The ancient writings speak of a creature with such power that the gods decided splitting it in two halves was the only thing to stop it. And so the first man and woman happened. They were frail and thin, pain coursing through their veins at the shock of being separated. What was once now had been forcibly broken with scant a way of joining again. Human were now at the mercy of the gods; yet the deities themselves depended on these newly weakened beings to bring offerings. One cannot exist if forgotten, not even the inhabitants of heaven.
In their anger the ones called humans started neglecting their duties. The altars were dark and in ruins, the powers of the divinities fading like the smoke of their being. But what is once done cannot be undone. The humans could not be put back together in a single body, but there could be a union. Fainter than before this new joining of bodies represented the perfect solution; the humans would receive a less powerful way of merging together and the gods would revel in their gratitude and be lavished with gifts, recovering from the suffered blow.
Loki puts Plato down before he can read about predestines names, the soft sound almost a caress. He has read it over and over again and the spine of the book is wrinkled now. He doesn't bother to put it back in its place knowing all too well that he'll open it once more. Frowning he leans back in his chair and blames his brain for not quieting down. There are too many thoughts in his head. Approaching the matter differently, Loki tries to think of what he's read; he knows it by heart but there is mystery in this tale that he's unable to touch.
With a soft smile, one he doesn't use outside the walls of his room, he glances at his left hand. Marble skin is covered by a gauzy, yet strong material of emerald green. His mother said it matched his eyes. Loki cares little for that but still nodded his head accordingly and offered a smile. Carefully, almost as if he's afraid the dark haired boy pulls the glove off and places it on the desk, next to Plato; which is fitting.
Cool air hits his hand but Loki doesn't mind. His eyes are trained on his palm where a name is etched. He can't help the smile that overcomes him as the letters display rough edges and a trembling script. Whoever this Darcy is, she's got terrible handwriting. Loki decides this will be the first thing he tells her.
He often wonders what this girl is like; if she truly is his soul-mate he hopes she's nothing like Sif with her wiles and brutality. But then again he's not sure he wants that. Then he realises he doesn't know what he wants. It's a relief when Thor comes in to complain that Jane is much too common a name.