Perses [Loki]

One

I was born at the peak of a violent storm that leveled a portion of my father's eastern palace. My mother was vexed. As her sixth child, I was not necessary. She already had her prized daughters and her warrior sons. My father had already chosen an heir by the time I was conceived. I was but two things to her: a number indicating her favorable fertility and, more significantly, an inconvenience.

My mother called me Perses, a masculine name meaning 'destroyer'. I did not share my sisters' vibrant femininity; even as an infant my features were harsh and angular and much like my father's, though not nearly as handsome. Thus, she gave me a boys' name and sent for a servant to take me. I suppose I'm lucky she didn't send me to an orphanage instead.

I didn't see much of my mother during my youth. She never came to visit me; she ignored me even as I clung to the youngest of my elder brothers, Hero, during their lessons together. It was better than cruelty, and I never knew to miss the maternal affection my siblings were accustomed to. She created me—I could thank her for that, at least. Better to be alive and unseen than never born at all.

My harsh features never softened. Even as lankiness gave way to soft curves and I transitioned from child to young woman, the cut of my jaw remained severe and my nose straight. Hero once described me as this: pretty, perhaps, but dull as coal compared to our sisters Thionesses and Lena. Even our elder twin brothers, Midas and Menelaus, were more beautiful than I. I knew he wasn't insulting me. Hero was always one to say things honestly—he wouldn't lie to spare my pride. More than anything, I was flattered he'd chosen the word pretty to describe me at all. I was still young then, not even of age.

Hero and I aren't so close these days. He was chosen as heir before my birth and thus spends all his time at Father's side or with his wife. I can't imagine he'll ever take the throne. I've always believed my father will live as long as the universe itself and won't die until the very existence of everything is ready to go with him. Midas and Menelaus have taken wives and sired their own children, sons and daughters as beautiful as they themselves. Lena's long been married to a prince from another realm—forgive me, I can't remember the name of it—but has yet to provide any offspring. Thionesses gets her joy out of tormenting me and spending our father's fortune.

Being the least favored and most useless of all six of the Diamactus children, no one cares much how I squander my time. Most times I read, sometimes I climb trees, and on even rarer occasions like today, I swim in the river shallows and capture frogs in the swells of my dress. It isn't necessarily an appropriate existence for an almost adult woman of any substantial status, but it is widely accepted I'll never wed. If I've got no suitors to impress and no obligations inside of the palace walls, what else will I do? I got bored of embroidery decades ago. Painting is something I'm not only terrible at but also hate with a passion.

I stick my hand down into the mud. It squelches but gives way. I can feel a crab writhing beneath the brackish water, and I manage to grab it before it can latch its pincers around my feeble fingers. I pull it from the water. It is small and gray in color, streaked with crimson that looks like blood. It writhes and snaps as it tries to free itself from my grasp. I stare at it for a long moment and relish in the ability to cause something such terror just by existing. I drop it back into the water a moment later. It made me feel something to stare into the creature's pitted eyes as it writhed, but the feeling wasn't good. I don't think I'll ever understand the wicked joy my brothers get from battle—from causing immortals the same fear that I just caused a tiny, helpless crab.

I settle into the silt. This close to the edge of the river, the water is only a few feet in depth. Sitting, it hardly breaches the sharp point of my collarbones. The water smells both salty and sweet, but it isn't pleasant. I'd smell rancid returning to the palace had I not thought ahead and brought extra clothes with me. I don't feel like being harassed by Thionesses today.

The sun hangs low in the western sky by the time I clamber out of the water. I duck behind a particularly thick-trunked oak tree and trade my soiled dress and undergarments for fresh ones. I could always get in the river without my dress, but it wouldn't be well for me to be caught indecent- even with my status as the ugliest of Telephassa and Scyllias' children.

My stomach rumbles as I walk alongside the water. The river winds behind the palace and pours out into the sea on the eastern side. The palace itself sits on a hill that overlooks the electric blue ocean and sandy white shores of Mactus. I often enjoy climbing to the domed cobalt roofs of the many towers. Up there, away from my parents and siblings and all the other egocentric courtiers, I feel free.

The heavy wooden gatehouse doors open before I need ask a guard. Welcome home, they might say if I were as beautiful as Thionesses. Their mouths remain shut. The tail of my soiled gown drags on the ground behind me as I pass by them. Sometimes I try to be as inconvenient as they say I am. They don't bother to whisper the nasty words as they do when spreading gossip about my siblings, and so I don't bother to make their lives easy.

I hand my dirty dress and undergarments off to a servant and make way for the feasting hall. No heads turn when the doors open, no one glances up from their meal and conversation. The voices seem to buzz louder than usual tonight. I wonder what news has broken to cause such ceaseless chatter. I swear that I hear the word 'wedding' as I sit down at the end of my family's designated table. A plate of steaming food is placed before me moments after I make myself comfortable and I waste no time digging in. Digging in, not eating, because I don't consume my dinner with the same poise as my mother and Thionesses do. The bread is warm, and the meat is tender, and I am reminded once more how little I know regarding discomfort.

As I eat it becomes clear that I did hear the word marriage. My mother beams at the other end of the table, her voice loud and sunny and quite the opposite of my own.

"And you've promised him the girl of his choice?" She says, and I know—we all know—Thionesses will be the girl. Father has turned down many offers of marriage for his eldest daughter. They've been saving her for the right person, and a prince would do just the trick. No lords, no barons—an heir. A prince of Asgard, particularly, I learn as my mother and father and remaining siblings continue to gossip. It seems Odin has called on my father for a favor.

I am happy for Thionesses, but happier for myself because the palace will be so much more pleasant without her in it.