"Why Me? Why had he asked for Me?" you thought as you hurried down the corridors into the depths of the Palace, your robes fluttering as you ran, your skirts gathered up in your hands and your supple sandals slapping against the stone -"There are plenty of serving maids, why did it have to be me?"
You sped down the stone staircase descending into the dark of the prison vaults. The air down here was close and stuffy, and only a hazy light came through the barred windows. You arrived, at the immense doors panting for breath with a thin film of sweat across your brow. You didn't want to keep him waiting, he lost his temper quickly when you kept him waiting, so straightened yourself up you took a deep breath and pushed the heavy ornate doors open and stepped down into the cold room. Cool, soft, white light poured out into the dark stone room from his crystal cell and you could see his books and wine lay untouched on his table. He had lost his appetite for both recently and you could see it in his sallow cheeks, in his red-rimmed eyes.
As you approached you saw him sat on his usual perch in the bare white room, staring listlessly into space. He barely glanced over when you drew up close to the pane of glass, your eyes naturally lowered - you knew your place. You pressed your hand to the glass and the outside edges of the pane blazed with light and formed into an illuminated archway through the panel. Once on the other side the glass sealed again and you were locked in - with the God of Mischief.
You glanced up quickly to see his soft, tattered hair hanging loose and curled down to his shoulders, his soiled, torn tunic rumpled and loosely hung on his slender frame, his hands crossed softly over his crotch, his leather slacks worn and ragged and his feet bare pressed softly against the flat white floor.
In the beginning you had needed to be escorted into his cell and watched at all times by guards to ensure he did not attack you in a furious rage, as he had his previous serving maids. But recently, he simply sat silently, waiting for you, and let you carry out your routine duties - providing that you did not look at him, speak to him or annoy him.
Today was different however, he never called for you, he never needed you.
You stood silently, expectantly awaiting some instruction, your hands clasped and your eyes fixed on the floor, but always keeping his frame in the corner of your eye. Nothing. He did not move, or speak. You could not even hear his breathing.
You opened your mouth and inhaled, anticipating his voice to spit at you not to speak, but he remained silent.
"My Lord Loki, I have come as you sent for me, how can I serve you?" you said softly.
Still nothing.
You looked up across the room at him as he sat, still unmoving, the rise and fall of his chest barely visible. His expression was chaotic, yet completely calm. His eyes were full of malice and cunning and ice, and his lips were curled into a peculiar smile. Not his usual mischievous grin, which you had come to know so well over your years of service in Asgard, but a calculating, desperate smile which despite his lips being parted slightly did not reveal his stunning white teeth.
His eyes flicked over to yours as he felt your gaze upon him. Alarmed, you quickly lowered your gaze again to the floor and blushed hard, your heart pounding in your chest.
And then he spoke, his velvet tones clear and cool, "You are here to prepare me for my, temporary," he smirked, "release from captivity."
You nodded, despite not quite understanding, wondering if this was one of his tricks.
He continued, "That idiot Thor expects me to assist him in protecting Asgard, saving that pathetic race and his Midgardian whore." he spat through his teeth and thin, pink lips.
