Mischief, Mischief all the way.

CHAPTER 1

A pair of pitch black eyes stuck upon the two dark silhouettes as they skipped away, past the moonlit path, twigs and rocks cracking beneath their footsteps. The squirrel ran across the road, frightened by the two pairs of feet that caused the crackling terror of a noise amidst the quiet , starry night.

The owner of the black sparkling eyes was intrigued, where could those two little hooligans possessing feet that caused such a hullabaloo, scaring the squirrels up the trees, scaring the ever mysterious, ambitious owl to hide in it's tree hollow when it should be off,in the deep, dark forest, hunting for frogs and mice out in the wake of the night?

The  the scary tigers and bears, with all their sharp teeth and claws, the tiger with it's heart stopping roar never scared the old owl, Let alone the horror inducing moonlit trees. The horrors of the night were just mere happenings to the sly owl.

The black eyes followed the owners of the thundering footsteps. The one with black sparkly eyes slid down from the banyan tree he was watching them from, and smoothed his ruffled robe.

His favorite, dark green robes, that he had sewn and dyed himself.

For his lord father always insisted he put on those dull angelic feathery stuff with an illuminating circle that floated on the head of the wearer or those exaggerated, seemingly shiny enough to blind one's eyes, absolutely uncomfortable, hilariously dramatic silver knight suits.

His choice was that of a fascinating, imaginative one, laced with the purest and most wonderous form of creativity.

Yes, imagination and wonder was what he liked. No, loved. Imagining all the things he desired, In a beautiful, magical world of his own was the greatest power of them all, for imagination is a powerful weapon - was what he believed.

What could be more greater, than the power to make your imagination come alive before your very eyes? Yes, he had that wonderful gift, the best of them all. At 11, he was 4 feet tall, ruffled black hair , pitch black eyes that shone with a thirst for adventure and curiosity.

He had mastered all sorts of complex illusions and the art of playing tricks, the art of reciting wonderous poems and stories that captivated the minds of all. But all his fascinating literature were made up of lies, for lies are the beauty of  the stories. Exploring and breaking the rules was what existing was worth, he thought. He, was non other than the infamous Loki.

He had took off behind the two hooligans, running past the same moonlit pathway they had ran upon, wanting to see what they were upto, for they looked mischievous.

Smiling with anticipation, Loki skipped happily on the path which was a mixture of stones, soil and twigs, wanting to have the adventure the night was to give him.