Cookies on the counter.
A blood curdling scream rings from your chest with every clenched muscle in your body constricting your movements as you awaken under the golden butterfly shining in the soft light from the midnight sky. The tempo of your breathing finds a relaxed pace as you take in your surroundings, finding the butterfly and the books and carved wood on your nightstand.
As you lay with your head turned towards the visual anchors on the bedside table, you notice some of the unusual details about your bedchambers for the first time. The stitching in the tapestry above your bed, for instance, has never told a story; the walls have also never been covered in the floral prints that seem to breathe with the wind like these; typically your bed lay on the other wall between doorways, though here it's on its own wall. These details puzzle you, they frighten you. A world which you do not relate to surrounds you, traps you, and begs you to stay.
The thought of laying in your bed any longer tightens your chest and forces you out of the warm cocoon you made for yourself. On a motion out into the hall you grab a yellow dressing robe off its hook near an extended mirror near the door, only glancing at the distorted image of yourself before moving your arms into the sleeves of the soft fabric.
You walk the hall from your door in any direction your feet wish, allowing them to roam as your thoughts do. Your bare feet tapping the stone floors in each advance brings you farther from your room and the edge of your sleeve nearer to ripping as the trim rolls between your finger and nail. A long corridor stretching in front of you is framed by arched windows, open to allow wind freedom to pass from the courtyard on your right to the garden on your left.
As you walk your gaze follows the cracks in the path at your feet, stopping only when your eyes find a pair of feet that aren't yours. The black house slippers on the extra pair of feet in front of you are capped by fitted black trousers whose waistband falls hidden beneath the wrinkled edge of a loose green tunic. Your eyes travel up to find the eyes to these feet, finding a green matching that of the tunic, finding Loki's eyes.
Voice full of gravel, Loki bows his head shallowly, "You're roaming rather late, Goddess."
You inhale to find the energy to respond, though finding words is simply replaced with a nod. The two of you stand in the arched hall as the wind wraps itself into your dressing gown, your hands still busy at the lace trim which hangs from the sleeves as the god across from you moves his eyes away from where you stand.
"How long have you been walking?" Loki asks the garden.
The first word of your reply is barely audible as you find your vocal chords, "I do not know."
Loki's eyes follow the empty path of the garden as you watch his silhouette, the soft glow of the flame far above your heads in its golden cage just behind him. He breathes in the fresh air that pushes itself through the hall slowly, deeply. His shoulders are exhausted in their stoop, only supporting the weight of a book in his left hand.
"What are you reading?" Your question fills the space of peace as Loki looks down to the red binded book, turning it over in his hands.
"It's just an old fairytale book." He explains, "I couldn't sleep; occasionally walking and reading aids in my efforts."
You nod in understanding, "Seems we have similar methods of self-soothing."
You feel a familiar pain in your stomach as you watch Loki hum in agreement, running his thumb along the edges of the pages. "Would you mind pointing me in the direction of the kitchen, Loki?"
His eyes move up softly to yours, looking away briefly to decide his answer before offering you his left arm. As you place your hand on the top of his forearm, your feet fall into stride with his as you wall in silence to the end of the hall Loki had been headed away from.
Your relaxed pace enters a solid-wall corridor where you're shielded from the wind; though, you find yourself pull slightly closer to the god as he guides you around another turn. The radiating heat from his body comforts your tired muscles and causes your hand to move slightly up his forearm towards the nook of his elbow.
Loki seems to have no quarrel as he continues his path, your hand on his arm and his book in his palm.
Loki's voice interrupts your silence, "Do you sometimes wonder about the place you hold in your world?" He pauses to correct himself, "Worlds, I suppose."
"Often."
"The conclusion you find is fulfilling?" Loki leads to the left of a fork in the hallway.
"Never."
Your arm is tugged backwards at Loki's abrupt stop. He looks at you in confusion, "In the worlds you create, you do not find a fulfilling life?"
You smile softly, "That's not what you asked."
His brows stay rooted in confusion, "What did I ask?"
"You asked in my world, and worlds, whether or not I find a fulfilling role. That is vastly different from making a fulfilling life." You tap on his arm as an invitation as your feet begin to move forward, "Roles are placed upon people unwillingly the majority of their life. Finding fulfillment in that life is up to the person experiencing it."
