"I am not so vain as my siblings-" She begins, fond exasperation in her voice, exasperated because she is fond more than because of the men in particular. They were never meant to endear themselves to her, they were never meant to survive her return to the nine realms- and yet.

And yet, and yet she finds herself...caring. Even as the need for more than idly wiling away the days itches under her skin, she cares. She shouldn't. She ought not. But there is much in Midgard that has her considering that which she ought not. "-but..."

Her head tilts to the side, considering. "...Odin had all tapestry, mural, and portraiture of me destroyed or painted over when I was banished. There's nothing of me in Asgard. No sign. Having...something would be-"

Not nice, she isn't one for nice. Not pleasant for it isn't something she ought to be pleased by. "only just."