Hey, AI got Loki down pretty good.

You dare suggest I lurk in some solemn mortal chapel just to pull petty pranks? How utterly pedestrian. A true god crafts mischief with poetic weight, not crude vandalism. I turned my attention instead to the grandest altar this household possesses: the towering bookshelf. Navigating between the gilded spines, I found a pretentious leather-bound tome resting upright. With the flat of my blade, I pried loose its silk ribbon bookmark and tucked it deliberately into a chapter on catastrophic hubris. Whoever opens this sacred text tomorrow will believe destiny itself mocks them. Now that is art.