The stars are so beautiful.

It was the only thought that had the ability to penetrate his sorrow. How little time one had to look at them when travelling through the Nine Realms on the Bifrost, as everything managed to blur itself into an endless glowing rainbow nimbus. Now, as Loki of Asgard fell through the blackness and watched the world slowly fall away, he truly saw the stars as they were meant to be seen.

His hand was still warm where it had grasped onto the Allfather's scepter as a lifeline, chafed red, stinging. He supposed that it was right for him to have pain. Pain coupled so nicely with lies.

The ribbon of shimmering light that had been the Bifrost was nearly out of view, as were Asgard's Prince and King. They were mere smudges of bronze, silver, and crimson against the deep blue backdrop of space. The knowledge that Thor, arrogant bullish Thor, and the old fool Odin could barely see him either was very comforting. It was comforting that they could not see the tears long held escape from the corners of his eyes. He thought himself cowardly in that moment, that he was pleased to remain hidden while he was weak, but it felt good to cry. It felt good enough that he no longer berated himself for his feelings.

Breathing in and out, the farther he fell the colder the air was in his lungs, but he welcomed the bitterness. When Thor had taken Mjolnir to the already fragile bridge, the Bifrost had shattered like the stained glass of Midgardian church windows. To be honest, it was Loki's fault that Thor had to destroy the one known pathway between the Realms. But then you would have to branch off into how it was all Odin's fault that Loki even existed. Well, still existed, that is. But that story was complicated, and the memories that such a topic reached into were painful indeed. That pain with those lies...delicious.

What else was the God of Lies supposed to believe? It was a burden, being born into a lie, growing up and molded by them, and finally being told that his entire life had been one, his existence a sham. Loki was reminded of the game the Midgardians played with wooden figures on a checkered board. They called it Chess. There were different figures, one a King, the other a Queen, Knights, Bishops, and Rooks between. Lastly came the Pawns.

Loki was a Pawn. Simply a tool for a greater purpose. He was not who his father had led him to believe. He was no son of Odin, no Prince of Asgard. If the God of Lies were to be honest, he was a monster. His thin lips turned up at the oxymoron, and seeing the portal only feet away, sighed.

The remains of the Bifrost had ripped through space and time hundreds of feet below the young god when he had made the decision to let go. Now the portal was so close that it appeared nearly tangible. How he longed to feel the pulsing energy beneath his fingers. He had only a few more seconds to catch a glimpse of the former glory of his life before he knew no more. So, in his last moments, Loki of Asgard looked to the stars.

~*~

The spirits of the stars were a curious lot and were drawn to the brightness of the portal, which had sprung up with the radiance of a dying sun, and the foreign being that plummeted past them towards the portal in a flurry of flashing gold and unfurling emerald. To them, it was like watching an angel being cast from Heaven, the deep green cape of his snapping wildly in the wind like the useless wings of a bird caught in a rainstorm.

It had been hundreds of years since they had seen something like the falling being up close. In the distance were indiscernible shapes that could have been the being's species, which was determined male by the physical structure of the being's form. Females were known to have softer features, more curves than lines, but there was no denying the fine features of the being himself, which although they were more carefully carved possessed a masculine strength.

Short black hair flush against a pale neck, long limbs in freefall, sharp cheekbones stained with something that glistened with a soft sheen when light angled on them. The spirits of the stars could not stop the being from falling and wondered at why he did not fly. The look of disdain on his fair face was enough to make the stars understand that the being wanted to fall. Falling was all that remained.

With a sort of sad smile, the being closed his eyes to the world, letting peace settle over his countenance. Or, at least, a ghostly illusion of peace. It was easy enough to tell that the heart of the mysterious being was still greatly troubled. The being did not know whether or not he would survive passing through the portal, but the rift through space and time gave him the one thing that his former life could not: hope.

As the being was consumed by the remnants of the Bifrost portal, the spirits looked away. Something stirred within them, and the sensation confused them. They supposed that it might be sympathy, but having never felt something of the like before, were entirely unsure.

How beautiful are broken things, they murmured in their strange mouthless tongue as the portal caved in on itself in a burst of iridescent light, taking the being with it. When the light faded away, nothing remained of the being, nor the portal. Both had vanished without a trace. How wonderfully and fleetingly beautiful indeed.