The dagger was a thing of beauty, fashioned of metal and magic. It had intricate carvings, feminine, yet strong. It was a deadly blade, sharp and woven with enough dark magic that it would kill almost anything, at least that's what she'd been told. Jane never had the opportunity to use. Her lessons and practicing was done with much simpler daggers.

The dagger was always on her, lingering in wait, a faithful ally. An acquaintance, sensitive to magic, once told her she reeked of the dark magic, it clung to her.

It was made for her. The metal was forged by the most skillful sword smiths in Asgard. It was Loki though that had woven it with dark magic, imbedding the magic, weaving it into her. Jane didn't feel him doing it, didn't know he had been. When he'd laid it in her hand though she felt it's weight, she felt its pull. Then it vanished.

"It will be there," he said, "when you need it."

Jane didn't want to need it. She wasn't a killer. Except one day she found herself moving from her possible captor on instinct, fighting him off. As the wife of a prince of Asgard, the god of mischief, and one of the most powerful wielders of magic in their realm, her life was sometimes in danger. Loki was always there though, always. Except this time.

Jane flattened her hand as she ducked and suddenly the warmth of a handle pressed against her palm. With a move that she accomplished from repetition, she avoided her captor once more and shoved the dagger into him.

"It doesn't matter where," Loki had explained. "One cut and their dead."

He had been right. With a bloody dagger in one hand she stared down into the wide pained eyes of her possibly captor. He'd seizured, blood had dripped from his nose and ears, his body bowed off the floor, he screamed until the ice that slid over his body traveled up his throat and silenced him. Even then, it was a slow death. With eyes wide in horror she stared. Seconds ticked by and then she felt a hand on her arm. Jane screamed and spun, dagger at the ready. Someone snatched her wrists and it took her entirely to long to realize it was Loki.

Safe now, the dagger vanished. Loki released her wrist and looked down.

"Are you okay?" He asked finally and turned back to her.

"Yea," she whispered shakily. He must have realized that she wasn't because he stepped closer and wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her to him. Jane relaxed in his embrace and let her eyes shut. "I didn't…know it would do that."

Loki, now looking at the dead body with disinterest, spoke evenly. "If you are in the position that you are fighting for your life then they deserve to die in agony. A painless death for attacking you will not suffice."

Still, to see so much pain caused by her hand…Jane pushed the thought from her mind. They would have taken her from her home, from her friends, from Loki. Jane wouldn't allow herself to regret what happened. To regret meant she might falter next time, and that she refused to do