Such soft hands. Another feature no mocker has ever faked. Hair as delicate and delightful as flame in the wind. He has his mother’s eyes, brightly green and vibrant. His mother’s love has marked his scent, of delicate flowers and honey. Tall and thin, yet solidly built. I’m afraid to embrace his frame, from fear I would break him. A fear he is quick to solidly disabuse. His strength is more than enough. Much more than enough.
What else shall I tell of my lover? That he whispers dares in my ear? He doesn’t ask of what I can not do, just what I should not do. Shameful? Only to those that are ashamed. He tips the day’s water, laughing as the rivulets soak the shoes. Only to chuckle when you find the shoes were already lost to wear.
Even when angry, his voice is gentle. Even when heated, he never yells. His words need no force, they find the sorest of weaknesses and drill with heated tip.
I love him. I don’t fear him. I honor him. I will not cower before him. He taught me to stand. To stand for myself. To serve without losing myself. To be strong but not cowardly. My lover taught me the delights of my soul and body, even as his lips kiss so rough.
He taught me the delights of beauty. Insists upon it. I did not see my beauty until he showed it to me. Let me be beautiful. I now see as he does. Take care of the body, if not for my own delight, then for him. A little glimmer, a little color. He asks only that I adorn myself as a woman in my time would.
Shall I tell you of my lover? His name is rejected by many. There are those that think they have him, coerced him to their bidding. But how does one trick a trickster?
By beloved. My lover. Loki.