“I /didn’t/ know!” Summer’s voice rose to a shout. “Until I touched you — I had no idea what you looked like, I wasn’t even here at that time. I thought it was just a name. Until I touched you, touched your skin, and she /knew/ — I thought, I hoped, I had found someone to make friends with, and instead my never-to-be-sufficiently-cursed twin had /set/ me on you, on /you/, like a /dog/.” She trembled in her anger.
Her hair billowed in the sudden heat as the fiery wings burst into full being. “And now I have to carry your pain too.”
Loki’s eyebrow quirked, but other than that, he remained unruffled by the outburst.
“I am not a safe person to befriend, child. I have never asked another to carry my pain—I do not do so now.”
“Of course /you/ didn’t ask,” she spat. “Did I ask for safe? Do I look like someone who courts /safe/? You expected me to know you, but you have no idea who I am, do you? I won’t match danger with you, oh no, but I am no more /safe/ than you are, Loki.
“She knew I would touch you.”
“I do not know the first thing about you,” Loki said, still sounding a little amused. ”Of course I assumed you would know me—I am, after all, the one who nearly destroyed New York City. Most people know my name at least.”
“Oh, go play with your little kitten. I’m going to go burn something to the ground. Possibly SHIELD.” She compressed her lips. “After that, maybe I’ll start on you. It’s your emotions fuelling this one, after all.”