truly_desperate (truly_desperate) wrote in spinningcompass, @ 2018-02-04 14:43:00 |
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Entry tags: | !closed, loki, ~rhysand |
Who: Loki, Rhysand (and Kat)
What: A sudden spurge of memories
Where: Rhysand's & Kat's place
When: Saturday morning
Status: Unfinished
Shit! It was the thought that was present on his mind when he woke up. Adrenaline rushed through his body and he was ready to fight or run - whatever sounded more sensible. Loki rushed to his feet. Thor was gone. The ship was gone and so was that in front of him. His glance wandered through the room. He knew this place. Fingers trailed over the leather back's of books as he dug deeper into his memories. A lot had happened. Asgard, the place, was gone.
"Meow," a voice demanded his attention. His gaze fell upon the small creature at his feet. Loki. Images came back to him. A space station. An island. Thor. Sif. A woman with flaming hair and one with black. Family. His eyes shot open with recognition. How had he forgotten everything? He stepped into the main quarters with the cat following at his heels. A corridor led to an imposing hall. Columns loomed over him and ran up to the balcony of the second story. Light flooded through the panels in the ceiling and created a mosaic on the floor. But the most exiting piece stood at the halls centre: the eternal flame. A father's day present.
Magic engulfed his mind as he brought forward his own memories. There was warmth in them. Nothing he had felt as his time as king. He felt the urge to see his child. "Meow." The cat circled his leg.
"Ah, you say I should."
"Meow."
"Now that is an impeccable point," he muttered. His magic reached out to his daughter's place, checking for anything that would impair his visit. But he could only find her sleeping curled up underneath the blankets. He switched places, appearing at the corner of the small bedroom. He let a dim light illuminate the room. A white wolf was curled up at the end of the bed. Fenrir. If Katherine had known the real Fenrir, she might not have chosen that name. But it was his child that caught his eyes and held them prisoner. He had heard about people who had gone through the same on the island. He could identify what had happened to him but it was no balm. Gentle fingers brushed a strand of his daughter's hair to the side. The feeling was real beneath his fingertips and it gave his memories strength. He let himself fall into a chair at the side. He did not dare to leave just now. All the while, he contemplated whether she would be proud.