Loki curled himself up into a ball, trying to make himself as small as possible, his body trembling, tears burning his eyes.
Why?
Why did they always had to do this to him?
Stamping on his feelings, trying to lure him out, feeding the monster that lingered within ready to claw its way out and with a desire to lay waste to everything and everyone.
He felt like a toy.
No, not a toy. A toy could indicate a state that there still was a use for it, that it could bring joy to someone. He felt like nothing more than a broken toy, thrown into the corner of a chamber and just lying there as a solid reminder to its owner that it steel needed repair.
Or be thrown away.
His body started to tremble harder and he clawed at his knees, trying to push them through his chest as he wrapped his arms tightly around them.
They had made him angry, so angry that he felt backed up against the wall and with no other place to go than right through his assailants. And that was what he had done, lashing out without regard of someone else’s feelings, using the secrets he knew as a deadly weapon and jamming it in their chests right through their beating hearts.
But as the words tumbled from his tongue, he had immediately regretted it. Not only because he had hurt someone which didn’t deserve it, but also because he knew their revenge would always come back at him in tenfold.
And thus he had lashed out again, trying to fight his way through even though he knew it was a lost battle.
And that he would get hurt.
Again.
He quivered, the tears that had been stinging his eyes rolling over his cheeks in ugly sobs.
A knock came at the door. A person who loved him very much inquired him to answer, but he didn’t want to and didn’t have to.
The door opened and Loki squeezed his eyes shut, burying his head in his knees, not wanting to look at her, trying to scurry away in a corner some more, hissing, sputtering, throwing daggers and lashing out with his Seidr.
But she was undeterred, taking all that he threw at her – all his anger and pain – with grace and carefully approached him to sit down next to him. She knew better than to touch him, or to speak, instead she just sat there.
She would just sit there waiting for him until he felt better. She had so much patience that he sometimes wondered how she did it. Occasionally she would carefully reach out to him to see how he was doing, but she never touched him until he gave consent.
And there she would sit on the floor next to him no matter if it took minutes or days for him to turn around.
Create a mess 