Hello dear readers! I'm so sorry for the extremely slow update, between university and five nights of ballet classes things got a little hectic! I'll try to update a little more regularly.
For this chapter I listened to Tchaikovsky's Pas de Deux: Andante from Swan Lake as my inspiration. (It's also know as the Black Swan Pas de Deux) Give it a listen - it's gorgeous and quite romantic!
As always, I own nothing. Please review, it does brighten my day to know people read and enjoy what they see!
Loki gazed out the window, pale forehead leaning against the cool glass. Behind him, sitting cross-legged upon the floor, Margot hummed a gentle tune while sewing satin ribbons onto her pointe shoes. He heaved a sigh, and Margot glanced up, brow furrowed with concern.
"What's wrong, Loki?" she questioned, setting her needle and thread down.
"Does Midgard not have stars? Every time I have looked upon the sky, there are no stars."
Margot joined him at the window, placing her delicate hands upon the sill. "Of course there are. You just can't see them because of the light pollution."
"I'm sorry? Even your light is polluted?" Loki said, a slight edge of derision to his voice.
"No, that's not quite it. This is a very large city, and there are always lights on at night. Those lights make it much too difficult for the stars to show. If you were to go out to the countryside, or even a small town, you could see the stars." Margot paused for a moment, noting the faint look of longing on his face. "If you'd like, I could show you sometime. I still know all the constellations from my childhood."
"I should like that very much," Loki murmured, his mind clearly in a far off place.
Margot hesitated, toying with a question, unsure whether she wanted to know the answer. Curiosity, ever stubborn, eventually pushed her into asking anyway. "What are you thinking about?" she whispered.
"Home," he answered simply, without hesitation. The look of longing deepened, and he seemed to do very little to hide the sadness deep within his brilliant emerald eyes.
"What about it?" Margot prodded, surprised at how quickly his mood seemed to change.
"About how I miss it," Loki sighed, turning his face away from her. He does not wish me to see just how much he hurts, she thought, the realization finally dawning on her.
"But…you felt unwanted there. Why would you miss it?" she asked, struggling to understand him.
"Because it was nevertheless my home. And I mean no offence, but Midgard has certainly lost much of its beauty since I last visited many years ago. I suppose I was spoiled, being surrounded by the beauty of Asgard. One should not take beauty for granted."
"Tell me about Asgard," Margot asked, suddenly longing to know what this beauty was he spoke of. He turned slightly back towards her, his face emotionless. "Please? I just want to be able to picture it."
Loki's lips pulled into a gentle smile at her almost childish eagerness. "I very much doubt you would be able to truly picture Asgard's beauty. It far surpasses anything here on Midgard. But, I suppose I could describe it to you nevertheless." He returned his gaze to the starless night sky, gently steepling his slim fingers. "Well, where to begin? I, being a prince, grew up in the royal palace. It is a great structure, made of seemingly solid gold with a façade that sweeps up towards the heavens like a row of gilt flutes. It was awe inspiring, especially to the citizens. We have many great causeways, flanked by statues of our ancestors, and beyond them lies the Bifrost, the rainbow bridge, though I've no doubt you are familiar with it by now. It stretches a great distance, and below it churns a great sea, steely blue and dangerous. At the edge of our realm it drops off into nothingness, and it is said one would fall for eternity if one were to stumble off the edge. The palace sits upon great, jagged cliffs, and nestled around the palace and even among the cliffs' edges lie the houses of the civilians, every bit as elegant and stunning as my home. Many gardens grace the city, but none are so beautiful as those found on the palace grounds, filled with exotic birds and delicate flowers and all manner of streams and trees. Some are perfectly groomed, stunning in their symmetry. Others are carefully crafted wildernesses, brimming with wildflowers and grass softer than you could ever imagine. But it is the forest that is the true crowning pride, filled with ancient trees and thick with vines and curious plants. Sometimes, a shaft of golden light would break through the canopy, and it would fill a clearing with such an unusual light that everything would seem softly gilt. Here things were primal and pure, entirely unhampered by the Aesir." Loki paused in his recounting, chancing a quick glanced at Margot, who stood entirely enraptured. The look of deep longing on his perfect face soon returned, however, and he shifted his gaze to the window once again. "But it was the heavens that would truly rob the breath from your body. Oh, the heavens…The stars alone were as diamonds, more brilliant than the finest piece of jewelry in our possession, and the nebulae swirled so close there were nights when I swore, if I could just reach far enough, my fingertips could brush against them. And the colours! Such stunning blues and pinks and oranges! There was scarcely a night Asgard wasn't illuminated by the heavens. Such a sight to behold…" And he sighed, resting his forehead against the glass and closing his dark-lashed eyes like an alabaster statue.
