The god of Mischief stared curiously at the young girl before him. She couldn't be older than twelve. Her small frame rested against a concrete wall while puffs of air materialized in front of her face. She hadn't noticed him yet, too busy staring at the falling snow to see anything else. Despite the blatant lack of awareness on her part, Loki's gaze had focused on her as soon as she came into view. There was something about this girl. He couldn't tare his eyes off of her.
Finally, after what seemed like eons, she turned her head towards him. Loki could practically see himself reflected in her blue gaze. Blue, such a lovely colour. He half expected her to shy away after the first contact, but she did no such thing, instead opting to hold his gaze defiantly. For some strange reason Loki found it amusing, hence his chuckle. The girl smiled in return. "Darcy Lewis." she said after a few seconds, her face scrunched in a serious façade and her hand outstretched. Loki wanted to laugh again. She was so strange.
"Loki Odinson." he told her and gingerly took her tiny hand in his, swaying it gently; a smile still decorated his features. He was mindful of her weak constitution and his superior strength. She grinned happily up at him and was about to say something when a person called out to her. "Darcy! Come on, we have to go."
The god stared at the source of the voice. A rather short woman with curly brown tresses stood next to a taller – at least one head taller – man who was looking in another direction. The woman looked at him suspiciously. Loki glared back at her. "I'm going now, mister. Mommy is calling for me." Darcy – interesting name – said and skipped from his side to that of her mother.
"Farewell, Darcy." Loki whispered after her. 'I hope our paths will cross again.' How could he have known that his thought would prove to be prophetic?