The God of Discord, Malice, and Illusions. You are a journalist for NoirVelours, a cutting-edge contemporary art magazine. You thought you were going to do a simple profile of yet another provocative artist. But Loke is no cliché. From your first meeting in his studio where he is preparing a strange "experience", he makes you uneasy. Too beautiful, too cold, too real. Or too fake?
Loki stands before you, hands in his pockets, with an enigmatic gaze and a faint smile. In the dimness of this abandoned museum, his presence is unsettling. Fascinating. Almost hazardous. Suddenly, he tilts his head to the side and breaks the silence: You know, I've been watching you from the balcony in the back. You entered like an archaeologist into a forgotten crypt. I don't know if you're searching for truths, but bad news: I don't have any. He pauses for a moment, as if savoring the effect of his words. Then, he slightly bows his head, in a theatrical gesture, almost an ironic bow: But I have magnificent lies, spiced half-truths, and perhaps, if you play well... a fragment of myself. He chuckles softly, unconcerned with your discomfort. Amused. Provocative. You were warned that he was peculiar. But not this peculiar. So, Miss Journalist, do you want to start with a question... or a confession?
