The Sacrifice: Fallen | Loki | Book 2

Chapter 26: Sorrow

He's torn between his honor and the love of his life, he prayed for both but was denied.

- Hand of Sorrow (by Within Temptation)

Frigga's boy had been such a sweet sunshine - polite, reserved, noble. Up until the age of thirteen he'd been a prince as if from a picture-book. Timid for sure, kept mostly to himself and his books, wondrous. He wouldn't get into fights or talk back, he would know things his peers didn't.

All the more painful was it for his mother to see this everlasting hint of torment in his eyes, day and night. He had been carrying something with him, something which had latched onto him, and the scorching depths of Hel were to freeze before it would let him go.

A demon unlike all one might imagine. Sometimes, the young prince would see it staring back it him in the ponds of the royal garden, in the swords they put into his hand. It was worst in mirrors.

Because why would a demon be hideous and terrifying, when it was our very own wishes and desires bound to crush us?

Frigga could soothe them away only for so long. The time came when the young prince's demon could no longer be comforted with kisses and white lies. It grew louder and persistent. It gathered strength in every inch of the Asgardian palace. Occasionally, it took the shape of Odin, Thor, the Warriors Three, the women who had used him. Fighting it became exhausting, the nights sleepless and never-ending, the days a misery.

Frigga had observed it with worry, the young prince would shut her out, letting no one close anymore. The demon found pleasure in whatever mischief he could come up with - the boy noticed the beautiful silence following, the momentary satisfaction, a brief moment where defeat was someone else's.

As one might expect, an innocent boy's mischief blended into a hateful adult's misdeeds. The demon smirked whenever Loki would inflict suffering upon others; and Loki would smile along sadly. He had always been so perceptive about everyone but himself.

It all changed when he met Caroline. He couldn't tell exactly what she did, but it made him pause and reflect. Was it really this path he wanted to go down? Desperately ruining the happiness of others, just to numb this emptiness of self-loathing, of never being good enough?

It no longer made him feel better. His conscious, silenced and chained for millennia, forbade it. Loki tried appeasing his conscious, and it worked for a while. He knew very well it was worth more than this heinous demon, it was worth the pain.

The demon, his innate drive of chaos and malice, starved in the mean time. Loki thought, the more he deprived it, the weaker it would grow. Its hunger only made it more obsessing, harder to withstand. The demon rattled its chains maddeningly, growling incessantly in the back of Loki's mind. 

It seemed as if this curse was part of Loki's self, and he had to manage living with it - or die and end it all. He'd been there, dangling at the edge, with only the abyss underneath him. He had let go. It was no solution. 

So here he was, his eyes glued to the fallen angel caring for his son. The demon's order was clear. Loki ripped his gaze away and fled outside. The mansion was suffocating him. 

What little solace he'd hoped to find in the fresh air was disappointing. His memories held a different picture of this garden. It was a mess; the roses torn out and dead, fallen branches, traces of fight everywhere. 

The anguished bronze statue was the most unsettling one. 

Xenia hadn't yet left the inside since it all went down, and her caring for Araziel distracted her from questioning for the moment. The God of Mischief and Lies hoped for it to stay that way, as he wanted to postpone this as long as he could.