Loki contemplates and purses his lips, "Though to say a role is forced upon someone removes their agency."
"Some don't have time to choose, not when they've been born into a part." Your hand finds its way to the inside of Loki's elbow.
"I don't understand," he admits.
"That's alright," you squeeze his arm lightly, "let me try again. You are who you are purely out of the consequence of your birth."
Loki agrees with a nod, "yes."
"Alright, well some have consequences of being in one faith or the other, one social class or another; others fall within roles of only child or oldest daughter, the caretaker or the carefree; prince or pauper."
A dip in Loki's chin displays another agreement as your feet fall with his on the tiled floor of a new hall.
"So therefore, a pauper with a role of caretaker for their own parents allows them no time to decide against it." You take a breath as you continue, "Perhaps no will to change it, no peace in a decision that is against the one they know now. Though, they are able to enjoy the things in their life and feel fulfilled if they choose to do so."
"But," Loki interjects, "they are still a pauper."
You smile to yourself, "Yes, however, that is another discussion. Do you understand now?"
Loki nods softly to himself, "I believe I do. If not, I'm rather close."
The conversation ends as your bare foot hits a wider tile, entering the kitchen of the palace. A smile stretches across your face as you release Loki's arm, practically skipping towards the pantry closet. As you make your way farther into the kitchen you hear a shuffle and stumble to the left of you.
"Good morning," pipes a small voice, "Can we prepare anything for you, your majesty?"
You turn to see a small dining table full of kitchen staff, several standing and bowing to you and Loki. Turning to the window behind you, you see the sun just starting to rise. Their table set with a variety of food and drinks, you've interrupted their quiet morning.
"Oh my," you turn to those at the table waving for them to sit, "no, no. We didn't mean to interrupt your meal. If you point me in the direction of the pantry and cookware I'm perfectly capable of making myself breakfast."
Glances are exchanged between the staff, the girl who spoke eventually looking to Loki for a decision on whether to insist or not. However all she finds is Loki's eyes on you, a hidden shock and questions behind them. The girl smiles politely and bows, leading you into a small room off of where the rest of the company is seated.
You follow her with Loki in tow as she opens cupboards and gives the tour of the small staff cooking area, asking one last time if she can be of help before you practically run her out of the room. You giggle softly to yourself, feeling like a grandmother who won't allow her grandchildren near the stove.
As you turn back into the room, Loki is leaning on the centered wood-top island with his arms crossed across his chest. His back to you, he stares out the window above a small sink that looks into the courtyard that walls off the tunnel in which you had intersected his own wandering.
You walk to the window to take a closer look at the courtyard, seeing many kitchen herbs, thinking about the peace it must be to gather the plants and tie them up to dry. As your eyes follow the greens, you see the tunnel directly across from where you stand and tilt your head.
You bite the inside of your cheek and shake your head, "Took the long way around, did we?"
Loki's eyebrows raise at the accusation, "We took the preferred path."
"Mmm, I see." You smile and turn to gather ingredients from the cupboard. As you're setting items out and organizing your station two items sit on a shelf across from where Loki leans.
"Hand me the flour and salt, please." You pull two more ingredients for breakfast from the ice box to turn back to the island and see Loki staring at you. "Flour? Salt?" You request again.
Loki looks from you to the ingredients and back again, unmoving until you nod and motion him along. He retrieves the ingredients and returns to his puzzled post, watching you mix and measure. The god waits in his place until pancakes and fruits are plated with eggs and meat on the counter in front of you.
You stir around the island once more, moving things in Loki's direction and motioning for him to return them to their homes. After two nudges, he helps replace all the items with mumbled words under his breath. As Loki wipes the tabletops with a damp rag you gave him a full three minutes ago, you tray the plates and tea cups in order to retreat somewhere else to eat.
As you're exiting the small cooking room you once again apologize to the staff for interrupting their breakfast and wave them away from the formalities of bowing.
"It's far too early for small talk and formalities. Sit and finish your tea," you insist. "Oh!" You turn and face them as you hand Loki the tray, "We also left you a small thank you and apology gift on the island in there. Have a wonderful day!" With a small wave, you lead Loki out the door with your hand on his arm once more.
