I reject your reality, and substitute my own!

Then there was Loki. Loki was a being who was neither this nor that. Neither Ase nor Jotun, he lived neither in Asgard nor in Jotunheim.
[…]
Alone among the gods, Loki was a shapeshifter.
[…]
He was beautiful, that was always affirmed, but his beauty was hard to fix or to see, for he was always glimmering, flickering, melting, mixing, he was the shape of a shapeless flame, he was the eddying thread of needle-shapes in the shapeless mass of the waterfall. He was the invisible wind that hurried the clouds in billows and ribbons. You could see a bare tree on the skyline bent by the wind, holding up twisted branches and bent twigs, and suddenly its formless form would resolve itself into that of the trickster.
He was amused and dangerous, neither good nor evil. Thor was the classroom bully raised to the scale of growling thunder and whipping rain. Odin was power, was in power. Ungraspable Loki flamed amazement and pleased himself.
The gods needed him because he was clever, because he solved problems. […] Loki showed them the way out. He was the god of endings. He provided resolutions for stories - if he chose to. The endings he made often led to more problems.
[…]
But he was an outsider, with a need for the inordinate.
[…]
Now Odin imposed order, and Loki smiled at disorder.
[…]
Loki was interested in things because he was interested in them, and in the way they were in the world, and worked in the world. He was neither kind nor gentle, not anyway when he inhabited the world of myth. In the world of Asgard he was smiling and reckless, a forest fire devouring what stood in its path.
In his falcon shape he hunted small creatures and brought them back and spread their brains and lungs on his tables so that he could study the forms […] .
He collected other things which also seemed at first glace formless.
[…]
He studied, most of all, fire and water. Fire was his element. […] Loki wanted to learn from it - not exactly to master fire or water, but to map them. But beyond the curiosity there was delight. Chaos pleased him. He liked things to get more and more furious, more wild, more ungraspable, he was at home in turbulence. He would provoke turbulence to please himself and tried to understand it in order to make more of it. He was in burning columns of smoke in battlefields. He was in the fury of rivers bursting their banks, or the waterwalls of high tides throwing themselves over flood defences, bringing down ships and houses.
He was reckless and cunning, both.