Sigyn and Loki wait in the damp twilit cave, listening to the eerie echoes of each poison drip and the sound of their own breathing. Sigyn holds a wooden bowl over Loki’s face. Slowly, it fills with the venom of a snake coiled on the rock ceiling. When the bowl is brimming, Sigyn carries it away to empty into a rock basin—a fermenting pool of poison. Loki is left unguarded; he screws up his eyes. The snake does not wait. Its venom splashes on to Loki’s face and in torment he shudders and writhes. He cannot escape, and the whole earth quakes in his struggles.
Loki lies bound. That is how things are and how things will remain until the destined apocalypse: Ragnarök.
‘One word frees us of all the weight and pain of life: that word is love.’
—Sophocles
Never were sweeter words of love spoken by a silver tongue than when he realized that she deserved to leave him—and that he didn’t love her enough to let her go. And so he told her romantic