[haunted]
Summary: in time, we create our own ghosts. Loki-centric. Spoilers for Thor 2: The Dark World
Rating: T+ for angsty!Loki
Disclaimer: I do not own Marvel or the Thor movies, just two Loki T-shirts.
A/N: Whoo, first Loki fic :P Hope you guys like it! Quote from Let Her Go by The Passenger (a wonderful song if you haven't heard it).
"Maybe one day you'll understand why everything you touch surely dies…"
Monsters do not cry, he tells himself, curled in the corner of his too-bright cell (but everything in Asgard, including the dungeons, were always drowning in light). He stares blankly at his hands, traces the lines and contours of the now cobalt-tinged skin before tilting his head back to laugh. The sound rings hollow inside the all too familiar glass box, resounding harshly against his ears. Clenching his hands, the color fades away, replaced with powdered alabaster. Oh, how easy it was to appear like them, the Aesir known for their warmth and light; how easy it was to believe spoon-filled lies.
He can still feel the dull buzz of magic flowing through his cold veins, crackling dangerously in the air despite the charms that had been placed all around the room. It was a constant reminder of what he had once thought to be a genetic gift from his not-mother. When he had been young and naïve, believing that this woman who was the embodiment of the sun was actually his blood kin. That even with her flaxen hair, topaz eyes, and peachy skin (which was so unlike his own pasty complexion) they were still mother and son. Now it seemed like such a foolish belief that a walking shadow like himself could actually be born of light.
But Frigga had soothed his worries and doubts with honeyed lies, telling him that he was normal and good, even though he was nothing like the other Asgardian children or his golden brother, Thor. She had never forced him to change, allowing him to bury himself in books and scrolls as other children his age played outdoors with wooden swords. She had even encouraged his love of magic, teaching him small tricks and spells in her free time.
His mind traveled to the times where they had sat by the great hearth fire, cradled in a sea of embroidered pillows and blankets as she held him in her arms, softly reading out the pages to one of her favorite books. How he had curled in her warm embrace, lulled to sleep by the crackling of flames and gentle sound of her voice.
A voice he would never hear again…
Taking in a deep, shaky breath the former prince of Asgard slammed his fist into the wall. A shock of magic discharged from his hand, creating burn marks against the smooth white. He gave a satisfied smirk, returning his bruised fist to his lap. But the momentary elation quickly faded away as the burden of his thoughts crashed down on him.
He had told the intruder where to go. Of course he had assumed at the time that the stranger was an enemy of Odin the All-Father, and by extension, an ally. In his blind rage he had not factored out all the possibilities, only that this seemed like a perfect chance to get rid of the man who had turned him into a monster. Yet, he couldn't deny the blood on his hands. It was different from the humans he had killed in his madness on Midgard; he had indirectly murdered the woman who had raised him. The only person who had ever seen beyond his shadow and tricks and truly believed him to be good.
(and he had killed her with his own hands… his own damnable words)
Loki laughed again. He had only seen Frigga (or her astral projection, at least) for the past two years. Thor hadn't even visited him once since his imprisonment. He didn't alert him of Frigga's death either. The god of Mischief and Lies had been told the life-altering truth by a simple-minded guard who had quickly returned to his post without another word. And in that moment, the usually silver-tongued prince was speechless. His mind continued to replay their final conversation, growing louder and louder with every word until it consumed his thoughts.
"Am I not your mother, then?"
"…You're not."
The raven-haired man had barely noticed the pain of using his magic against the charms as pieces of furniture erupted in tendrils of power. The ornate chair had shattered into pieces against the wall, books flew across the room in a flurry of inked pages, and broken glass peppered the floors. He continued to break and break and break even when he cut his feet with glass, screaming for something— for someone.
He was met with only a dizzying silence and the lethargy that came with expelling too much magic. He fell against the wall, buried his hands in his face, and screamed until his voice grew sore. Until his vocal chords ached and the blood on his feet had dried. Immobilized by the sudden wave of pain that had become much too apparent after his outburst, Loki closed his eyes and waited, too tired to heal his wounds with magic.
When the time came (he knew it would—Thor would not pass up an opportunity for bloodshed, especially when he was the one antagonized) he would be ready. He would kill those that murdered Frigga (mother, not-mother, liar, comforter, sun), not for Odin or Thor, but himself.
Because murder was all he was good at; everything withered and died at the touch of his cold fingers.
A/N: So I absolutely loved Thor 2. Especially all the Loki bits. I will probably write a Loki-centric story that takes place after the movie and centers on his actions as the king of Asgard. Hopefully the first chapter will be up some time soon ^^'
Review? I'm not the best at writing oneshots and this one was probably the shortest one I've done so I would love some feedback on characterization, style, etc.
-Isis