It is easier to hate the things we cannot be, rather than to envy them. It is easier to resent those we cannot resemble, rather than swallow your pride and allow them to mock the very air you breathe. It is hard to achieve, and harder still to convince yourself that perhaps one day, you should be as glorious as the like of them. I often wonder: if I was brought up in the same brilliance as any of them, would this empty bitterness still haunt my sleep? Would I have been the one basking in Odin's grace? Should I, Loki Laufeyson, have been the true champion of Asgard?
I hated my brother once. He emanated a strength that I did not possess. He was all Asgard could ever hope for: brave, strong, charismatic, massive. In essence, Thor is my exact opposite. He was strong where I was little more than a runt. He was courageous and forward, I sly and underhanded. He was light where I was darkness, thus cloaked in my darkness, he shines brighter still.
I wanted nothing more but to be your equal, Thor. If you only knew how I desperately yearned to bask in your light, to know your glory, to be seen as anything more than the dirt that clung to the soles of your boots, perhaps you would have understood why I had to do it. But, if you knew how I longed to be loved as you were loved, perhaps you would have loved me less, you, the only one who ever lend me a moment of your attention and spared me the kindness of your smile. If you ever knew how my jealousy raged like a storm within this head of mine, I fear that you too would be appalled by me.
I digressed, as I often do now. One has much time to contemplate and indulge in such fancies when one oversees a kingdom of dust. The truth is that I loved Thor, as I always had. Thor: my brother, my companion, the very source of my resentment, and the reason for my life. How can I love the one I hate so dear? I despise him not for any wrong he has done me, but then again, perhaps he should shoulder the blame for what I am, or rather, what I have come to be. It is for what he is that I loathe him so. He is a constant reminder of all I could never amount to, and yet all I ever strived to be. He is my folly, he is my pride. He is my worst enemy, for he knows of his own greatness, one that I may never ascertain! Even now, upon my throne, I, Loki Laufeyson, remain a fool in the eyes of these people. I can hear their voices…their grating, spiteful voices all mocking in unison… Lackeyson…Lackeyson…Lackeyson. Thor, you offered me your hand, but you knew not the pain. How could you?
You are the son of Odin All Father. You were among the beautiful creatures that all the realms revered. You were a god in your own right. Who dares speak slander against your name? What fool should wish to have his tongue cut from his mouth, to have his face smashed in by the mighty Mjölnir? You never knew humiliation, you never felt scorn. How could you ever know what it was that toiled within me, that which turned my blood cold? Oh you son of light, you beloved warrior, you will never know how living within your colossus shadow froze my heart over. Your presence blocked the sun from ever grazing my skin. The warm smiles, the praising words, the welcoming arms, their love, father's proud gaze… Your presence took all of that from me and condemned me as a monster, as a flawed design, a villain.
What am I? What have I become, and what have I been? In another life, had I been among their ranks, would I still fester with wounds of derision and contempt? The power of words is often understated, and each one of them is equally as treacherous. See how their sharp tongues pierced the psyche of my youth. When reminded constantly of my faults and shortcomings, how could I pretend to be fit among the gods?
I hated yet another to whom I cannot compare. Baldr, how beautiful you were. All the creatures in all the realms bow to your beauty. Why could you never spare me a fleeting glance, one moment of your time? You who were born with grace divine, beautiful as Freya, yet your strength and bravery proved you to be equal with Thor. The Norns smiled upon you at birth, and you held their blessings in the palm of your hand. You could not be bothered with the like of me. You had no spare moment with which you could turn your eyes away from your brilliant reflection to settle your gaze upon this being you saw lesser than a fly upon dung. My very presence offended you, you were revolted by me. If all the world would so willingly strike at my heels when I walk and kick me when I fall only to rub salt in the wounds they induced, why should you be spared from all harm? All I ever wanted from you was a solitary smile, one simple glance of acknowledgement. I never endeavored to best you; I only ever wanted to be regarded by you, once, just once. But now, it had come and passed.
Again, I digress. Just know that Baldr would have to die a thousand deaths before he could know the agony of my youth. Even in death, the world mourned for him, every eye in all the realms shed tear for him, all but me. Even in death, he showed his superiority. His death mocked me; he must be quite smug with the knowledge that no tears shall be shed when I should leave this world. Not a single word of mourning will be spoken. There will be no lamenting the day I die. All will celebrate and the date will be etched into the tapestry of history, forever remembered as the day Asgard lost the thorn in its side. Who would pick flowers for poor Loki? Aye, please do not answer this, for I am well aware. People such as us do not have burial; nobody will gather roses in our name. Even in death, Baldr has won, and so, I hate him still.
