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Her irises were red, the shade of rose that was yet to open up fully. Her hair was blacker than the wings of a rawen and a frown of deep misery was etched into her face while tears fell down her cheeks showing her sadness as openly as only a baby can, before society has taught it to toughen up.
The baby had no name. It had the blood of kings in its weins but still... it was seen as meaningless, as a piese of trash, not worthy of being alive much less royalty, for it was a runt and it was thought to die soon.
It was destined to die, or so it though later in life, but then a man of great charachter stumbled upon the beautiful baby. The man was good and righteous, yet he almost left the baby to fulfill the destiny given to it by others who deemed it unworthy. Right as the mans turned to walk away, his heart clenched painfully and he knew that he couldn’t allow for someone innocent to die. Not if he could do something about it. Not even if the innocent person was a Jotunn baby.
The man was a poverful as they come, for he was a king in his own right. The allfather in fact, for he was the leader of Asgard.
Asgard and Jotunheim were at war but the king couldn’t leave a child to die, so he masked the frost giant baby’s beautiful red yes as green and made the blue of her skin melt in the way of creamy pale skin. The man looked at the babe and sighed... you’re still beautiful, but I fear that the world will never see the flower of your beauty bloom fully, for I have to mask you as one of my own to protect you from the hate and suspicion of my race.
From this day onwards I claim you as my own and you shall be given the name Loki, meaning God of destruction, for you truly are a god and for I see your beauty destroying hearts of many men, my daughter. You will be my child, if not in flesh then in love, and I will raise you as an equal to my son Thor.
The baby grew up to be a beautiful creature indeed: even at the age of 600 that is equal to a mortal child of 6-years of age the child had the most beautiful face and the most cunning yet caring character.
The child could often be seen at the library either drawing or reading. If she wasn’t at the library she was most likely in the flower fields near the forest, for she loved to run amongst the flowers.
Even though the child was most beautiful, happiness was out of her reach for she had no friends and a brother that would tirelessly mock her for all her flaws. At the tender age of six the first tendrils of darkness started to reach her heart. When the child was twelve she first started to feel like she was trapped in her own body, her skin itched and somedays when she looked in the mirror she didn’t recognize the person looking back at her. The child didn’t say anything and day by day she started to drown in the lies that she told to herself. She told herself that she was alright, but deep inside her heart she knew she wasn’t.
When the child was thirteen years old she knew. She knew she wasn’t okay. She knew, that she wasn’t a she. That day Loki finally understood. She was a he. Now he understood after over a century of the pain he had felt in his soul.
When he was fourteen years old the buzzing under his skin was still present, less so but still there. Forever present, forever reminding him that something wasn’t right with him. That his own body was betraying him in the cruelest way possible.
Every time someone told him that he looked beautiful or called him a girl, it felt like a knife in his heart. Years of first lying to himself and then to others made him an excellent lier, but even then he couldn’t lie the pain away by denying its existence, for it was too strong.
When he was fifteen he told his mother, father and brother that he wasn’t their daughter or sister, that he was their son and their brother. He told them that he wasn’t a new person; that he still loved braiding his hair, doing his makeup, wrestling with his brother and taking care of animals. He told them that it wasn’t about becoming a new person, but becoming the person he was always supposed to be.
His father told him that he was dead to him, that this was the day his only daughter died. Loki yelled at him tears dripping down his face, asking him if he ever loved him in the first place.
That day Lokis father looked at him straight in the eyes and told him: I’d never love a Jotunn bastard, and stripped him of the spell that was hiding Lokis Jotunn heritage, exposing his blue skin and once red eyes while Lokis mother and brother looked with uncomprehending eyes.
Am I not even your child? Am I not worth even the truth? Why didn’t you tell me?
Lokis fathers cold eyes turned to him and said your only birth right was to die, so no. You weren’t worth even the truth, but now you know, because I have no reason to protect you from your own heritage. You have shown to be a monster even without the knowledge of your disgusting heritage.
Years later Loki sat in his cell and sighed. He had been in the same cell for nearly 15 years. It was a long time for anyone to sit in a cell alone. Against one wall there was a tear stained mattress. Loki crawled towards it. As he sat down the solid spring dug fiercely into his skin. The only light in the room came from a small window high up the wall, the light bathed the small room in a yellowish light that Asgard’s six suns provided.
He was badly injured when he was finally given mercy by his father and thrown in the cell, but not once had the guards ever checked on him. He had simply been left to die. Without his magic he had to heal naturally. Slowly. Like a human. Of cause Odin, his lousy father had taken away his magic as soon as Thor had handed him over, like an unwanted dog. Thor, his once trusted brother, had simply given him away without ever even looking at him. He turned his back and walked away. He had never visited him. Never even asked about him... for years Loki had sat, waiting for his brother. Hoping, no praying, for him to visit.
When the nightmares had returned, he would scream for Thor. But he never came. Not once. Eventually Loki gave in. He had been abandoned by everyone. It was just another type of torture. Being made to feel like he needed someone. To feel weak. To feel… mortal.
All hope had left Loki. He knew nothing but pain anymore, his so called family had abandoned him and he knew he would never get to leave the dingy cell, at least not alive - he simply had nothing left to live for.
Loki had simply resigned to his fate, but one day he heard the door to his cell open and tears fell down his face. You? Why are you here?
You know why the person standing in the shadows whispered. Yes. I do, Loki answered after a moment of hesitation.
The end.
Daaaaad! What my child , Loki asked while holding his beautiful daughter in his lap.
What happened after that? Are you okay? We’ll I’m here now, do I seem fine to you Loki asked, humoring his daughter. Well, yeah the girl answered, when did that happen? And did that really happen to you?
Yes, It did happen, but don’t worry sweetheart, it was a long time ago, and I’ve found my true family after that. I have you and your mother, I couldn’t be happier.
I only told you the story of my youth because you were extremely insistent on knowing everything about my life before I had you. But, like I said. It was a long time ago.
Now, Loki said gracefully picking her daughter up from his lap and depositing her on her bed it’s time for little sorcerers to go to sleep.
Yes dad, Lokis daughter answered and went to sleep not before sensing her dad kissing her cheek briefly and leaving the room, after making sure her night lamp was on.