The Light To His Lies (Loki)

F O R T Y

Loki Laufeyson had lost himself.

He wasn't even sure why he's even bothered faking his own death, why he had not just allowed himself the sweet release of death itself.
Lyra's final moments were stuck on replay in his mind, even as he laughed with Odin's lips in the theater and gorged himself on fruits and delicacies fit for a king.

Her memory haunted him every waking moment, there was no escape.

When he had witnessed her fall to the barren ground of Svartfelheim, her mouth gaping in shock and blood pooling from her paling lips, he had no intention on living. When he saw Thor fighting the Kursed, he was fully planning on taking that opportunity to see Lyra on the other side. But something had stopped him, he wasn't sure what.

Perhaps it was the feeling that Lyra would've wanted him to keep living, not to die because of her. In fact, she would've hated him for dying because of her. So he didn't allow himself death, though it was to only live to regret his decision.

He had faked his death then exiled Odin to Midgard, trapping him there as Odin had done to Lyra a lifetime ago. Since then the void on his soul had only continued to grow, spreading like a poisonous plague to the tips of his fingers and roots of his hair. Lyra had been the light that had been chasing the very darkness away that thanos had left, but now she's gone.

He didn't have the will to fight anymore.

He didn't have her light.

Loki knew that he was wasting away, becoming more detached by the second, he wasn't even sure why he bothered with the charade at that point. He woke up every morning, staring in the mirror until his appearance completely changed into Odin's, then lost himself in a life of refinement and royalty.

That's what he's always wanted, wasn't it? A crown? To be praised by a land that belonged to him, for people to fall to his feet with love to their ruler.

But it was then he realized that all those times he'd imagined himself on a throne, he'd imagined Lyra sitting beside him. A crown twin to his on top of her beautiful chestnut-brown hair. That image burned itself into his heart and he knew that if he continued to picture her his mental health would quickly go down the drain, if there was anything left there to waste.

Loki was in the king's chambers, not yet placing the illusion of Odin on him yet. He had been adamant on no servants helping him in his-Odin's- chambers so he could have those few moments in his own skin.

It made him think he hadn't completely lost himself yet, though he almost hated his own reflection more than Odin's. But still, seeing his own appearance had a strange way of tethering himself back to reality when he lost himself in his charade.

Now, he stood in the mirror with his emerald embroidered tunic, his raven black hair neatly slicked back, though no one would see it but him. He turned his head toward the nightstand beside his bed, seeing the small velvet box that sat on his nightstand. He sucked in a sharp painful breath and the sight of it. He wondered why he had bothered to keep it when Lyra would not be able to receive it, but it was too painful to give it away.

Without a second thought, Loki snatched the velvet box and opened it, staring at the ring inside without being able to help himself. There was a beautiful light blue diamond on a deep brass colored band, thin small emeralds encrusted in the design. Blue, like her eyes, golden like her armor, and green his own color. He purchased it only days before she was banished, along with Thor, to Midgard by Odin. He wasn't planning on proposing to her immediately, they were only together for a few months before that departure.

But even then his heart had swelled every time he laid his eyes on her, her own eyes dancing with joy and her smile brighter than the golden palace of Asgard itself, and he had stared back at that bright light and had not been afraid for the first time.