Mirrors
The girl with the raven hair held about her a certain erratic aura that he, the God of Mischief, found most intriguing. Try as she might, she was helpless to mask it. And try she did. He could see it in her knit beanie caps, oversized sweaters, and apparent lack of substance. Honestly he found it a miracle that no one else in this forsaken tower thought her flippant manner worthy of suspicion. Perhaps the status his “silvertongue” had gained among the realms was well earned, as apparently it did in fact take one to know one.
Above all else there was something … familiar about her that he found most confusing. She lit a certain warmth in him that he believed long dead.
Of course, he was not one to enjoy being left in the dark. If this girl, this mere mortal, was hiding something he would find out precisely what it was. He would put a stop to her infernal allure, if only to prove that she was in fact nothing more than a mortal, completely unworthy of his affection attention. This accursed girl with red lips, whose smile curved in a manner most predatory, who had fooled most all in this tower, would no longer be a mystery. Not after Loki was done with her.