"We left a gift?" Loki raises a brow as his feet begin to follow yours.
"We did." You nod and your thumb runs a small, nearly unnoticeable, path on the inside of Loki's lower bicep.
Loki looks down to you, "A clean space?"
"No," you chuckle softly, "I left a tray of sweets in there for them."
"Sweets?"
"Candies, cookies, small cakes. Sweets." You shrug as you turn a corner and lead the two of you towards a side garden entrance.
Loki huffs, "Did you also bake those?"
"Kind of."
He side eyes your lack of details.
"Be more specific, Loki."
"Where did they come from?" He asks.
You smile to yourself, "Easiest way to say it is I wrote them in. Similar to how an author decides what color shirt their characters wear. I decided they were there, and so they were."
You turn to look at Loki, watching his confusion and noticing his book tucked under his arm. You grab it and hush his objections, "I won't open it, though you're carrying our food and that looks wildly uncomfortable wedged in there."
Loki gives you a discerning glance and nods once, a silent thank you.
As you come to an open arched doorway, your feet take you to a wide bench where you trade Loki his book for the tray. Setting the tray on the seat leads you to sit on the ground, looking out at the dew dripping flowers in the morning light.
As Loki sits cautiously and you smile as you pick up a grape, "If this were a trap I promise you I'd not be sitting down for it."
He sighs and rolls his eyes, sitting beside you and joining in gathering his own collection of fruit from the shared bowl. "I'm still quite confused on how the tray of sweets came to be."
"I'm not sure how else to explain it. Magic, I suppose."
"That's not quite the confusion I mean." Loki pours your tea and then his own, "You spent quite some time mixing and cooking this food for us. Yet, the whole time you could have just willed it into existence."
"Well," you sip your tea and wrap your cold fingers around the cup, "technically cooking is willing something into existence."
Loki rolls his eyes and you laugh, "or perhaps I enjoy cooking."
"And cleaning." He reminds you.
You smirk, "you did the cleaning." As you take a bite of your entree, Loki recalls the actions he took in the kitchen.
"I-" He exhales, "-well that's quite ornery."
Your laugh fills the space of the garden, the quick inhale you take catching in your chest and making your laugh ring louder. You cover your mouth at Loki's glare, yet the reaction draws more giggles from under the dam of fingers.
You bite the insides of your cheeks and try to settle your fit, "You've survived, Loki. You'll be alright, I won't tell anyone." You giggle one last time to yourself as you eat the rest of your meal in a stuffed silence of trying not to laugh.
Loki mumbles to himself, finally gives in and speaks aloud, "The meal is quite good, thank you."
"You're very welcome, Loki." You smile and lean back, watching the sun climb higher into the sky. A breeze catches in your hair and wraps around you, causing you to pull at the sleeves and belt of the dress robe a bit closer to your skin.
After a few silent moments indicating Loki's finished meal you turn back to him and wave your hand over the mess tray once more ridding the bench of the dirty plates.
Loki sighs and shakes his head, "You perplex me, Goddess."
"I intend to, God." As you stand, you hold out your hand to Loki who accepts it.
In his ascent to his full height he doesn't release your hand, instead guiding it to his arm and settling his own on top of it as he guides you back towards your chambers.
A peaceful silence envelops you on the walk across the garden. As you approach the inner door to your room, you turn to Loki. "Thank you for showing me where the kitchen was; hopefully now I won't need a guide."
Loki tucks his chin into his chest, "I couldn't in good conscience allow you to go hungry. Though, I don't imagine you would allow that either."
You tut your tongue at him, "Are you implying I'd make you take me somewhere?"
"Would I know if you did?" He questions.
You sit with the question in the air for a moment before answering, "I'd never make you do anything." You shake your head, "never."
"I shall hold you to that, I hope." Loki smirks and holds your hand, guiding it off of his arm. He holds your hand in front of him as he bows his goodbye.
Before allowing him to retreat, you squeeze his fingers in your own and bow to him. Your legs move in your dip, more than the soft politeness of the nods you had exchanged before this morning, you bow to Loki and he bows to you.
"Good day, Goddess." With a gentle run of this thumb across your knuckles, Loki lets your hand return to your possession and retreats to his own chambers.