The Lost Asgardian (Loki)

Prologue

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I saw him again - the devil. This diary entry feels repetitive as I always see him. He is a constant figure in the back of my mind, haunting me whenever I close my eyes and threatening to pull me out of the dull beat of reality into a realm of cruel fate and haunting memories. Although my devil is never truly real, I see him as vividly as if he were.

My devil insults my family and enemies, mocking anyone who does me wrong. He despises anything I dislike while simultaneously judging me for my simple-living existence lacking adventure or creativity.

Although I've never met anyone like my imaginary devil, I feel I know him. We know each other without really knowing one another, a frightening replica of the saying "he sees me when I'm sleeping, he knows when I'm awake." However, my devil isn't a small red man with pointed horns who laughs maniacally; there is no hallmark version of the devil for me.
No.
My devil is not what most people would expect. He is beautiful, serene, and majestic, and he doesn't encourage me to do evil things. Instead, he is everything you would not expect from the devil. He is imaginative, mesmerizing, and hypnotic. Being around him makes me feel more alive than ever before. But I know that I shouldn't feel this way because he is only a creation of my mind. He isn't real.

My devil always looks the same. He's not human, but he closely resembles one. His skin is a deep shade of lapis blue, as if frostbite had made it appear that way. I can feel the coldness radiating from him, even though he's merely a part of my imagination. His orange eyes are piercing and haunting, yet mesmerizing at the same time. It's as if they can see right through you, exposing every fault you've ever had, along with your darkest fears and deepest desires.

As alluring as this man is, he's also very dangerous. After all, I don't refer to him as the devil for nothing. He cares for nothing and no one, only holding hate within his icy heart and very core. But above all, this devil wants to overthrow humanity into the point of oblivion. Hell on Earth. Monsters released. Heroes dead. Humans enslaved. All-out out anarchy where the villains finally get their happy ending and lowly humans only exist to serve him and the others like him.

Paranoid Schizophrenia.

That's always been my safe zone in all my twenty-two years. It's my safety as well as my curse. My disease is what helps me rationalize that I don't see my beautiful blue nightmare; it shows me that he doesn't truly exist. My sweet medication takes away the dreams and the nightmares of a past life I couldn't have possibly been a part of well over a couple thousand years ago.

My disease has taught me that Asgard, magic, my children I had, they are all a part of my imagination; residing in the back of my head because my brain has been damaged since the moment I was born. My neurons will fire off utter randomness, causing me to see hallucinations and dreams that are not real in the slightest.

My doctor said writing down everything I see in my dreams can help me when I re-read this book. She said by seeing it in my diary, it will prove that nothing I see in my dreams is the real deal. She claimed it could help. She claimed my nightmares will finally leave me if I write them down and read about them because it'll prove to me they're not real.

But then it happened.

Something happened that should not have ever happened because, after all, I'm practically the definition of insane. I've always been, ever since I saw my first talking cat at age ten.

I'm a paranoid schizophrenic. My mind is so very broken that I'll start screaming when I hear a whistle blow because I can remember it in my dreams as the sound of a unicorn shrieking in agony.

But something happened. Something happened to prove that maybe, just maybe, I'm not as insane as my mother along with everyone I've ever known says I am. He came to see me, my blue devil. But he wasn't blue. His skin was pale white, his hair raven black, and his eyes were a bright, powder blue. My devil held himself in the same way he held himself in my dreams; tall, handsome, and authoritative. He had a crooked smile and gleaming eyes that seemed to peer deep down into my soul. However, my devil scares me. He scares me more than anything in the world. It's not because he claims to be Loki, half-god and half-king of Jotunheim. It's not even because he tells me that my hallucinations are memories of a past life.

He doesn't scare me when he tells me of all the evil he plans on inflicting by opening the gates of the underworld and unleashing hell on earth. I'm not even afraid when he tells me he plans on having me by the side of his throne, for I'm supposedly the reincarnation of his long-dead wife.

What terrifies me the mostis what lies deep within me. He's not human, he's evil, and beyond sinister.Yet, I'm irrevocably in love with him.