Nonaphobia

1.

He taught himself spells and curses, slender body incompetent with a weapon, vastly separate from his brother's golden muscle and ferocity. In all his friendships (were they friendships?) he functioned as an accessory to Thor, not unlike purses so loved by females in Midgard, able to be discarded. And just like any fashionable handbag, he was compatible for all occasions, customizable and fluid, but undeniably optional. In his brief time passing as a mortal, Loki likened himself a knockoff, masquerading as the real thing- the end result of Chinese sweatshops.

Was there a real thing underneath his lies and tricks? For all his masks and facades, he couldn't shake the biting possibility that what resided under his flesh and skull was little more than air and shadows. But oh, what a shimmering shadow he was, airy scales of a shining snake in the frozen moonlight, changing elegantly with his countless facets. He settled for that. It was fine to be a trick of the light. It hurt less.

No, he corrected himself; there was something there. The bitter venom of the serpent that he was, spitting and dripping until the liquid piled into winding rivers.

2.

As a youth, thoughts like this were less frequent, despite the apparent favoritism towards his shining elder brother. Love (was it love?) weighed him down and kept him agreeable, mischief passing off as charming and ordinary for a child, Thor downplaying his magic as weak and insufficient. He'd regret this belief later in life, and even then Loki knew.

For the expanse of his life he viewed himself an aberration, unwelcome and ill placed. Later years revised this notion as an advantage, his angle of viewing the world granting him a knack for problem solving and worming his way out of trouble. Over time, he gave up trying to belong, and events soon proved that he was even less of a matching puzzle piece than he had first perceived himself to be.

The lukewarm temperature of his skin, the cadaverous paleness of the flesh, a feeble mask of the cloudy gray-blue underneath. Finally, some sense. Some certainty.

3.

"You are incapable of sincerity."

(This hurt like the stab of bony spines.)

"Am I?"

"Yes."

(This sentiment festered like a sore.)

"I've looked forward to this day as long as you have. You're my brother, and my friend. Sometimes I'm envious, but never doubt that I love you."

At the time, he was sincere. He missed when he was capable of truth.

4.

Humans were akin to a disease that cursed the body to a death sentence, multiplying endlessly and mercilessly. Why his brother elected himself as their protector, he couldn't possibly fathom. Granted, it was in the realm of possibility that he could love a woman that he knew for less than a week- the Earth simply came as part of a packaged deal. At the core, that was all Thor was, one selfish enough to enjoy double responsibilities.

If he had not attempted to rule that world, others would have risen to take the role either way. Midgard's cycle of ruling, revolt, and revolution, seemed as constant as the revolutionary cycles of this globe. Had Loki succeeded, the ruling aspect would be the sole remnant of said cycle.

Not that he found the world terribly interesting to begin with.

He was a child. An enraged, powerful child, but a child nonetheless. Thor followed suit, misguided by a parody of love. Had he even slept with that woman?

5.

Everything came with a price, from toys to acts of violence.

His price was punishment.

Thor's was an unbelievably simple duty to protect, his choice to use only a fraction of his power for love of mercy bestowed upon puny, mortal transgressors a foolish course of action.

What an oaf.

6.

Loki shook the chains, magic beyond his reach, taunting him like the itch of a phantom limb.

He waited. He always waited.

7.

Isolation bred contempt, and contempt grew from a seed to a forest of pointed angles, the ground riddled with serpents.

8.

Never doubt that I love you.

Never doubt that I love you.

(loved)

you.

9.

Thor doubted. He doubted too.