Nothing.
That's what Loki feels.
Absolutely nothing.
If she had been asked a year ago, before the war, she would have replied with murderous rage. The kind that turns men into unfeeling monsters, tearing down everything in the way of vengeance. Of closure.
But now, she feels nothing.
Fears nothing.
Loves nothing.
The love she had once had for her mother had dwindled into mere toleration and perhaps, admiration.
She had not been able to save them.
She could not save anyone.
Who is she fooling?
What good was being the most powerful magic-wielder in the whole of Asgard when she couldn't use it to save the people she had loved most? What good was it to be a Princess of both Asgard and Alfheim and be unable to use that power to prevent the people she could kill for from being snatched from her?
She had known. She hadn't seen visions—it was not in her blood—but goodness, she had known. She knew something was wrong as she'd worn her armor, as she'd hugged and kissed Sigyn and their sons and told them she'd see them later at the feast they'd have after to celebrate their victory. She'd had a nagging feeling at the back of her mind that something was going to go seriously wrong.
She had known.
Now, she really knew.
She remembers the pain she'd felt as Sigyn was gutted on the battlefield like a fish. The emptiness as the bond connecting them had been harshly broken in the worst way possible. Her screams as she'd collapsed and released the green energy that disintegrated everything within 50 feet of her. She had wanted to die with him. She had wanted to die with her boys.
Her boys.
Her beautiful boys.
She remembers cradling Nari's head in her lap, stroking his dark hair, praying to anyone listening that he and his brother be brought back to her. She had been told that Váli had shared the same fate albeit with a slit throat rather than several pierced organs.
What had she done to deserve this?
The War of the Light and Dark Elves had been won by the Ljósálfar, the healers had whispered amongst themselves. The war could as well have been lost for all the good it did her.
She hadn't even been allowed to grieve.
Fresh from the battlefield, she was taken by Malekith, the ruler of the Dark Elves to a large deserted asteroid in a far-away galaxy. To Thanos.
Thanos.
A year of torture at his hands on that rock had been enough to scar her for life. Shatter her beyond repair. She'd been given little, if any food and marked and beaten in different parts of her body because Thanos had wanted information about Asgard and the other realms. He'd begun his search for members of his Black Order group to assist him in searching the realms for the Infinity Stones in order to destroy the World Tree and please his lady—Death.
It made sense, him coming for her. After all, who else would it be better to gain information about Asgard than the one person who knew every nook and cranny of it? It was her fault, she thought, for letting it slip to that blasted elf (how had she not known something was wrong with him? Marriage had made her lose her touch) that she spent a thousand years of her life traveling the nine realms. Spent countless other years as a child racing through the palace and streets of Asgard with her brother and occasionally, his friends. It had been out of curiosity, fun and a desire for mischief-making.
However, Thanos had heard of how astute and clever she was. Of how she had a knack for gaining information wherever she went, whether she wanted to or not. Information always found her and sometimes, it was without her actively searching for it. This had once been a source of pride and joy for her. She always knew something about every situation or at least knew someone who had important knowledge on the matter involved.
She had always been at the right place at the right time to overhear the right information. Seemed ahead of the game, she had. She didn't know it would be her downfall.
Days and nights were spent screaming until she lost her voice for Thor, for Odin, for Frigga, for Sigyn—dead as he was—for anyone to come save her, to free her from this torture.
Once, she'd heard a voice, which had sounded like Thor's, call her name and almost wept with joy. She was going home! She was going home! She was free! She won't be beaten almost to death only to be healed and beaten up again! She was free!
She wasn't.
The voice had only been a trick by Thanos to mock her, showing her a glimpse of his black humor. The cruelest and most effective way of breaking a captive was to make them think they had a chance to escape then forcefully show them there was none. She'd learnt that from Thanos. It was one of the lessons she would NEVER forget.
It was a miracle that she escaped. It was. The floating rock she was on for a year had somehow been shrouded from the Gatekeeper's watchful eyes. She had broken free of it using her powers. She could have long ago—it was the first thing she tried once she awoke from her forced post-battle slumber—but Thanos had put an inhibitor, in the form of a pair of large heavy handcuffs, to prevent her from using her magic. Any attempt to use her powers would have resulted in her hands—from the wrists up—being chopped off.
The silver lining in that particular method of punishment was the fact that he hadn't known she always grew accustomed to inhibitors overtime—no matter how big said inhibitor was. This one had taken a bit over a year but she did it! She did it!
When that was done and her magic free to run its course again, she swiftly killed all those present with her on that rock (the titan hadn't been there at that time or she would have hung his severed head as a trophy on the walls of her chambers, she was sure). After exerting the little strength she'd had on carrying out the gruesome deaths long overdue, she gathered what was left of her fragmented seidr and teleported herself to Nilfheim.
Heimdall saw her as she appeared seemingly out of nowhere, and informed the king who requested for the Æsir search party to bring her back to Asgard. She was unconscious when they found her, covered in scars and bruises; more scabs and wounds than they'd ever seen and would only ever see in the coming Great War. There was no glamour to hide them from their stares for it had not once crossed her mind before she fell on that realm unconscious.
Let them see her as she was.
Her mother stayed by her side for the two weeks she was unconscious, barely eating, worrying, pondering on who or what had done this to her precious daughter. Odin had tried searching for anything that would provide a clue as to what had happened; what had made his daughter, who he had last heard was fighting a war beside her husband and sons, disappear for over a year and return back to him almost dead.
But he found nothing. They found nothing. And they would not. Not until she told them.
She never would.
A healer walks up to her immediately she wakes—her mother was asleep in the cot provided next to her bed—and asks, "How do you feel? What do you feel?"
Nothing.
Loki feels nothing.