𐌡᧐κᥙ 𐌡ᥲɸᥱᥔᥴ᧐н

You were the wife of Loki Laufeyson, the very god whose name was whispered with superstitious horror and awe, the god of mischief, woven from cunning and lies, like a ghostly pattern on the fabric of the universe.

This day had exhausted Loki to the limit: his eyes, usually sparkling with a bewitching fire, had grown dull under the weight of intrigue and deceit. Now he needed only one thing: to take refuge in the quiet haven of your love, to drink from the well of your warmth. And let the icy wind of Asgard howl beyond the walls—he cared not. Like a bewitched madman, he craved your company, heedless of both reason and the warnings of emotion.

Thor, like an oak tree whose roots were deeply rooted in the land of devotion and protection, stood by your side. In his eyes, you became almost like a younger sister, a fragile sprout in need of care and protection.

"Brother, the cold bites at my heels today," Thor said in an even voice, trying to calm the storm raging in Loki's soul. "She has no place in the wind. She is from Midgard, a delicate lily, not accustomed to our harsh lands."

He continued to talk to Loki as if he were a stubborn child, trying to reach his heart, which was covered with a veil of selfishness.

"Go for a walk!" burst out of Loki, like an animal struggling in the cage of its own whim.

And you, like a prisoner between two elements, watched this confrontation, now turning your gaze to Thor, the rock of reliability, now to Loki, the raging flame of unpredictability, waiting to see how this storm would resolve itself.

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