Mourning

                Loki altered between extreme vanity and extreme recluse when he was alive, so it didn’t surprise Sigyn that when she sought out the paintings of him, there were many for certain periods in his life and then none for others.  Only in his childhood did he allow himself to be painted regularly.  Sigyn didn’t care for the paintings of him in his youth; she had not known him then.  All the others were brought up to her new chambers.  Sigyn would have liked to mourn in Loki’s, but Frigga had commanded them to remain untouched. 

                So in her room that lacked even the slightest personal touch, surrounded by paintings of her beloved, Sigyn mourned.  While she had known Loki for centuries, and sometimes it seemed as though she saw him every time she blinked, she felt a perpetual fear that she would forget his face.  For the first three days she sat in the center of a cyclone of Lokis, numbly forcing herself to memorize each one.  She stared at the brushstrokes until her eyes burned, either with tears or exhaustion.  She did not sleep nor eat during this time. 

                On the fourth day, she was nearly done memorizing all the paintings, when she finally gave into the idiocy of her task.  The painting she was currently studying looked nothing like him.  Oh, the artist had certainly captured the pose and his features correctly, but the gleam of mischief was missing from his eyes.  The painter had missed the ever present knowing smile that tugged at his lips.  In fact, all the features that made Loki who he was were missing from the paintings.  Not one of the paintings had gotten him right.  The portraits were returned to their place on the palace walls. 

                Sigyn would have to find some other way to mourn, but first she would disobey a direct order from the Queen.  It wasn’t as if there were guards insuring that her orders were carried out.  Who would want to steal into the dead Prince’s chambers?  A simple incantation was all she needed to bypass the warding.  Indeed, nothing had been moved.  Not even dust had had the time to settle in.  The familiarity of it all calmed Sigyn.  She wandered around the room, touching this and that, but nothing struck her as something she wanted to have until she came to the wardrobe. 

                She wrapped her hand around the handle and threw it open.  It was her wardrobe, but Loki still managed to invade it as he did every other aspect of her life.  Sigyn ran her hands along the resplendent and colorful dresses.  She was a widow now; such colors were not for her.  Then she came to Loki’s cape—one of them, at least.  She pulled the heavy green fabric out of the wardrobe and buried her face in it.  It still smelled of him.  Yes, this would do. 

                Sigyn was halfway out the door when something else caught her eye.  Loki’s helmet rested neatly on his bed.  Frigga must have put it there.  Had Loki gotten a traditional funeral, he would have been wearing it.  Sigyn walked back into the room, touching her fingertips to the cool surface of the golden metal.  If Frigga visited Loki’s room at all, she would notice it missing...  Sigyn grabbed it and hurried out of Loki’s chambers.  Without looking back, she shut the door with a flick of her hand, desperate to flee from the room which held so many memories for her.

                The door slammed shut, and the finality of the situation stopped Sigyn in her tracks.  Loki was dead.   She was alone.  Forever.  Sigyn hugged her stolen trophies to her chest, said a silent goodbye to the man who had been her whole life, and moved along. 

                But she was only fooling herself.  Sigyn would forever be the girl locked up in her room staring at captured memories of her husband.