"There is no hope or light forever imprisoned either, mother. Only boredom, and eventual madness. I'd rather die still myself, whatever that might be, than be reduced to a curiosity in a cage, there for sport." He had already made quite a few bargains to escape that fate in darker places. A slightly more comfortable prison was still the same four walls for all eternity.
I know not who told you your birthright is death-- he couldn't help but shake his head, a laugh that wasn't a laugh coming sharply to his lips. "Your husband told me that, mother."
He wanted to believe much of what he said. He hated the wheel of fate. He did not want to believe that Loki was a thing to be forever reviled, though if that was to happen, he would go down cursing it with his last breath. "It's very difficult to accept who I am when I am nothing I was ever lead to believe. Loki was a fabrication not of my making from the beginning." It felt like the struggle was taking ownership of that lie and making it something of his, rather than imposed from the outside. That was the true fight for survival, not just life, but the right to be what he was. If only he felt like he understood quite what that might be. Some days he felt he knew. This wasn't one of them, beyond vague outlines like Frigga's son, and brother to Thor, and liar, and magician. "To thine own self be true."
Not so different than certain conversations he'd had with mother before, perhaps. But now he had two years of other experiences, thoughts, to consider. And he also was no longer a prisoner. He could get up and walk away if he so chose. That knowledge made it feel very, very different.
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I know not who told you your birthright is death-- he couldn't help but shake his head, a laugh that wasn't a laugh coming sharply to his lips. "Your husband told me that, mother."
He wanted to believe much of what he said. He hated the wheel of fate. He did not want to believe that Loki was a thing to be forever reviled, though if that was to happen, he would go down cursing it with his last breath. "It's very difficult to accept who I am when I am nothing I was ever lead to believe. Loki was a fabrication not of my making from the beginning." It felt like the struggle was taking ownership of that lie and making it something of his, rather than imposed from the outside. That was the true fight for survival, not just life, but the right to be what he was. If only he felt like he understood quite what that might be. Some days he felt he knew. This wasn't one of them, beyond vague outlines like Frigga's son, and brother to Thor, and liar, and magician. "To thine own self be true."
Not so different than certain conversations he'd had with mother before, perhaps. But now he had two years of other experiences, thoughts, to consider. And he also was no longer a prisoner. He could get up and walk away if he so chose. That knowledge made it feel very, very different.