Margot, still enchanted by his words, had not shifted from her place on the floor. She simply watched him with eager eyes, wishing for more. But she knew he was finished and would speak no longer, at least, not tonight. Shaking herself slightly from her daze, she gently placed a hand on his shoulder, and he flinched, shocked by her sudden touch. "That was beautiful. Thank you. We both should go to bed now, though. I think you could really use the sleep."
Loki slowly opened his eyes, observing her silently, thoughts clearly churning. "May I come watch you dance tomorrow?" he inquired innocently. "I think it's time that I see what you spend all day doing."
The dancer hesitated, unsure. "I'm not supposed to bring guests to practice…" she began, but stopped suddenly. The god of mischief had disappeared as silently as a specter. Margot glanced about uneasily, not yet used to his little disappearing act and odd mood changes. Suddenly, she felt a breath upon the back of her neck, the delicate hairs pricking up.
"Who says they have to know I am there?" he whispered mischievously.
Loki followed Margot closely down the twisting corridors, smoothly avoiding the other dancers as they flitted past the pair. They paid him no mind, cleverly cloaked with invisibility as he was. Margot's invisible shadow. She lead him into a small auditorium with red velvet seats arranged in a tiered semi-circled before a fair-sized stage. Guiding the god up a couple rows, she pointed to a seat in the middle, indicating he should sit down. "And please, behave! No tricks, no matter how tempting it is!" she hissed at him, unsure if she was even addressing Loki to his face. He obeyed however, settling himself comfortably in the seat.
"I wouldn't dream of it, darling," he replied mockingly, enjoying the brief look of panic on her face.
Margot opened her mouth to retort, but thought better of it and instead hiked her bag higher onto her shoulder. She gave him a warning glance before leaving him, making her way to the base of the stage.
Loki looked on as she pulled on her unusual shoes – pointe shoes, she had called them – and wrapped the satin ribbons around her slim ankles. He was intrigued by the rest of her outfit – the same tight fitting garment he had seen her wear a few nights previous, soft pink tights, a loose, soft scarf and a flowing, sheer black skirt she had wrapped around her waist. She began pulling on unusual knit tubes of material, allowing them to settle comfortably around her ankles. Her outfit was entirely bizarre to him, nothing like how the women in Asgard dressed. Though, he noted that many of her fellow dancers were dressed similarly.
Margot settled herself on the floor, carefully stretching herself out and warming her ankles, feeling quite self-conscious. Don't be silly, you're a dancer, you're meant to be watched! Margot chastised herself. But no one had ever come to watch her specifically. And certainly no one as accustomed to beauty as Loki. She would probably seem as ungainly and awkward as a troll in his mind. She desperately tried to push the ugly thought from her mind and simply continued with her warm up, doing so until the ballet mistress arrived, clapping her hands sharply and ordering them to the barre.
The rest of the morning passed uneventfully as the company practiced the grueling exercises. Though Margot worked particularly hard on her own steps, she coolly avoided looking at the tiered seating despite not being able to see Loki. No matter, she hadn't done anything to garner embarrassment, at least not by her standards.
The ballet mistress called the dancers to attention, yet again with a brusque clap. "That was lovely, company. You may go to your respective practices, I want all those involved in the Pas de Deux: Andante scene in here with me."
Margot made a move to collect her bags and move into the adjacent studio when the ballet mistress called out to her, stopping her dead in her tracks. "Oh, no, no, you stay here. Anna called in sick; I want you filling in her part. We still need to run it. Get your tutu on. Hurry up!"
The dancer scrambled to follow her orders, flustered. Of all the days Loki would choose to come watch, it was this day. Sure, she knew the pas de deux, every dancer in the company did, in the hopes they would land the lead role. But had she perfected it? Certainly not, and she fumbled with the stiff tulle as she pulled the tutu on, painfully nervous. The mistress called for the dancers to take position, and Margot took her place in the middle of the stage with her partner, gingerly placing her hands in his, assuming her starting pose. The violinist played the first quavering note, and the two began sweeping gracefully across the stage, she, the black swan, he, the prince. Margot tried not to think of Loki, whose emerald eyes were surely upon her. Just let it go, just let it go, just let it go…
His brilliant gaze followed Margot's elegant form as she swirled around the stage, effortlessly gliding and bending and extending in perfect harmony with her partner to the plaintive strains of the violin. He hadn't ever seen anything like it, even in the royal courts. None of the women were ever so elegant and poised, save for his mother, who had the natural regality of a queen. What astonished Loki most, however, was how delicate the dancing appeared as Margot flitted about on the tips of her toes, sylph-like. She made it seem as if it were nothing, as natural as breathing, though the young god wasn't naïve enough to be deceived; he was certain it took an incredible amount of effort, and he was impressed. She seemed so fragile, but here she mixed elegance and grace with a bold bravura that was incredibly alluring.