I might have had a beautiful world once, perhaps for a sacred moment or two, but always, someone who has truly known the light will come along to destroy everything I have created for myself. There was always someone to steal what little delusion I had indulged myself with and take it from me, only to amuse themselves with my pathetic endeavors. It is a place I could never return. The time for effort has come and gone long ago. I have tried with every fiber of my being to be as they were, to be as they wanted me, but I know now that it was never about what I did. The very reason for my existence among the Aesir was to fall beneath them and be trampled upon so that their precious feet should never be tainted with filth, only to make their sheen ever brighter, their egos ever larger, their blades ever sharper.
Is this regret that I now experience in this late stage of my advancement? No, certainly not. It is merely curiosity, cruel curiosity. I am forever tormented by hypothetics and possibility, but I already know that in the end, there was ever only one answer. Fate is sealed, and destiny is unwavering. It has been written, and no amount of hindsight or sorrow could ever reverse this curse that has befallen me since birth. Perhaps it was a bad sign that I was born under, or perhaps the Norns are quite sadistic, finding amusement in damning a poor babe to a life of depravity and shame, made out to be a great tarnish upon the magnificent face of heaven. Know that for people like me, there were never options, only locked doors and burning bridges. We can never know their tenderness, nor will we ever be the object of their pride and affection. We cannot cross into the twilight where darkness meets the light, forever suspended in a perpetual night in a world that was meant only for day. Occasionally now, I get a glimpse of their past glory, passing through the ruined halls of Gladsheim and even Valaskjálf, where I sit upon the late Odin's throne. I feel nothing but bitterness. There is a hollow space in my heart where my ambitions use to reside, and I am empty whereas I should be triumphant.
I sat myself upon a throne of gold, but it has molten under me and scorched the very life of me. I rule this empire of ash, a jester with a crown. It was never what I wanted…What I wanted was… What I hated more than Thor, more than Baldr…
For you, Father, you whose love I simply wanted, I hated you most. I awaited your downfall so that I may rise up and usurp your kingdom, but know that it was never my desire to overthrow you. All I ever wanted was for you to be proud of me. If I could have been your pride for a moment in time, if you ever truly saw me as Thor's equal and your son, I would have wanted nothing more. But I was your son no more than I was Thor's brother. No, you never loved me. You only needed a monster that Thor could slay. So be it, Father. For once, I did not disappoint you. For once, I am all you ever wanted of me. Is this what you wanted from me? You strived to create a fiend, and after a lifetime of abuse and humiliation, here I am, here to witness your downfall and that of all Asgard!
Was it so hard for you to believe in me, Father? To bless me with your unconditional love even when I failed to reach the finish line? You turned your back on me, only to help Thor forward with your encouragement and trust. I lay prone, struck down by your indifference, and you still refused to admit your negligence! If you only believed in me, I could have rose up to be your champion, I could have been more than the wretched creature you made me out to be. You said we were both meant for greatness, to be kings, but you lied. You see, there is not greatness to be achieved for me. Perhaps there is more to wanting than to having; I see that now… For this hard lesson, I thank you, but for subjecting me to the trials that no child should have to endure only to find such a despotic truth at the end of that grievous, winding road, I resent you.
As I have said before, my dear friend, it is much easier to hate that which we cannot procure. It is much easier to hate than foolishly chase childish pipedreams. It gives us a certain sense of satisfaction to be able to turn such feelings of reverence and sentimentality over in the depths of our minds and warp them until they reflect the monstrosity which the world so readily perceives us as. Perhaps, this is why I am quite fond of you, my dear friend. In one sense, we are quite opposite as well, but in another, we are virtually the same being. That has always been the trouble with villains, you see. We are all egotistical in the sense that we rather adore things that remind us of ourselves. Yet, we curse their existence for that very reason. We love ourselves so fervidly, but we hate being reminded of what we have become and how it was we ever got this way. It is our reflections that we worship, yet it is our own shadow from which we cower. We were all heroes once, but every twist of fate, every turn of time would distort us from our potential for good. We could have been heroes once, but that too has come to pass long ago. And so, I repeat, it is much easier to hate, my dearest friend, for the time for hope, for change, has passed us by lifetimes ago.