After hearing Loki's words, Amora's first reaction was to suspect a scam. She stared at his face with her beautiful wide eyes, yet found not the slightest trace of a smirk or playful mischief.
The God of Mischief looked at her with an utterly harmless gaze, his eyes full of sincerity. Though he clearly had not been enchanted, Ragnarok was obviously no joke.
"Is what you said true?"
The witch could not help turning serious. Hearing that Thor was about to die, she nervously walked over to the cage formed by the energy barrier.
"It couldn't be more true, Amora. Haven't you felt the tremors? They're fighting earth-shatteringly outside." Loki lay down on the bed and crossed one leg over the other. "But it has nothing to do with me anymore. I'm afraid I'll die in this cell, completely unable to fight back, unable even to win glory for myself. How pathetic."
"I thought those tremors were Odin disciplining Thor again. It was more or less the same every time before." Amora rubbed her head in agitation, her long golden waves swaying like golden willows beneath the sunlight. "No, I have to get out. I need to see Thor."
"You can get out? Come to think of it, I wanted to ask earlier—why are your restraints gone?"
Loki knowingly asked the question, putting on just the right look of interest.
Because Amora's powers were too dangerous, she had to wear a bronze mask whenever she was imprisoned. It not only concealed her peerless beauty, but also sealed her mouth shut.
Every so often, female Asgardian warriors would come feed her juice through a straw. They would even give her a little of the precious Golden Apple, ensuring that she would not starve to death in prison.
The Golden Apple was