now I am alone with the dead,
flying off bridges,
hurling myself like a beer can into the wastebasket.
i am flying like a single red rose,
leaving a jet stream
and yet I feel nothing,
though I fly and hurl,
my insides are empty
and my face is as blank as a wall.
Loki wrote of the handmaiden of Hela, who stood beside him, saved the world and doomed herself. He wrote of the stern girl whose few kind words were more precious than Asgard’s entire treasury.