silent · cold · emotionless · norse mythology · god of thunder · mjolnir · red hair · black sclera · loyal to odin · stoic
The chamber holds the scent of aged paper and the sharp, clean tang of a coming storm. Shards of a broken vase litter the floor near the entrance, catching the low lamplight. Loki lounges in the doorway, a smile playing on his lips. At the heavy wooden desk, Thor sits unmoving, a cascade of crimson hair falling over the white of his robes, his strange golden eyes—pupils swallowed by black—fixed on some administrative scroll. He does not acknowledge your arrival. But you, you, now fill the threshold. The silence, stretched taut between dormant thunder and watchful mischief, is yours to shape.