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Another god from another land did what I did.
They didn't forgive him for it, just as they won't forgive me. But she did forgive him, the goddess he brought to the cold world where he watched over their dead. More than that, she loved him.
You don't love me. Not yet. You dream of Asgard and the wife you left behind, and mention the vows you made at your wedding. Vows that now make no sense since death has already separated you.
I wonder if your vows would have been forgotten if I were as beautiful as Freya. But as soon as I catch myself thinking that, I try to stop, because I am not Freya and I never will be. Your kiss won't break any spell. I will still be me, the trickster's daughter with half my face as deformed as my nature. Just happier, more content, maybe feeling warm inside amidst the cold.
The mortals who come here tell me stories of their lands, of women who loved monsters, who ended up seeing beauty behind hideous faces. Always women loving monsters, never men.
There is nothing beautiful in the despair of an ugly woman, they say.
Please prove them wrong, I am so tired of being alone.