Even at an early age, Loki knew that he would never measure up to his brother.
His brother, Thor, who could do no wrong, and could only do right.
As opposed to little, lithe dark haired Loki, who was always to blame. No matter what the act was, he was the first suspect.
Good? Good? What good could the young prince-ling, living at over a millennium, ever do? Loki thought this over, vindictively, childishly and hurt.
After years and years of practice, he had finally managed to learn one of the most complicated forms of magic.
Duplication. Clones, doppelgängers, what ever it may be, HE had learned it. So when he requested an audience with his father to show him, he shamefully admits that he was excited, hopeful even.
Maybe the Allfather has seen the worth in his youngest, after all! Alas, as always, his hopes were dashed and faded when his dear brother Thor bounded into the hall, claiming that he received a kiss from the beautiful lady Sif. And that's all there was to it.
A kiss that Thor receives, meant more than the years of training that Loki endured; he refused to think it was just because he wanted approval from his father. Slinking back, and out of the throne room, Loki's head hung low.
From this point onwards, he would not try to seek praises nor would he expect them.
Yet through out the rest of his life, he seemed to forget that promise he made to himself, and countless times again, he was branded the villain.