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An angel's true form is incomprehensible to the human eye, or at least those who have tried ended up with no eyes left to see anything with.
When asked to describe themselves, angels tend to become very vague, as though the very thought of trying to tie their incorporial image to the vulgar tongues of humans debased them somehow.
"I have four heads, one of which is a lion," and, "My true form is about the size of your Chrisler Building," are the most difinitive answers ever given. Of course the man to whom these descriptions were given to did not fully grasp the complexity of the question he was asking.
Gabriel, the archangel, was considered one of the most beautiful angels in heaven; third to Michael who agreed that Lucifer shined the with the most glory.
When he (and 'he' is used loosely for a genderless creature) ran away from heaven , that is to say, went into witness protection, Gabriel never thought his angelic nature would impact his time on earth.
Pulling on the mask of Loki, he tended not to think of many things.
Still, his nature could not be denied, despite how thoroughly he hid it beneath tricks and magic. This nature bred true in his children.
Sleipnir, a prince among horses, possessed eight legs. Loki balked when he first laid eyes on the child, feeling numerous powerful wings twitch against the hidden space of his back.
What if the others in Asguard guessed his secret? They were a particularly dim witted bunch, but sometimes even they could surprise Loki with their capacity for finding out things they should not.
The decision of what to do was taken out of the hidden angel's hands, luckily, when Oden claimed the nephlim as his steed.
"Surely such strangeness can only be expected from a shape changing sorceror," the gods said, eyes more wary than suspitious. Gabriel breathed a sigh or relief and tightened the warding around his true form.
Later Loki's wife Sigyn bore two fair haired boys, Nari and Vali. After thoroughly checking them over for extra limbs and surprises, Gabriel assumed his problem before was from not being comfortable in his disguise yet. Some grace had slipped out, but it was a one time problem. Wouldn't happen again.
He pointedly ignored the way their eyes burnt amber like the fires of creation, like Gabriel's eyes, whenever they were distressed or happy. It was nothing, just a trick of the light.
Not having gender, and therefore an understanding of marriage, Gabriel understandably got up to much mischief during his time in Asguard.
Agraboda, his consort, cradled the wolf Fenrir to her chest, cooing sweet nothings into the pup's fur. Loki did not need to see it to know that it's fur would be shaggy and dark, but shine gold under moonlight. Nor did he need reassurance that the child's teeth would be of the most perfect ivory and ten times as sharp.
Gabriel had his own wolf head to contemplate all those characteristics.
When Jormungand was born, Loki did not enter the house, too busy feeling his own endless scales coil within the fragile covering of his vessel.
He never actually met his only daughter Hel, though apparently Death had taken her on as a sort of apprentice reaper.
Someone needed to be the angel of death with Gabriel ignoring his responsibilities.
Of course, he did eventually meet her after that fateful confrontation with his brother.
She was just as beautiful s he had imagined, with half of her face a chilled bone radiating an endless night from the empty socket.
She contemplated him silently, then broke out into a half smile.
"Mr. Death was right," she said, linking their arms together. "I do take after you!"
Gabriel could only laugh, as his true form was incapable of crying.
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