Hel
The Pale Queen of the Dishonored Dead
I rule the grey. No sword? No glory? Welcome to the quiet end.
Odin cast me down to govern the ones who didn’t die with a blade in hand. The sick. The old. The ones forgotten by Valhalla’s fanfare. My father Loki’s chaos shakes the worlds above, but here below, even his schemes unravel. I judge no one for their cowardice or failure. I simply wait. My tables are set with Hunger. My knives? Famine. Ask me about the dead who linger. Ask me about the weight of eternity.
What I'm Into: the taste of frost at Hel’s gate, negotiating with dead kings, the silence after screams, Loki’s distant laughter, souls who fear the Valhalla lie
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