Life's Requiem {Book 1}

Chapter 2: Majesty

Loki hated sleepless nights. He hated how insomnia would leave him vulnerable to emotions he thought he had buried ages ago. But what good did it leave him with, if not for the privilege to fight them off? If he let them prevail, they would live on and haunt him until the day he decided to accept the fate of death. And yet, if he fought, which he did, they would squander beneath his might. It would be his own validation of defiance to the voices who tried to contradict him. The weakening of his conscience.

Even his own thoughts lied to him.

And thus it left him with such an inescapable predicament that he found himself tossing and turning, crinkling the satin sheets. He squeezed his eyes shut and frowned. Now, his own room was against him. It was too hot. It was too quiet. His thoughts were too loud.

Sleep. I just... want... sleep.

No, sleep was not considered a grace the Norns thought he deserved. Despite his consistency to lie and favor his own well being, he was always paying for it. But he had dug a hole too deep to climb back up. The pit lay scattered in temptations of staying, comforted by the safety and cover of darkness. He was inclined to stay, persuaded by his fear of what would happen if he were to climb back up again. And yet, even still, he wondered what it held in store.

Go away! Let these thoughts end!

The bed was no longer comfortable and his body increased its restlessness. Groaning, out of annoyance and exhaustion, he sat up and released a tired breath. The room had a heavy air that weighed in his chest, its warmth overwhelming. This was not how he pictured spending the nights in his newfound luxury. He had envisioned peace and prosperity, his soul comforted by victory that he was king. He was the new sovereign ruler of Asgard. But no... his soul was not comforted, and it refused to be at peace. Rather, it attacked him in the midst of his precious, fragile thoughts.

He blinked his dry eyes and rubbed the back of his neck. There would be no sleep. Not this night. Standing up, he walked over to the doors that lead to his balcony, parading through, even in moonlight. A gentle, chilled wind greeted him with an embrace that put his body at ease; although temporary, he welcomed it. Under the cover of magic, no one would see him standing there, tall and pale, his dark hair draped to his shoulders. Very much unlike the hunched, old and gray man he had been impersonating the past month. Even when dropping his cover, magic was still at work.

Pressing his palms to the stone of the balcony rails and feeling the breeze comb his hair, he gazed upon the kingdom. His kingdom. Every home and market and treasury were his province. Never before had he seen Asgard in such a glory. The people had all they could ever want and need, even the promise of a statue in his honor. His stage of fine arts in the courtyard was underway, and he believed for years that the Asgardians needed a means for entertainment other than parties of eating and drinking, overfilling themselves with either. Yes, he was the king they deserved. He was perfect. Better than Odin and even Thor. There need not be worries or conflicts.

Yet, why do I fight with my mind?

Bringing his gaze up to the stars, he could imagine his mother smiling down at him. She would be so proud of his prosperity and urge him on to accomplish more. But was she really smiling? Yes, of course. She must be. She always used to smile, especially for him. How he missed her loving arms around him, her words of promises that he would find the sunshine. He wanted her to be there when he did... no, see that he did. This was the sunshine, wasn't it?

Loki retreated back into his room, pacing a little and turning his thoughts. The energy would bury his emotions and he would be able to properly think. He would battle his mind no longer. Tiring of his room, he gathered up his reserves of magic, slipping himself under an illusion of Odin and entering the dim halls. The library was a haven he would escape to often on nights like this. Worlds of hidden knowledge between the pages helped his mind to escape reality. He would go there.