Ancestors {open}

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Astrid stared at the grave of the stranger. A cooling breeze caught a loose strand of her hair, blurring a few of the lines. Astrid took a deep breath, let it out slowly, and raised a hand, moving the hair to the side and getting a better view of the headstone. No, it wasn't someone she knew. Technically, the Vikings didn't have graveyards or headstones. A warrior was sent to Valhalla in a burning ship, with his or her possessions lit up with her or him. Astrid figured that was what would happen to her when she went.

She bent low now, staring at the engraving on the headstone. "Did you die in a war?" she asked it. Her hand raised up, and she caressed the letters, feeling the engravings. She was about to fight in a war. Technically, she was one of three who'd most definitely engaged the enemy. It hadn't gone exactly as she'd planned.

People could die in a war. They'd likely end up here... right? There were definitely people here.

"You should have been lit on fire," she murmured, looking down at the grave. "I don't think I want anyone to be able to come visit me. I'd have some weird girl I don't know standing over me and asking questions I couldn't answer. That's just stupid."

Astrid felt the breeze kick up again. She sighed, rising. She looked down the row of stones. "This whole thing is stupid," she said. She swallowed. She looked to the grave stone. Her foot moved back, and she kicked at the stone. Hard. Hard enough to actually make the stone shift, though not on the first blow. Because Astrid kept kicking the stone, repeating the words under her breath as she went, feeling the impact through her boot. It jarred her leg, making her body shake. But it didn't stop her from kicking.

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Hel was prone to wandering. She often wandered the way a lost soul might wander in search of the afterlife after it had left its mortal body. Wandering suited her when she had little else to do. She herself was a lost soul trying to find where she belonged in the nine realms. Midgard was not the place for her but it was better that Niflheim where no one could come without remaining there until Ragnarok.

The cemetery was a place where Hel especially liked to wander. It was a place shrouded in death and felt much more similar to what she was used to. It made her feel calm and gave her a sort of feeling of being at peace. However, the peace was disrupted when she rounded a headstone and saw a blonde girl kicking what Hel presumed was another headstone.

This was the goddess’ domain and she felt the first prick of anger in her body as she girl kept on kicking the stone. She was disrespecting the dead and Hel would not allow that. She would never allow that to happen. “Enough,” she cried out, approaching the girl. “Have respect for the dead, child. Do not release your anger upon those who cannot fight back. That will not make you feel better.”