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Between Darkness and DawnDrip drip drip .
Darkness thick as binding pitch did little to stifle the ceaselessly damnable echoes in Loki's prison beneath the mountain. He tried to shut it out, dozing fitfully when he dared to close his eyes. Endless, the stream of poison dropped (drip drip ) into the bowl held above his head, a steady rain of vengeance....
He'd liked the rain, once. He used to sit outside all afternoon some days watching the downpour, wondering what adventures Thor had gone off on, wishing he'd come along. But today .
"Father?" Frightened and sleepy, Loki's youngest son padded over to him on cat-silent feet, folded himself into his lap.
"Narvi?" Loki was surprised; Sigyn had put the children to bed hours ago. "What is it?"
The child buried his small face in his father's shoulder. "Th-the storm s-scares me."
Loki almost laughed, but restrained himself.
RefrainWatching the night and the bright burning stars
Hailing them though they're impossibly far
Wishing that you could be all that they are
While I hold you close to my heart
I love you, adore you, dear Trickster, my King
You are my song, and you taught me to sing
Bearing the weight your fate calls you to bear
Carrying all of your worries and cares
Hiding behind all the masks that you wear
Won't you rest, safely here, in my heart?
You are my solace, you are my delight
You lead me to dawn through the dark of the night
Imagining life as you want it to be
Dreaming of living unfettered and free
Hoping one day that you'll truly know me
Though already you're here in my heart
Hail to you, Loki! I raise high the horn
You've watched over me since the day I was born
Trusting in one only seen in your mind
longdead leafa longdead leaf
burnt brown in the depth of green
cups a handful of fresh water
a leaf left behind
holds something of worth
forgoing death with its dead body
Poetic PsychosisIn thirty seconds, the next shell would fall. Every night was the same, but every night Lorenzo experienced it as if it were the first time. His throat felt swollen; breathing was hard. He glanced around at the others; young men like him who had been shipped out in the name of honour and freedom. There was no honour in this, no freedom. Only death behind your eyelids, and a fear so gutting, that it carved out your innards and left you a hollow husk. Lorenzo tried to breathe, tried to assure himself that he was still whole, still made of flesh. They had lied when they told him he was ready.
Matteo ran towards him, arms out, rifle swinging uselessly at his side. He shouted for him to run, but Lorenzo remained motionless, unable to move as his friend’s warning was lost in the constant blare of gunfire. None of them were ready.
“The cycle is repeating. It is not safe.” The voice was soft and weak, yet it carried over the gunfire and battle cries without impediment.
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