I see you || Loki

16. Torrid Tryst

A servant waited outside your room, hands twisting over each other in front of her. You slowed and stopped, still paces away from your door. Had it finally happened? Had someone noticed all the mornings your sheets remained undisturbed?

"Miss," the woman said, her hands dropping to her side. Relief flooded her face, but worry quickly chased it out. "We couldn't find you."

Your heart surged. Of course they couldn't find you. You'd spent all morning with Loki—all the previous night as well. "What is it?"

"Your mother, miss. She's taken ill."

Time seemed to stop. You rushed out of the hall, skimming through shortcuts to reach your mother's room. The journey was a blur, as were the words of the doctor who explained your mother's condition to you. How long had she been this way? How serious was her illness? What could be done? Would she recover?

No one knew. They gave you consolations and reassurances, but underneath lurked the trepidation of uncertainty.

Hours passed. Doctors went in, doctors came out. No one gave you new information. More time, more doctors, more frustration. You couldn't help, you couldn't even see your mother—her condition was too precarious. You watched paths of light stream through the window and cross the floor with the path of the sun. You sat on the floor in the hallway with your knees pulled up to your chest. Your mind was a maze of guilt and uncertainly. No matter where you directed your thoughts, all you could conclude was that this was your fault. You had disappeared when your mother needed you. No one would have thought to look for you in Loki's rooms. And why should they have? You weren't supposed to be there. If you had been with your mother instead, if you had been reachable, if you had been... been... anything, perhaps this wouldn't have happened.

"Miss, please." A nurse knelt in front of you—the same who had crossed your path all day—and set her hand on your shoulder. "There is nothing you can do here. You should get some rest."

"But—" You looked over your shoulder at the closed door, then back to the nurse with tear-filled eyes.

"She will be here in the morning," she said. "It won't do for you to drive yourself into illness waiting for her."

Drive yourself into illness... True, you were sick with worry, but how was suffering in your room any help for that? All that would change was that the staff would no longer have to see your misery. And perhaps... that was why she had asked.

Each step back to your room weighed against you as if the stone floor pulled at your feet. You didn't bother with lights when you entered, letting the shadows have every corner they liked. The sun had barely set, but you trudged to your bed anyway, hauling your body forward as if it were an empty shell attached to your spirit by strings.

You pulled back the covers to find a note nestled on your pillow. In the last dregs of the evening light, you just made out the elegant loops of Loki's handwriting.

Be in my room tonight.

A wave of agony rose through your throat, guilt so thick you couldn't swallow it back. You crumpled the note and threw it aside, then crawled under the blankets and curled into a ball against your pillows.

You didn't sleep. That would have been too great a mercy. Instead, you remained motionless so long that your muscles cramped against the position. You stomach twisted itself in knots, gnawing at your insides. Tears brimmed at the edges of your eyes, but refused to fall. That too would be a mercy. Darkness descended around you, blocking out all else, and left you alone with your loathing.

Minutes or hours later (how were you to know?), the door opened, then snapped shut. You recognized the sharp steps that echoed across the floor and shrank more tightly in on yourself. You didn't want to see anyone now, least of all Loki. But, of course, there would be no mercy tonight. You didn't deserve it anyway.