The room smelled like old paper, manuscripts written in fading ink, bound leather, and an ancient magic that can only thrive within the pages of books. The room was a branch of a great library, with towering walls of glossy dark red-tinged wood that came to a domed ceiling. There was little floor space, but in the far corner of the room was a cushion, bent in the middle from so much use. It had been a fine throne for any bookworm, and still was, despite being thin and threadbare now.

Such a place was the library, likewise to a maze in its labyrinthine structure that begged to be explored. Bookshelves that reached up farther than a dozen feet into the air acted to some like a prison, but to others, a very few and select amount, it was a sanctuary, a place of gentle peace and quiet, where one could completely absorb themselves into an old tome and remain in the same position for hours on end, until the candle burned low and they had to run off to fetch another.

On a day that the golden dusty light refused to filter through the thick panes of glass, someone was doing just that. They knew that this little section of the library was in the dead center, reachable only by those who could remember the very floor's layout and navigate the tall shelves stocked to nearly bursting with books. The reader had left the book that they were reading on top of the worn cushion, a heavy volume with leather binding the color of burnt ash. There were stains scattered across the leather like darker islands in a dark sea, soiling from being so old. The words within were in no language recognized by any man. Delicate runes sprawled themselves out over thin leafed pages, the pages themselves aged and yellowing from the years it had sat on the shelf. The book had not been picked up for centuries, ignored on its shelf amongst all of the other stories. But this…this was no story. This was a book of magic.

The reader returned but a moment later with two more candles, large columns of ivory wax, wicks still untouched by flame. The reader wound their way through the bookshelves as if he had been through them a thousand times, if not more. And he had. This library was his domain, his safe house from the rest of the world. On soft foot and with gentle step, the reader wound the last turn before arriving where he had set up camp. Next to the cushion and the book was a small metal plate that the reader put one of the candles on. The other was placed next to the cushion for later use. The light of one candle would last through the night.

Along with the candles, the reader had brought a cloth napkin filled with small snacks; little sandwiches, cookies, pastries, and an apple were all tied up together in the folds of the cream cloth which was also placed next to the cushion, within the reader's reach. Their night was planned, and knowing that the daylight was fading slowly behind the thick clouds below the horizon and no one cared for their whereabouts after sundown, the reader was prepared for a completely uneventful afternoon melting into a night where only the words on the pages of the book mattered. Picking the book up from the cushion, the reader leaned it up against the shelf that formed one of the walls of the center of the library, taking the cushion from its usual place and laying it down next to the unlit candle and food. The reader leaned down and rested their forearms on the cushion, hands resting comfortably on the cover of the book. Words danced at the tip of the reader's tongue as they were breathed out at barely a whisper. With a soft stutter, the wick of the candle on the dish began to smoke, and eventually a small glowing orb of orange flame sprouted into existence, growing as it ate away at the flammable wick.

The reader grinned. They willed for the flame to grow, and then to shrink, the fire bending to their commands. The reader was so absorbed in the task that they didn't register the subdued padding of bare footsteps against the floor.

The girl was curious. She had stumbled upon the library in her flight to escape her parents for a short while. They were involved with politics, something that the young girl swore not to get so deeply involved in when she was old enough to go out into the world. Her father had remained closer to her than her mother, and it was only natural that she began to adapt his mannerisms. She was bold. Curious. Stubborn. Witty. Anything and everything that her mother would have dubbed as absolute folly. When forced into traveling with her mother, the girl had instantly made herself scarce. It was easy, where she and her mother were staying. It was so easy to get lost in the hallways, corridors leading around to the farthest corners, easily tricking the unprepared. But it was perfect for the girl, who wanted to get lost, and stay that way.

A large door engraved with words from languages and tongues from every Realm was partially open, and bringing her face up to the crack between door and frame, she glimpsed row upon row of books.

Ever words intertwine

The fates of young and old

Forever pages turning on

Of silver stars and heroes gold.

With a smile, the girl pushed the door open another few inches, giving her enough room to slip inside. As she carefully shut the door behind her, the girl was immediately greeted by the scent of everything that a library should hold. Books in towering shelves graced towards the ceilings, and the way that the rows were set up constructed a maze. There was something else that did not quite belong with the setting. It was hazy, smelling of wax hinted with a delicate smoky essence. Someone was burning a candle. Instead of turning away like she probably should have, the girl took a deep breath and entered the labyrinth of books.

