Asgard's Private Asylum

Patient: Loki Odinson

Date Admitted: 4 November 2013

Physician: William E.


4 November 2013

Received confirmation from Odin Allfather that I will be given the opportunity to treat a very troubled and difficult patient: Loki Odinson. The king's adopted son. Dubious honour! But his progress is not promising. After looking at his file, I'm astonished he has survived this long. He has been nearly comatose for a year.


11 November 2013

Mute on a stretcher, with his head curiously bandaged, Loki seems to cling precariously to life. His wounds have healed remarkably in the year in the year since the war in New York, but he languishes in a deep trance like dementia. It's as if the void consumed his senses. Deaf, dumb and blind to all stimulation, he's a fair match for the infirmary's gloom.

In a frenzied instant, a raven landed on Loki while he was about to be carried inside. Startled, the healers lost their grip and dropped the man to the ground. Most curious to behold, the raven stood atop Loki, as if claiming territorial right, or as if defending a prey captured in the day's hunt from other hungry predators. Only when an orderly threantened it with a stick did the creature fly to a nearby tree. Even then, it had its eyes fixed on Loki as if it had some vital interest in our proceedings.


13 November 2013

In the twelvemonth since the conflagration, Loki has dropped further into a grim and darkly quiet abyss. The healers were able to cure the flesh, but they've done nothing to treat the inflammation of his brain. Never once did the Allfather visit his son. I'm not sure what he expects me to accomplish with the prince. I suppose he thinks that in my three-thousand years within these troubled walls I've mastered I've mastered a curriculum not taught in Asgard's classrooms.


14 November 2013

His one possession is a toy - a sooty, stuffed dragon whose single button-eye dangles from a loose thread. Plaything from his time of innocence, and his only link to life before the void. The dragon is now a sentinel to Loki's deepening dementia.


8 December 2013

When I hold a flame to his eye, nothing in his vacuous gaze the faintest glimmer of response. I clap a pair of blocks at his ear. Nothing. Neither his sight nor his hearing appear to be damaged; still he registers nothing at all. The rumour (passed on by Eir amongst others) alleges that he feels nothing - not pain, or fear or other torments - is neither credible nor kind. Still, he is far, far gone, this one.


9 December 2013

In many ways, it's as if he's in the grave already; his countenance so still he appears to be in training for the coffin. Indeed, if he were to die today in this old chamber, nary a person would take note other than a few. Those few who'd mutter to themselves "ah, that's a shame - the poor man" and then turn the page to learn more of the recent murders in Midgard.


10 December 2013

Though he appears weak, he must have a strong constitution to survive until now. His fever persists, his breathing heaves violently at times and, even after more than a year of healing, wounds so massive commonly cause great discomfort. You'd never imagine he's in any distress, though, the way he's stretched, as lifeless as a mummy. I dare say, however, that I'll stir him from his dreamery, even if the response is involuntary. I'll begin tomorrow with a steady treatment of cold plasters and bloodletting. The bleeding might cause some relief to his dementia. I also have a new shock apparatus that I'd like to try on him. I'm curious to see how he reacts to this treatment.