Short character piece about Loki (not really edited much and I haven't written about him before)
1: Ice
Loki could always stand the cold better than most. Everyone knew it, as a matter of some curiosity—which, of course, always led to them asking why he wore so many layers.
Loki pulled on his other glove. "I told you, Thor, just because I don't freeze as quickly as you doesn't mean I like it."
Thor frowned. "Are you sure?"
"Yes," Loki sighed. "I am sure."
"I thought you used to like it, when we were young—didn't you?"
"I don't recall," Loki said smoothly.
There was something about cold—ice, and snow, and bitter wind—that called to him—something safe and comforting (which was, of course absurd). When he was very young, Loki would venture out into the snow quite unprotected. His nurses warned dourly that he would catch his death, but his mother only smiled and let him play.
Until one day he was caught out in a storm. In the blinding white, he got lost, unable to reach the castle again—and this was before he had mastered magicks to tell the way. He finally crawled into the lee of an old fallen tree, curled up, and wondered what it felt like to die.
But he didn't die. The hours passed, and the biting chill seemed to lessen. When Loki opened his eyes, he found his skin a deep shade of blue. (I must be dying, I must be freezing to death, what's happening to me?)
When he was finally found his mother was the first one to come to him, and he clung to her warm skin and watched the blue fade from his, and decided he had been feverish—she didn't seem to notice anything strange.
Now Loki puts on layers upon layers. (Just because he can stand the cold doesn't mean he likes it.)
.
.
.