Freya. Frida. What's in a name?
It's not the first time it's happened, she muses wryly. Much to her surprise, she is far less upset than she would have expected. Oh, she'll admit it's pathetic -- that he effectively butchered her name, demoting her from Norse Goddess to Spanish painter. She is still wondering how the hell Lennox managed to forget her name. There was a time when he would look her in the eye and address her by name. Freya. Freya, are you coming with us? Perhaps his memory really is as terrible as they say. Or perhaps she really is that forgettable.
Freya. Frida. What's in a name? As long as she exists in his world, she will be content to bide her time. That which we call Freya by any other name would wait just as patiently until the world spun off its axis.
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