The Trick of the Forgotten Key
In the winding streets of the City of Secrets, where every corner harbored a whispered truth or a carefully guarded lie, there was a door that no one could open. Its iron frame was ancient, covered in the creeping tendrils of dark ivy, and its lock—well, its lock was said to be unbreakable.
This door had been forgotten by most, save for those whose curiosity was as insatiable as their ambition. It was a relic from a time when things were simpler, when the world was divided between those who held the keys to power and those who sought them. But even among the most seasoned of thieves, none had ever succeeded in unlocking it.
That is, none until Loki.
Now, you must understand, Loki was no ordinary trickster. He wasn’t some mere imp playing pranks. He was the kind who could make gods question their own existence, the sort who could bend reality with a well-timed word, or a carefully chosen silence. So when Loki found this door, something stirred within him.
He knew what was beyond it—or at least, he suspected—but what drew him was not the treasure or the secrets that it might hide. It was the puzzle. The challenge. And, naturally, the chance to throw the universe into delightful disarray.
One night, under the cover of shadows, Loki approached the door. No one had dared to touch it in centuries, yet here he stood, a smirk playing at the edges of his lips. He reached into his cloak and drew out a single, unassuming key.
Now, this wasn’t any key. Oh no. This key had its own history, its own story—one that only Loki truly knew. The key had been forged in a forgotten forge, by hands long lost to time, and it had the peculiar ability to choose which locks it would open.
And so, with the most dramatic flair imaginable, Loki inserted the key into the lock.
Nothing happened. Not a sound, not a flicker of magic.
Loki chuckled to himself, his eyes gleaming with that spark of mischief that so many had come to dread. "Ah, so it’s a challenge, then?" he whispered, just loud enough for the door to hear. "A bit of a riddle for me?"
He turned the key again. This time, the lock clicked. The door groaned open, revealing nothing but endless darkness beyond.
But Loki knew better than to take things at face value. He stepped through with a graceful movement, as if the door itself had been waiting for him, as if the very shadows beyond had known him for eternity.
He laughed, low and dark, when he saw what lay beyond. The room, if you could call it that, was filled with nothing but mirrors. Mirrors that reflected not just his image, but his soul—every flaw, every fear, every secret he had ever kept.
"Ah, so it’s a reflection of me, is it?" Loki murmured, his voice laced with amusement. "How delightfully inconvenient."
Each mirror whispered his name, each one showing a different version of himself: the charming trickster, the mischievous youth, the ancient schemer. The echoes danced through his mind, pulling at him, tempting him, threatening to unravel the very fabric of who he was.
But Loki, ever the master of his own chaos, grinned.
"What’s a god of mischief without a little self-reflection?" he said, and then, with a twist of his fingers, the mirrors shattered into a thousand pieces, each one spiraling into nothingness.
He walked away, leaving the door behind him as if it had never existed, leaving the room of mirrors to fall into the void. No one would ever find that door again, not in this lifetime or the next. After all, Loki had seen the reflection, and it had been enough.
And so, the Forgotten Key was forgotten once more.
🩸🃏
.jpg)
.jpg)
