you sat on your legs, your black hair in your face your blue eyes shimmering, you were begging to the villain to set your friends, your father Loki, Your Uncle Thor, and the price is you to be taken instead, the villain laughs coldly as he grabs you by the hair dragging you over to Loki his intentions to kill you in front of them, you struggle as you felt the tugging at your hair, pain shooting through your scalp and you groan in pain Villain: you will die by my hands young Mortal.....
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