He did not know when it started, but he thought it was around the time when he became older, and more conscious about the world around him. Or more specific, the people.

He was different, he always knew that, but it was not until a certain point in his life he knew how different he was. He had always been weak, and instead of spending time at the training grounds he went to the library, learning about history and magic. His hair was black as the night, while most people in Asgard had blonde hair.

Loki was different, and he did not like it at all. Thor's friends did not want to be around him and the adults always snapped at him as soon as he came close to them.

Even his mother and father treated him different from how they treated Thor. They praised Thor all the time, and overlooked everything Loki did. And when he became a teenager he started to prank people instead of trying to impress them, which made him even more of an outcast. He could not get their attention by being good, so he decided that he would get it by pranking them... hurting them. And he succeed, even if it just were for a while.

Because they soon became accustomed to his pranks and he got a new nickname. The god of mischief. The god of lies.

But he grew tired. Tired of being forced to harm the people he loved to get them to see him. Tired of people being annoyed at him. Tired of people always looking at him with suspicious glances whenever he entered a room.

So he decided to harm himself instead. He stopped eating in an attempt to gain some sympathy. He wanted to see if the people close to him cared enough about him to notice how much he hurt inside. To notice how his eyes no longer shined, and how his body slowly became sick and neglected. He wanted them to see how he was slowly killing himself, and most of all he wanted them to help him, because he no longer knew how to stop it himself.

And his heart broke every day, when he got reminded of how little they cared. It was so easy for them to believe his lies. 'Can't you see what is going on?' he wanted to scream.

He started to hate his reflection. He hated how his skin stretched over the bones, how his cheeks were hollow and how fragile he looked. He did not look like an aeisir at all. He hated himself more than before. And suddenly, it was not about the attention anymore. He truly wanted to die, to be put out of the misery like the filth he was.

Thor was the one who found him.

He would always remember his brothers horrified face, how the fire inside that beating heart turned to ash. He would always remember Thor's howl of agony, how the storm outside drowned the noise of his sobs. How Thor craddled his broken, malnourished and bloody body, drenching him in tears and words of comfort, promises of that he would live. Of that he would be alright, and that the healers would be there in any minute.

What he wouldn't be able to see was Frigga's breakdown when she found out that her son passed away, only seventeen years old. He would not be there to witness his father falling into the Odin-sleep after the loss of his beloved sons life. He would not be there to see his brothers coronation, being forced to lead a realm in sorrow, mourning their lost prince.

He would never see how much the loved him, and how much his death harmed them.

Loki just ceased to exist and welcomed death with open arms.

*AN: Sorry if there are any grammatical mistakes, I will blame it on that English is not my mother-language. :c

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