She followed the scent of smoke, letting it waft over her, filling her nostrils. She passed by rows and rows of books, far too many for her to count, enough to keep an avid reader occupied for many lifetimes of Men. She walked, and she walked, making her footfalls quiet. Something about this place demanded serenity and calmness, and the willingness to be lulled into another world by some writer's voice. Suddenly as she rounded a bend, the girl saw a light, dim at first, but growing brighter as she stepped towards it. Probably a candle. Was someone in here at this hour?

The light abruptly went out. The girl caught her breath as everything was thrown into complete darkness. The bookshelves blotted out any light that the sun could have cast. She didn't dare to move. And then the light came back, stronger than before, then toning down, only to flare up again. It repeated this process two whole times before the girl dared to move. When she did, she peered around the next corner and caught her breath.

There was a large candle in a dish, a simple metal dish that servants often ate their meals from. It was not the candle itself that drew her attention, but the flame itself. It flickered, but not like a flame normally would. Its movements were far too erratic, and it bent and shrunk and grew despite the fact that there was not a breath of wind. Tearing her eyes from the flame, her gaze settled on a shadow coming from a corner. A person-shaped shadow. She leaned ever so slightly forward, and her own shadow slipped into the opening in the shelves, betraying her presence. Almost too quickly for her to follow, a hand shot out of the darkened corner, and the flame was extinguished. There was no wind. No breeze was strong enough to have blown out the flame in such a fashion. It was almost as if the fire had been drawn back into the wick, not blown outwards. There was no smoke. All that could be seen was the dying glow of the wick. Something rustled in the blackness.

"Who are you?" came a quiet yet commanding voice. Male. Breathing heavily.

The girl was silent.

"Who are you?" the voice demanded once more, a bit less gently this time.

The girl swallowed before she answered, trying not to let her voice quiver in the presence of this stranger. "I am Astrid. Please, I just came in here to get away from my mother. Honestly, I didn't know anyone was in here. It's just that…libraries tend to make good hiding places, don't they?"

To her surprise, a chuckle came through the dark. "I could not agree with you more on that, Astrid. Why were you watching me? Had you seen…?"

"What happened to the candle?" she asked. "I couldn't see you. You were hidden in the shadows, but you were doing something, weren't you? Did you make that candle go out?"

The voice was hesitant to reply. "Yes, I did," it said at long last. It was a young voice, though, nothing old and ancient and powerful, but it held a weight to it, like whoever was speaking would be a good storyteller. The voice was liquid, and flowed over her. It left her skin covered with gooseflesh as a chill ran up her spine. "And I can make it light again."

Slowly, the candle's flame was released once again, and it escaped as if the tendrils of heat were the petals of a golden flower bursting into bloom. The small corner of the library was immediately thrown into a bath of amber light. The girl gasped. Magic.

Standing a few feet in front of her was a boy about her own age. He was a tall and gangling fellow that far surpassed her own height, which was average for most girls that had lived for as many years as herself. He wore a simple green tunic with a plain and unadorned brown leather belt around his waist. His long legs were clothed in dark breeches, and plain leather boots, scuffed at the toes, enveloped his shins. Altogether, he looked nothing important, but there was something in the way that he held himself, an air about him, that spoke otherwise. His hair was longer than that of many of the boys that she had met, and the color of a raven's wing. He had pushed it back from his forehead, but because the boy's eyes were staring at the floor, some of the strands had fallen out of place.

"You…you can do magic, then?" the girl asked. Astrid, the boy thought. How curious to name a girl after a star. Curious indeed, and even more curious was how she managed to find him, just happened upon him, alone and playing with fire. If his instructor knew that someone outside of the family circle knew of his powers…

"Yes, of course I can," the boy snapped back. He was still staring at the ground, like if he concentrated hard enough, he could burn a hole through the flooring tiles in the library. A muscle twitched in his cheek. Astrid gaped at him. She had only heard stories, in books just like the ones all around them, surrounding them. The dim amber light cast sharp shadows across his features, accenting the hollows of his cheekbones.

"Can you—can you show me more?"

The shadows stretched, showing the lips of the strange boy curving up into a grin. "You are not afraid?"

"No, no I want to see more, really," Astrid pleaded. She crossed her arms over her chest. "And I never did get your name."

The boy did look up then, and a pair of piercing blue eyes bored into her own, which were a bright hazel that were now more prominently green than anything, reflecting the tones in her aquamarine tunic that came down nearly to her knees. The tunic was cinched around her waist with a braided silver cord, the fabric solid in color. Those eyes though…the way that they seemed to stare into her soul was unnerving. A mischievous grin played with the boy's lips.

"Loki."

Hello, my dear darling readers! Yay, character introductions! Please let me know what you think and review! Your feedback is much appreciated.

Loves and virtual chocolate-chip cookies,

Fiera E.