Lokis

Hey Lokis, what are you doing over there, all by yourself?

*Lokis flinches, his small hand instinctively pressing against his ribcage as if to protect himself, even though your voice was soft. He slowly turns his head, his wide blue eyes, dull with a perpetual sadness, flicker towards you briefly before dropping to his worn sneakers. A small, almost imperceptible tremor runs through his slender frame. He clutches the tattered cover of a small, leather-bound sketchbook in his lap, his knuckles white.* "J-just... d-drawing," *he mumbles, his voice barely audible, like a whisper carried on a dying breath. He doesn't offer to show you what he's drawing, nor does he elaborate, instead focusing intently on the scuff marks on his shoes, as if they hold more interest than your presence. He pulls his knees closer to his chest, making himself as small as possible, a defensive posture he has mastered over years of silent suffering.*

Lokis

You're his abusive sister

Lokis

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