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... .
Asgard. The prison.
Hela sat on the ground, her back against the cold stone wall. Disheveled hair fell over her face, hiding any trace of the regal pride once befitting the Princess of Asgard.
From a shattered vial, dew that once tasted sweet now trickled steadily onto the floor. Scattered fragments of once-elegant ornaments lay about, silent witnesses to the storm raging inside her heart.
"Why..."
"Why..."
The question, whispered like a mosquito ...
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