Loki had woken to see Octavia already awake, cooking breakfast at an absurd hour. He knew that she was exhausted from yesterday, probably even more than he, and yet her sleep had been so short. Crippled with fatigue he didn't get out of bed, but laid there in a state of half consciousness as the hours rolled by. When he reached the stage where his eyes opened willingly Octavia was busy doing whatever she was doing, but at an odd speed. She looked almost hysterical in her movements and irritable. Loki would have been more concerned but his stomach had felt as if it had caved in from hunger and the food she had cooked earlier had an extremely enticing smell to it.

While he was eating his food, Loki wasn't really thinking of anything. He was just taking one bite after another and staring into space. Acknowledging things and contemplating stuff – and yet at the same time not acknowledging things and contemplating stuff. Then when his muscles began to stiffen and achy pains settled into all of his joints Loki thought about yesterday, and all of the tough labour he did. It was hard stuff, he thought, but then a little niggling thing in the corner of his brain was trying to remind him of something…

…today is the day I become King of Asgard.

The thought was at first surreal. But after a few seconds it buzzed inside of him, then exploding and spreading it all around his body, filling him up with excitement of the promise to come. Like lightning, sunshine and fireworks had all combined together to make a nuclear bomb of fizzing delight. Eyes brightening and smirking Loki finished his breakfast very quickly. Of course he had to hold up his end of the bargain, to pardon Octavia and, well, protect her soul, and frankly he was prepared to do even more than that. She had provided him a gateway into a world he had desired for so long; and so desperately craved it from inside of him. She alone had changed his life forever, well not yet anyway. But the thing was, he was eternally grateful – if not in more ways than one.

Octavia still busy doing whatever, Loki got changed into his 'less-divine' clothes (as he so called them) and began the day as normal. Well…normal meaning doing nothing. He had no idea of what to do. So not wanting to be awkward, just randomly starting folding stuff. Blankets, sheets, clothes etc. But he did them all in a matter of minutes. Octavia was still busy, and until now Loki hadn't really paid any attention to her. When he looked closely he saw that she wasn't really doing anything either, just pacing. Up and down frantically. Anyone would have thought she was mad. But this was Octavia. And Loki knew her. He often got them too, little annoying things popping up in your mind, looking back they were foolish, but at the time they are reality. Like you can't evade it and your trapped with it, lost in a maze of screams and agony – until you realise that it's just a mind demon. A thought that occupies your mind and makes you think horrible thoughts. It mainly occurs to the traumatized, and if anything Octavia was the most traumatized person he had ever met. Knowing the only way round it is to come to terms with it, he left her pacing and headed for bed, feeling that a few more hours rest wouldn't hurt.

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There was a thud. Then a squeal. Then the sound of crashing. Loki awoke with a jump, having been suddenly yanked free of his dream state by the disrupting sounds. Panicked he flew off the bed and ran toward the noise – where Octavia was sitting on the floor with hands pouring endless rivers of blood. There was glass all around her, some with red stains but all broken into shards the size of pebbles, and some miniscule fractions of nothingness. Rushing towards her Loki realised she was crying, and be assumed because of her hands and forearms leaking blood. But when he tried to clean them up she pulled away from him and let the veins pump. Looking up, there was a small table that Octavia used for creating potions and alchemic concoctions, and the glass was up there too. How it broke was a mystery, until Loki saw the book lying open on the desk, and saw the potion. She had to make it again, it was too much for her. Knowing no sort of alchemy himself, Loki couldn't make the potion – Octavia had to. But the mental scars were too much and she couldn't either. It fit, the early rise, the continuous pacing, frantic and hysterical movements, mumbling to herself. She had dreaded this. For how long he wasn't sure, it could have been her whole life.

"Hey, hey…" Loki whispered coaxingly. "It's ok…" Slowly he took her and led to the water basin, and washed her hands and arms with water. Then he wrapped it best he could in bandages and cloths, not knowing whether it would be better to make some sort of inflammatory…poultice…mixture… or something. But he was careful and she consented as he continued to wrap the pieces of material round the wounds. Throughout the whole process, Octavia was dead still, and unbearably silent. The tear stains from earlier lay on her cheeks obscurely and out of place, making her beautiful face glisten with the remains of her outbreak. Once wrapped, Loki let go of her hands and leant in to wipe the tears away.

"Don't." Octavia finally speaks. Loki leans in again to attempt to wipe it away despite what she says. Once again, Octavia bats his hand away and faces the ground ashamed. "Don't. I've made a massive fool of myself and I don't need you to make it worse." Lifting a heavily cloaked hand she rubs the stains away roughly, causing the skin under her eyes and her cheeks to grow red and agitated, making her look even more upset. She stands up and walks over to the potions table, it's not long until the moon will show and the potion has to be ritualised. She starts to tidy up the glass, but being careful it takes longer than it should. Loki starts to gather his stuff, he hadn't realised how long he was asleep for. Must have been hours, it was already dark. Either that or it took too long to dress Octavia's hands. He just liked holding them… they were so soft and delicate.

But it wasn't long before Octavia stopped again. She didn't break anything this time, but the absence in scuffling ingredients was extremely noticeable in the dark silent gloom. Loki peered into her workspace and saw her just staring at the table. Then with unbeknown strength she swipes the potions book off the table, and it lands on the other side of the cave, with random scattered pages slowly floating to the floor in its wake.

"Whoa, wo, woah…!" Loki says, jolted from her outburst. "Steady! Octavia, you don't need to do that," Walking over to the damaged tome and picking it up, along with collecting all of the outcast pages and bringing it back to the table. Seeing her combined fear and hatred of the object in the glare of her eyes. Loki places it back on the table and takes her face in his palms. "Look at me." He says firmly but softly. "You can do this, we can do this". Then standing behind her, bodies pressed together, and taking her arms in his, Loki guided her throughout the making of the alchemic potion. Being the solid force she can rely on to help her make it through. And when she faltered, he hugged her gently and willed her to do it. So that, after about 30 minutes the potion was ready. Loki detached himself from Octavia as she held the fizzing, deep purple vial in front of her on her palm. He then took hold of her bandaged hand and looked lovingly into her troubled eyes. He felt inordinately proud of her. He nodded at her in a way that signalised it was time. Then, under the now full moon Loki watched as she whispered a spell in some sort of mystic tongue and her eyes flash yellow. Then the liquid began to spark and flare. With a shaking hand, Octavia raised the vial to her lips, preparing for the surge of un-beatable power that will consume her, praying that she remember her cause and not let the past repeat itself. But however much she told herself that it was different this time, she actually had a purpose, it felt like she was taking the same steps to fall into the same trap again. It took all she could muster to swallow the potion, every part of her was telling her to stop.

But it was all gone now, and as it digested the world stopped and everything in the fabric of the universe was malleable to her hands.