Loki smiled, small and genuine. “It’s not the worst year. I’ve lived a thousand. This one… this one taught me that you can die and still keep walking.”
December 31, 2021. Midnight. Loki sat alone on the roof of the apartment building in the dying branch. Fireworks erupted across a dozen timelines at once, visible only to him. He raised a glass of champagne that didn’t exist—a phantom glass, a trick of light. Loki -2021-2021
October. Halloween. A child in a cheap Loki mask knocked on his apartment door. Trick-or-treat. Loki had no candy. He gave her a dagger. Her mother screamed. Loki turned the dagger into a chocolate bar. The child grinned. For one perfect second, Loki felt like a god again—not of mischief, but of small, impossible kindnesses. Loki smiled, small and genuine