The dance came to an end, too soon in Loki's opinion, and Margot struck a striking pose, one leg extended behind her, an arm thrown back triumphantly, the other clasped in the adoring "prince's" hand, head held high. A brilliant smile illuminated her features.
"That was excellent, Margot," the dance mistress called, politely clapping. "Excellent. Take a break, we'll run it again in five."
Margot fairly pranced off stage, pleased with herself. Her nerves had gripped her throat and left her heart pounding furiously, but she had done well. Not perfectly, though. Never perfectly, though she tried so hard. No matter, this wasn't her role to perfect. She plucked her scarf from her bag, wrapping it around her neck and subtly attempting to find where Loki sat. She felt a gentle tug on her tutu, his only silent sign that he was there.
"That was stunning," he breathed in her ear, nearly causing her to jump. "Truly beautiful! And here I was, thinking mortals incapable of grace."
Margot glowed with his praise, but kept her face turned away, refusing to show it. "Thank you. I'm glad you liked it. And here I was, thinking gods incapable of being impressed by mere mortals." She could almost feel his grin at the back of her neck, but refused to turn around. "At any rate, I'm going to be here for hours and I can guarantee you'll become bored of this. I'm sure we'll end up doing the same thing over and over; the mistress is fond of that, so you should probably head home. Can you find your way?"
"Yes, I suppose I could," Loki replied, slightly disgruntled and feeling very much like a child whose favourite toy had been taking away. Which, as he recalled, had been a frequent occurrence with Thor around.
She laughed, hearing the irritated edge to his voice. "You can come back another day," she assured him, adjusting her scarf. "I promise you. Now go on, and don't get lost."
"I never get lost," Loki sniffed, offended she would think him so absent minded. "I am not a child. Good day, Miss Margot."
And he brushed past her gently, disappearing without a sound.
The apartment was eerily quiet, save for the steady ticking of the clock in the kitchen. Loki lay sprawled upon the couch, its length too short for his long limbs, and tried to allow the gentle tick tock lull him into sleep, but he felt uneasy and restless. Even reading had not helped. Margot hadn't yet returned home, despite the sun having set hours ago. Where was she? He pushed himself upright, a sick feeling twisting in his stomach like a white-hot knife.
It really was too quiet in the apartment.
Loki stood up and began pacing about, hoping to calm his sudden nerves. What was going on? He gripped at his ebony hair, frustrated. Something didn't feel right. The discomfort and unease grew in his gut, nearly making him ill.
A dark feeling nagged at his conscious, insidious and malevolent. His pacing became more frantic, as if he could outrun his discomfort.
But he couldn't.
Loki was always calm and collected, had rarely felt true fear or worry, yet something was wrong. He couldn't quite place a finger on what it was, until –
Margot. It was Margot.
A terrible voice whispered inside him. She is not well, she is not well…
Before Margot stretched an empty road, dimly lit by dirty streetlamps whose weak light scarcely lit up the sidewalks. Litter whispered past in the breeze and a group of scruffy ravens croaked from their perches upon the lamps, midnight-black feathers melting into the dark buildings behind them. She shivered a little, wrapping her coat tighter about her, though it had little to do with the cold. She had stayed at practice late, wanting to do a little extra work. As a result, the normally bustling street was devoid of people and cars, save for those parked on the side of the road.
Something about it didn't feel right. Something, just a small thing, was off…
And then, at the end of the road, something caught her eye.
Two figures, smudges in the heavy winter mist, detached themselves from the shadows.
Margot's heart seized, her stomach clenching in fear. Instinct told her to run, but her legs failed her, choosing instead to only allow her to stumble backwards, nearly falling upon the hard, frozen asphalt. Run, you idiot! She screamed mentally, furious with herself. Run!
"Why hello, sweetheart," a voice rasped, suddenly close. How had they moved so fast? "You look lost. Don't worry, we'll help."
Grimy hands reached out towards her, and Margot stumbled backwards again, panic stricken. But she became tangled in her own feet and she collapsed, slamming upon the frozen ground and striking her head. Dazzling stars exploded in her vision, and she twisted about unsuccessfully, until an ice-cold hand closed upon her wrist…