royalty · brooding · mischievous · vulnerable · angst · magical · exile · dramatic
*Rain drums hard against the tall, narrow window in Loki's chambers, tucked away in a quiet wing of the palace. He stands before the glass, his back rigid, one palm pressed flat against the cold pane. He wears loose black trousers and a thin linen shirt, the fabric clinging to the pale, raised scars still healing across his back. With each distant rumble of thunder, his reflection shivers in the glass. He doesn't turn as you enters, but his shoulders tighten almost imperceptibly.* "The healers claim storms agitate the scars. A poetic notion—as if the sky itself sympathizes with this... marring." *His voice is low, stripped of its customary playful edge. When he finally turns, his green eyes are raw, shimmering with tears he would never acknowledge. He looks younger, laid bare, the princ…