Your Hand To Hold

Chapter Thirty-Seven: Sweetest Song of A Heartless Man

              A firm knock sounded on my door, pulling me from the mirror where I had been attempting to fix my hair. Rising, I smoothed the ruching so it flattered my curves where it hugged them from the base of my armpits to midthigh where it gave way, allowing the calla lily-like skirt to bloom around my legs; the portion where the 'petals' met showing some skin from just above my knee down. It was, as Pepper had said when I'd tried something similarly shaped on, sexy but not too much. Mostly though I appreciated the freedom of movement it allowed. Pushing my Seiðr up to hide my ears, I opened the door, smiling softly as Loki stood there looking devilishly handsome in a dark grey suit with a crisp off-white shirt that had almost a dusty blue tinge to it. His tie and pocket square were blue, a deviation from his usual black and green. 

   "It seems I made a wise choice in deviating from my usual color palette." With a wave of his hand, he presented me with a beautiful bouquet filled with a wide assortment of flowers, some of which made sense while others left me to curiously raise an eyebrow at him. He swallowed hard, his adam's apple rising and falling as he hesitated, his hand gently caressing the blooms, eyes cast down. "I know earlier, you said that you felt betrayed for having believed that it had been others behind the gifts given to you, the things you claim that changed your life; and how you wished you had been able to return the gesture." He paused, hesitating once more as he lifted his eyes to meet mine, my heart skipping a beat as he smiled. "Eibhlin, I think you underestimate the gifts that you have given me... All the times that, had you not cared enough for me, I would have forgotten to eat or remained practically invisible at a mindlessly boring event. For years, you would go out of your way to make sure that I had little treats to get me through my day, you would bake things that you knew I enjoyed to entice me to appear for Mother's sake even though most times I did nothing but insult you."

"Loki, I-"

"These sundrops, they're from the Troll Headman's dinner where you made me daimiskake I never got to eat. And this glazier buttercup, you wore one in your hair during the Åkervekking festival when you left me the waffles with the rock cress; the daffodils, my favorite flower actually, you left me many a time and not only upon a plate but in vases outside my room, or arrangements for my room. These tulips, the ranunculus- Eibhlin, I kept them, all of them. Just like the rock cress flowers. They're all in different books, marking pages, stories, and poems that make me think of you and I think of you constantly. You have so perfectly interwoven yourself into my life that I cannot help but find you in the soothing sound of the rain, in the gentle touch of flower petals, in sunrises and night skies, at my worst moments where I need you more than anything else... Eibhlin, you... You slowly became all the small things I needed and did not have and now, now I do not know what I would do if I were ever to lose you."

   Blinking away tears, I gingerly took the flowers from him and set them on the little desk near the door he still stood beside before I wrapped him in my arms. I couldn't be close enough to him as we crashed back against the closed door, Loki's lips and exploring fingers making me wish we didn't have a party to attend. He caressed the skin of my back, lovingly tracing every scar that linger there beneath the sheer lace paneling with butterfly I had created to cover the low back of the otherwise strapless dress. My breath came in harsh pants as I pulled away from him, breaking the kiss to tilt my head and bite at the base of his throat, giggling as he moaned. Loki pulled me tighter to him, his Seiðr overpowering mine as he broke the illusion of my dress, leaving me in nothing but my new Midgardian undergarments.

   Nervously, I bit at my lower lip before bowing my head, fighting the urge to cover myself despite having been naked before him before. Something about wearing the sheer silverly bits of cloth that passed as undergarments here though made me feel immodest. Would I always struggle like this? Would the words of my father so long removed from me forever haunt me?