The Eight Days of the Week (8)
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Loki’s mind gave him no rest. Plans came to fill it, only to leave it without offering any solution. Meanwhile, envy spoke to him. First in whispers. Now in screams. Soon, he would hear nothing but her shouts asking for revenge.

He looked himself in the mirror. His eyes, without the fog of time to dull them with cataracts, stared back at him, deep and fierce. His jaw line, as taught as when the earth was new and empty, give his profile a royal touch. His hair as black as the night had been before the stars had first shone, was a thing to rejoice. Yet, his heart felt old, the oldest if had ever felt. Envy had made it feel that way.

Tired of it, Loki decided that all would suffer the same fate. They would all feel old. And like his heart, they would all shrink and turn ugly an...

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