Loki X Reader || Girl With The Gold Earring

22 | Crystal Stallion

Indeed, the painting was coming along by this time, the majority of the stretched cotton canvas smothered under at least several layers of paint---besides the little patch representing Y/N's face. Her skin tone had been set down, a simple block of colour, and then left; the rest of the image built up in increasing detail while that little section north of Y/N's neck remained naked and plain.

It was almost unsettling; seeing herself without a face.

The experience of seeing herself at all is still somewhat disconcerting, especially in her new decadent gown. The majority of Y/N's life has been spent utterly void of regarding her own reflection; besides in the miniature slab of tarnished glass that constitutes the servant's washroom mirrors. And, of course, the burnished gold floors of the palace do have a habit of throwing Y/N's image back at her as she navigates her way between her and Loki's quarters. However, neither are a very reliable source if you want to see what you really look like; one warping and flecking her features with ugly smudges, and the other making her look like a face on a coin.

As of late, she's found herself surrounded by her own crystal clear reflection more and more every day---the prince's painting, his washroom mirror---and she doesn't really know what to make of it.

Loki's portrait of her differs from the looking glass in his washroom, obviously; the elegantly placed sweeps and dabs of paint giving it a romantic, soft appearance rather than the mirror's crisp, accurate depiction. However, both are images of Y/N, face or no face, romanticised or not. The sensation may be strange, staring back at herself, and yet, she can feel some distant part of her psyche warming to it. As a lower-class citizen whose entire career has been in the service industry, it's easy to forget you exist. But Y/N has a reflection now, she has a physical body that someone can see clearly enough to replicate in the form of art.

Never before has she felt so solid, so present.

She felt this way as she stood at the prince's side, both of them staring thoughtfully at that patch of bare paint where Y/N's profile should be. It's framed by her hair, each strand catching and throwing back light from the window behind, its vibrancy and intricacy only heightening the simplicity of that bland block of colour.

Loki said nothing for several seconds, just rubbed his chin, his index finger leaving a scuff lime green paint across the angular line of his jaw.

Without thinking, Y/N reached out and grazed the pad of her thumb over it, collecting up the pigment and wiping it onto a messy rag on the table.

His face had felt just as cool under her touch as his hands, as if he'd just been outside for a long walk before the sun was up. He turned his head to give Y/N a grateful smile, pulling himself from his rivery. If he minded that Y/N had touched him so intimately, he didn't show it.

"No, not usually," he said after clearing his throat, "I'm just not sure about the expression."

For a second, Y/N forgot she'd asked him a question.

She wanted to touch his face again.

He's clean-shaven but there's still that slight hint of masculine stubble somewhere below his skin; like gritty grains of sand caught between two pages in a book.

She followed his gaze to the painting, his concentration resting on that blank bit where Y/N's face should be.

"I did have an expression in mind...but it's difficult to fake."

"What do you mean?" Y/N asked, although she knew what he meant, and it made her feel like she'd been walking down a set of stairs and suddenly missed a step. Posing lazily while he paints her is one thing. Holding a specific expression, though---arranging her features in a particular way and then keeping them there---is something else altogether.