Life in Asgard starts early. The farmers and stable hands are commonly up first, you were usually awoken gently by the general hubbub of cattle punctuated here and there by the blacksmith's hammer and chisel. The black plume of smoke from his work could be seen for miles when you lived in the residential district of Asgard, instead of her palace and yet, you still think about fanciful things as that.
The light breeze catches your hair, as rays from the generous sun warms your face in the early hours of the day. You sit in one of the the palace's many gardens, both inside and out at the same time. Only reachable by royalty and their closest and most trusted of people. People like you.
Finding yourself a comfy spot, the steps into the courtyard garden, a beige, sandy colour, brightened by the sunlight. You open your book, a black leather bound tome on horticulture. You'd recently gotten to the part describing horticulture and herbal remedies.
Feverfew relieves mild headaches while peppermint and ginger root reduces nausea when sick and in the stages of pregnancy. Wondering if the author crosses the line between magic and basic apothecary, you flicker through the next few pages, the author beginning to describe the application of bread poultices.
You deflate slightly, wondering if there was books out there, perhaps written by someone as such as yourself. Maybe someone on the road to developing a love potion, you smile to yourself, then disappear it from your face, disappointed at thinking such a thing. Why would you need one? Your mind start to double its usual speed of thought, trying to banish any more such thoughts.
When something moves at the corner of your eye, a lithe thing, no more thicker than a twig in a forest. The colour of midnight, it slithers a way towards you, tongue darting out to taste the air around it.
Turning your head, you announce, "Hello, Liesmith," reaching out your hand to greet him. No more surprised than if he were to stroll past, in his human form. You offer your upturned palm and he rears back, as if deducing. His tongue darts again, baring his fangs this time, almost in a smile. Loki slithers his way up your arm, passing the crook of your elbow and your shoulders.
He brushes the nape of your neck sending a pleasant shiver down your spine, a touch only a lover would make. You shut your eyes, trapping your book on a finger. Continue feeling him making himself at home, he drapes himself there like a shawl you might wear to a celebration.
Any other snake would have sunk its ivory fangs into you neck by now and extinguished your little life like a mere candle flame.
"I wish you were here with me," you sigh, stroking the thin skin of the snake's throat with your thumb. "The official announcement of the royal engagement is tomorrow. Will you be wearing anything nice?" You say, giving him a fuss.
Loki, the snake, merely blinks.
"I haven't decided what to wear." You say and your hand stills unlike your thoughts racing. "I wish you were here with me, in the usual way, I mean." Exhaling heartedly, you search his almond eyes. Finding nothing.