Loving Loki

My first years

When I was younger, my mother would tell me that everyone was good. No matter what they thought or what other people thought, everyone was beautiful. She told me that I was never to judge people by their past. The past did not define them. The very first thing my mother taught me, was how to find good in a person.

She was a wonderful mother. She always had time for me. She smothered me in love and cuddles because no one else would. She was beautiful. I used to tell her that when I grew up, I wanted to be as beautiful as her. She would smile and tell me that I would be just as beautiful as me.

My mother was so wise and kind. She never rejected me or was harsh. She was an angel. She made me the person I am now. She would tell me stories. Most of them were about monsters who find love. One day I asked her why she always told me stories like that and she told me the story of my father.

I never knew my father. He died before I was born. Mother never spoke of him. It seemed to pain her when I asked about him, so I stopped. But one day, after I asked her about her stories, she told me.

My father was considered a monster. No one loved him. His own mother hated him. He had been abused and hurt his whole life. One day, he collapsed on my mother's doorstep. She took him in and nursed him back to health. She told me that he had almost died. She showed him that she loved him for himself. She didn't let his label define him. She fell in love. She said it just like that. She simply fell. And he caught her. They married a year later.

She paused here. She told me that sometimes, just because the books say so, not everyone gets a happy ending. She told me that just as we can't let someone's past define them, we can't let our past define us.

My father had died. She said he went to war and never came back. Months after he died, she waited everyday for him to come back and tell her it had been a mistake, but he never did. She grew sad a listless. Her heart yearned for him. She would walk out into the garden and look at the stars. She would pray that his soul rested among them.

Then, one day, she fell in love again. This time, with a smiling, pink face. Me. She had found a new love and a new reason to live.

Mother was my world when I was younger. Everything revolved around her. She would come home after a long day at the palace and she would still manage a smile. She would chase me around the house until she caught me. Then she would tickle me until I screamed. We would both collapse on the floor and she would tell me stories. Then, we would make supper together. Just mommy and me.

While she was working as a maid, Nana would come and watch me. She wasn't really my Nana. My mother told me that my Nana and Papa were with daddy, in the stars. Nana was the town spinner. People would say that she could spin wool into gold. Everyday she would come and watch me, encourage me to try some new trick.

Both Nana and my mother taught me compassion and kindness. But they never had to tell me to use my imagination. I had plenty of that. I could create new worlds just by thinking. The world was a new story to read. I would read stories and then run into the garden to act them out. I would change parts I didn't like and add parts that I thought were necessary.  I had a new friend each week and I would talk to them as though they were real. I had plenty of real friends, but I loved my imaginary ones just as much.

Some people thought I was crazy but mother and Nana encouraged me. When I turned ten, I cast off imaginary friends forever. I had found a new best friend. One that would last.

For years I had begged mama for a horse. I read stories of women fulfilling their destiny and finding love. And they always had a horse. Mama would tell me she would try. And the year I turned ten, my dream became a reality.

It was a beautiful female foal. It had lovely chestnut hair and chocolate eyes. I loved it at once. We became the best of friends. I slept with her until she was too big to sleep on my mat anymore. I named her after mama. Shelia. As I grew, so did my horse. By the time I was thirteen, she was ready to be ridden.

Thirteen was the year I changed. I became a women. The boys would look at me differently. I couldn't play the games we used to. I had to learn to be a lady. And that was hard. I wanted adventure. Not needlework. Asgard held so many secrets and I wanted to be the first to discover them.

I never went to school. Nana and mother taught me everything I knew. Nana insisted I learn how to be a lady and mother finally agreed. It was hard though. I was naturally bubbly and happy. I was always laughing in my not so nice laugh. I still imagined and it was hard to pull my head out of the clouds to focus on the correct way to hold a teacup.

When I was fourteen, I begged Nana to let me go for a ride, and she relented. I pulled on my trousers that I had bought when I was last at the market place and the loose, wool shirt. I twisted my hair into a bun, pinning it with some pins mother had bought me. I saddled up Shelia and rode off into the forest.

I loved the feel of the wind in my hair, the sensation of flying. If I closed my eyes I could pretend I was a bird. Oh to be free from the dreaded lady lessons and do nothing but soar through the sky every day. The thought sent shivers up and down my spine.

I rode to my favorite spot in all of Asgard. If you rode several paths, you would eventually come to a clearing in the woods. A small creek bubbled and gurgled. The sun made beautiful shadows as it shone through the leaves of the birch trees that grew in this place only. It was so peaceful here. No worries, no fears.

I leaned gently against a birch tree and began drawing. I loved to draw. I drew horses the best. I began to draw a person today. I was so absorbed in what I was doing, that I didn't hear the voices until it was too late.