I… I hardly know where to begin. The picnic was going so well. Sigyn liked everything, including the mug with her face. She approved of the flowers and the cheese. We both admitted a fondness for cookies.
She was properly respectful of the future King of Midgard, but she wasn’t intimidated by Loki, magician and warrior. She seemed genuinely interested in getting to know me. I am so used to my reputation preceding me–it was surprising (and wonderful) to have what amounted to a clean slate. For the first time I can remember, I felt no desire to punch someone.
And I learned so much about her! She likes music and fat novels and collecting glass paperweights. She has been in this realm somewhat longer than I have. She came to raise horses with her half-sister. (Imagine my delight upon learning that she is only partially related to that horned menace, Gunnehilde.)
I had just worked up the courage to try to hold her hand when the menace herself appeared! And with her words, my shiny new world shattered.
"Come, Sigyn," she said. "Leave this villain. Your betrothed is waiting."
Betrothed? My Sigyn is betrothed to another?! I have no doubt any man would love her, but it never crossed my mind that she might already have given her heart.
A battle ensued. I was tempted to turn Gunnehilde into a slug and apply salt, but I was reluctant to sadden my Sigyn. I could not hurt Gunnehilde, but she had no such limitations. I could but defend myself. Before I could formulate a plan, Gunnehilde had bundled Sigyn onto her horse, grabbed the reins, and towed her away beyond my sight.
In all of the confusion, Sigyn was able to gasp out one parting utterance, and upon this I have pinned my hope and sanity: The betrothal is not of Sigyn’s choosing. I may yet win her! My poor flower! Hold fast! I shall find you! And as long as I live, you will not be wed against your will. I, Loki, vow this…