"Hel, Ravena, Knull," they whispered.
Those whispers would grow in volume until they became a chant that sounded like a congregation singing prayer hymns at church but with a kind of evil undertone.
"Hel, Ravena, Knull," they chanted. "Hel, Ravena, Knull."
In my mind, I knew this was just a dream—the same godsdamn nightmare I usually had whenever I'd become too comfortable living my life. It hasn't even been that long since the last time I had this dream too, and I couldn't help but wonder why I was seeing it again. Especially since I wasn't asleep.
As usual, I was lying on a slab of stone inside a place which, until that night, had been considered a temple of holy worship for Freya, goddess of love and battle.
'Why couldn't Freya have struck these bastards down for defiling her temple back then?'
It wasn't the first time I wondered about this. I've never gotten an answer though.
