The atoms of existence were mocking in their craft. So many songs of wonder do lend themselves to cosmic reverie.
At first, it was a chide.
And then, it was curiosity.
Until nothing could stop him, and he would continue his march, staving off the hellish aftermath with a grin.
And time, its turn, despite the unending life of sorrowful mischance, begged only a harbinger with a steely gaze.
"I won't," she had said, determined in her tone.
"Yes, you shall," he had returned, with casual indifference.
And though there was no force, save the cataclysmic union of atoms, he felt it with searing pain…so pleasurable that his eyes did lose their focus, and like the blind man he became, groped in the darkness.
He could not see anything but the electricity in her bones.
Not hear anything but the rush of her blood through her veins.
Not feel anything, save the plane of her skin…prickled with anticipation and quivering in need.
And taste, elusive on his tongue, unless it was her own…silky and sweet and formidably unique.
And in night's cloak he wandered, always back with the pixels of stars pecked through the sinful blanket of sky…
"We need to stop," she had said, years having gone by.
"We will never stop," and he looked at her, with both consternation and worry.
"You can't make all of the decisions…" she protested.
And his answer was his mouth on hers to silence her dissent.
The morning dawned grey.
Its breath cool, its arms long, holding him down to preclude his movement.
He swallowed his wrathful pride, so sickening a turn…for he knew what awaited him in the dull light of day.
Her absence is like the sky, spread over everything, as his hand found the pillow that didn't hold her head.
His legs moved to find no reciprocating motion.
He heard the quiet sound of hum and song…
And he rose up from the chamber's bed.
Loki smoothed out his hair.
He conjured his clothes.
He sighed his final sigh he would ever breathe for her.
And with a wavering gait, he made his way to the door.
He heard the sound of the thunderer's boom, and knew that the deed was done.
And he abandoned his heart in that room he was never meant to enter.
His mind hardened, immune henceforth to the want for tenderness…
He resumed his station as the miscreant he had worn, so heavy on his shoulders; and now, the weight would be such that his movement would be impeded.
And this was how he would navigate the paths of subtle light, with an albatross so stifling, so menacing, so choking, he would never breathe again.
She had married him.
He had told her to.
And he left in that morning's grey stare, the look of forever steady and slow.