[ Hi guys! Thank you all so much for the positive feedback to My Winterstorm. It's really motivating. Especially the last review I got on it is the reason why I currently have the next chapter open on another tab, and I intend to finish it either tonight or tomorrow. Until then, here's a little drabble that I wrote for tumblr, about Loki's birthday. Please review! ]
Year 5447
That year she spends the day in prison. Thor attempts to visit. She turns her back to him and stares at the walls of her cell until he leaves, humming softly to herself so that she does not have to listen to whatever it is that he has to say.
The food she's brought is slightly less inedible than usual. Whether that's Odin's gift or coincidence she does not know. She refuses to eat it either way.
The illusion she creates lets the guards believe that she is sleeping. In fact she is crying, silent tears rolling down blue cheeks and freezing halfway down. Eventually she falls asleep.
When she wakes her skin is pale, her eyes green. There are torches in her cell, too high for her to reach. She can not use them as a weapon, but they do warm her new habitat. Someone has braided her filthy, tangled hair so that it almost looks clean and properly cared for. In the corner of the cell is a plate with cinnamon rolls, her favorite breakfast dish.
Loki suspects Frigga.
Year 5546
She is wearing her armor, has been wearing it for weeks. Months, perhaps. She does not know, nor does she care. Her originally green eyes are blue, a bright shade that does not suit her. Her eyes are no longer sparkling with mischief. The blue, radiant as it may be, gives her face a hollow look. Or perhaps that is because of the lack of proper sustenance. She does not care. All that matters is the spear in her hand and the task she has to use it for.
Midgard will be hers to rule. And Thor, revolting fool that he is, will kneel before her, fear her, know that he will never equal her greatness. She is Loki, of Asgard, and she will watch the nine realms burn.
Year 5544
She loves namedays, loves that on one day a year she would receive more love and attention than her brother. She receives gifts, tales are told of her greatest victories on the battlefield, a feast is held in her honor. It may seem petty, childish even, to look forward to namedays after having celebrated over five thousand of them, but Loki cannot have enough of them.
The dress she wears today is new. It is a stunning green gown made of silk from Vanaheim, made by the best tailors Asgard has to offer. It has been hanging in her wardrobe for an entire season, but she's managed to resist wearing it.
Today will be glorious.
Year 5548, the present.
Her company consists of books. The tigers are outside, rolling through the snow or whatever it is that they do when they are not sleeping in front of the fireplace. The cat is probably out hunting for squirrels. The wolves are not allowed to enter her house, and they know it.
She is completely, utterly alone on this day for the first time in her life. December 17th. Her nameday.
The goddess sighs and gets out of bed, changes into the most comfortable dress she owns, despite it being old and too loose on her to be considered nice. She had hoped to sleep the day away, to wake on December 18th so that she could pretend that nothing had happened. She is not allowed such luck, it appears.
She skips breakfast, something she never does. There is plenty of food in the house, and as tempting as it might be to sit down, eat all of it and then wallow in misery until she passes out at the kitchen table, she teleports herself to Central Park instead and starts setting trees on fire until she can see SHIELD's 'inconspicuous' vehicles approaching from the distance. She moves on to what she believes is called Jones Beach, sits down on a pier and starts setting the water on fire. It is a pointless task, for the flames are extinguished almost immediately, but it gives her something to do and the constant use of magic is draining her energy away. It is exhausting, but she does not stop.
The water refuses to burn.
Loki refuses to leave.
When she wakes she is lying on an incredibly uncomfortable bed. The blankets make her skin itch and the mattress is so thin that she can feel the heavy concrete it lies on right through it.
Only SHIELD knows where to find beds that are this uncomfortable.
When her theory is confirmed by the voice of yet another obnoxious agent whom she does not care about, she actually smiles.
"Did you enjoy my performance at the park, darling?"