I was born sickbut I love it
The trickster has never been innocent (perhaps in the mere hours following his birth, but quickly thereafter his corruption began). Although he cannot remember it, his mother played a significant role in the darkness crushing the light. It was only hours following his birth (when the sun was perched on the threshold of rebirth, when the early morning lay quiet and drowsy, when the shadows played tricks on one’s eyes) when she first attacked (her mouth screaming, her face twisted in a look of utter fury and terror, her heels and teeth aiming to injure the lookalike son).
He couldn’t have pitied her; he is a replica of his rapist father (a mirror image of the one who scarred his dam’s body and spirit, a lost echo of a torturous night spent in hell, a living nightmare of something that was too real).
The youngster had hidden. It was the only thing he could do, caught between an illusion of a mighty trickster and the shaky legs of a newborn colt. She’d come to her senses when the sun had fully risen, of course (when the birds began to trill and the world began to wake and the sun had pierced her hazy eyes) and moved to lick her son’s wounds (there had been no love or comfort behind the movement, regardless of what she had done to him).
Innocence and pretty, lacy things were never in the trickster’s life and he supposes they never will be.
The look in her eyes suggests she once felt the purity of innocence, but time changed it. Her body is young and supple (his bruised eyes look her over again perhaps a bit more lustfully – it has been too long since he has last been with a woman) but he suspects her mind is far more aged. He isn’t one to condemn the young rising above the old (hadn’t he been only a year old when his long legs waltzed into the Valley?) and he certainly wouldn’t do so during this time.
Her words start up a small fire of anger, smoking just above his scarred heart. She is sly with her words, but he pushes away his desire to know more. She is trying to play games with him (and oh, isn’t he a master of playing games; perhaps one of the bestand he will not feed her amusement. His shoulders roll in a half-shrug, his nonchalance and I-don’t-care behavior settling over his skin like a well-worn cloak.
“That’s soooo amazing, babe.” He pauses, eyes latching onto the slow curve of her lips. Damn, he’s too horny for this shit. “Seems like they figured you’d be a real firecracker. Were they right?” Her answer could go so many places (here, there, everywhere) but he really hopes she follow the trail that leads the direction he wants to go.
LOKII
