubted whether she would even know him if he walked into the café and sat down beside her.

"Miss?" The stout woman asked once more, looking down at the Asgardian with her pen tapping impatiently against her notepad.

Jóka smiled tiredly. "I'll have the Greek salad, please…"

At that, she nodded and spun on her heel, far too cheery for so early on a… What day was it? Jóhanna sighed, her whole body worn, but nothing so far as her mind was. It felt as though every small move she made was sluggish and pointless, regardless of how swift they truly were, and so when her salad was brought and she began to eat, it felt like she was eating so painfully slow that at one point, she ground to a halt and forced herself to hold back tears.

It wasn't the thought of Loki that made her so, but the memory of those she loved, and the places she adored, and the small rituals before meals and bed that made her feel safe and comfortable; Loki had been the one who had stripped all of that from her, and for that, she felt inside her a growing hatred for the god of chaos, her teeth clenched at the mere thought of being able to wring his neck.

"I do care for you, Jóhanna." She recalled his voice perfectly, from one of those nights in Asgard long since passed, and her hands tightened around the knife and fork she held… It took a moment before she stood to leave, the vague panicked tones of employees asking her to pay before she made her exit as she walked.

Loki may have been her superior, but she would have him crawling before she was finished with him.

The trickster himself stood overlooking the city, his emerald eyes flickering over the street as he watched, only for a moment thinking in the back of his mind that another like him – an Asgardian – was close. Was it her? His search renewed with a keen panic, hoping to the Norns that his eyes would finally and wearily rest upon the familiar and long since missed figure of the servant girl he had so foolishly placed above the rest of his kind and lost her in a decision made entirely out of folly.

"Jóhanna! Jóka, dear lass!" He called in hope, despite there being at the back of his mind the thought that he was merely being driven slowly to insanity by the loneliness he had inflicted upon himself.

A girl left a café across the road, a ghost of a memory of someone he thought he knew. Should he approach her, or should he leave the phantom of Jóhanna to be as she was? Would she even forgive him for allowing her to plummet to the ends of the Yggdrasil and onto Midgard to survive so alone? Would she still be waiting faithfully for the trickster to find her, or would she have started to allow her memories of him to warp and fade?

"Jóhanna, please!" Loki reached out to her in vain hope, the tips of his long, slender fingers grazing the exposed skin on her shoulder. She was clad in typically Midgardian attire, most likely to escape attentions of unwanted eyes – the same reason Loki had changed – and the trickster's eyes licked over her pale, almost ethereal form.

The Asgardian turned to face him, the sockets of her eyes hollow and dark, her lips pale and dry. "You…"

Sorry it's short, lads and ladies! I'm working on another one now, though, so who knows… What do you want to happen? Do you want them to kiss and make up? Or should Jóhanna take a stand?

Visit if you're interested in commissioning me to write you a story up to 40 pages in length!