Spoon

A solitary woman stands at the peak of a mountain, misty gray mountains can be seen afar off on the horizon. 

Persephone:

You were so kind at first. 

Ægir::

You needed kindness.

Persephone:

Couldn't you have left it at that? Why...why the other thing?

Ægir:

You showed potential. 

Persephone:

Potential for what? Murder? I reject your observation.

Ægir:

What you call murder may also be called the will of the Norns.

Persephone:

You know I don't believe that. 

Ægir:

You believe in me.

Persephone:

Yes, but...

Ægir:

So you believe in them. 

Persephone grows agitated, restless, and impatient. She picks up a nearby stone and heaves it away, watching it sail into the sky. She begins to pace, having nowhere to go but down.

Persephone:

You know I could end this. Right?

Ægir:

You won't.

Persephone:

How do you know that? You couldn't possibly know that. I could do it this very minute. 

Ægir:

I know you won't because I know you can't. 

Persephone:

Oh yeah? You don't think I'll drop this rotted spoon?

Persephone walks to the precipice of the peak, withdrawing an ancient looking wooden spoon from within her jacket. The spoon looks carved from black wood, with Old Norse runes are inscribed on the handle.

Persephone:

Nothing to say? Admit your afraid.

Ægir:

I am not afraid because you are not afraid, though you are acting ungrateful. You hold a treasure

more valuable than all the gold in the earth. You hold the power of the ocean. 

Persephone:

All I hold is the last remnants of a forgotten god. A cruel god who deserved to be forgotten.

Ægir:

So then why don't you drop it?

Persephone grows quiet, her hand trembles as she holds the spoon precariously over the edge. 

Ægir:

Is it because you've felt the thrill? The exhilaration of sending mortals to dwell with me in the

ocean depths? You've lusted after what was once theirs and which now belongs to you. You

can't drop it because it IS you. 

Persephone slowly retracts her arm, reverently placing the spoon back into her jacket. She 

reluctantly walks back to the center of the peak and collapses on her knees, sobbing, 

remembering the three yachts and one fishing boat she sank in the previous three months.  

Persephone:

You're right. I can't. 

What do you want from?

Ægir:

Become my herald.

Persephone: 

Does that mean more killing?

Ægir:

Only if you wish it to be so.

Persephone rises from her knees and walks to the edge of the peak, staring at the far off

mountains. 

 Persephone:

Do you know why I carried you here?

Ægir:

You thought my power would lessen being far from the ocean.

Persephone:

Yes

Ægir:

You see that it does not.

Persephone:

Yes

Ægir:

So you will become my herald?

Persephone:

No, but you were right about one thing. I am not afraid…anymore.

Persephone places one foot in front of her, taking a step into the naked air. 

Momentum and gravity take their course as the ground races up to embrace her.