Lovely, like a dying star. Hair so white it outshines the moon and eyes so silver they glow in the night. You, Lady Sigyn, are not real. You are a figment, a desperate
imagining when my nights get too long. I was free, long ago. You walked in, glided, really, and I was the only one to ever take notice of your undeniable beauty. You
were not afraid of me, now were you? You disliked Thor and I may have liked you just for that. I believe it was your laugh, though, your magical chiming laugh. I was
the only man to ever see you for something other than an object and you at least gave me the acknowledgement. But you left so very soon, left for Vanaheim to study
the very magic I had introduced you to, and I never did see you again. You were such a bright spot in my vision, such a blinding perfect thing that lit up my world, but
you were gone too quickly and that abrupt vanishing act was too much for my eyes. I did not stop there, no, but should I have? Should I have left your brief memory to
die within me, let it seep from my core, let the light you gave me burn out? I couldn't bring myself to do that. My love for you was foreign and I did not want it crushed.
I continued as if you were still with me, as if your soft lips were pressed to mine deep in the night, and I did not feel as lonely. I imagined our children, our beautiful,
dark haired children with glowing, silver eyes. I imagined us growing old together, a life we could have had in another time, and I imagined the sound of your last
breath, graceful, of course, always so graceful and divine and humble to the very end. My eyes would open, then, my mind would wake to the emptiness in my bed,
and the hole in my heart opened up a little bit more every time. Slowly, I let your voice fade from my head, the feel of your hand in mine fall from my skin, and I
released your beloved memory. But now, as I lie here in my agony, with Thor so close, I could easily imagine that you are the one holding me, lovely Sigyn, and that
those are your tears splashing across my face. I can feel the strands of your hair skimming over my ever paling skin, can feel the tightness of your slender fingers as
they claw through my armor, clutching me for dear life. But my vision swims and I remember that it's Thor, that you're not real, that you never really were, and it
makes me sad, truly, how far gone I am to have imagined your love for so long. I try to envision your young smile, your gentle, youthful tenderness fit for a mother,
and I can almost feel your lips brush against my ear as your whispers flood my mind. They lull me to sleep, encourage my eyes to close, and as I obey your
command, beautiful Sigyn, I feel at peace with this death.
I wrote this with the idea of Loki meeting Sigyn when he was younger and immediately both befriending her and falling in love with her. She might have even loved him, as well. She left to go to Vanaheim to study magic and he never saw her again, but she has lived as a figment of imagination in his mind ever since. Please R&R! ;)