Possibly the worst part about captivity in his Asgardian cell was the lack of stimulation. He was accustomed to exercising his mind with books, puzzles, and conversations. How he missed the word games with the people of the court. The dull buzz of the crystals powering the protective barrier of his cell was his only commantary now. It was not that he was lonely, in truth he often felt crowded living in the palace and usually quite enjoyed time to himself. But that saying, too much of a good thing…
Lying on his back in the middle of the cell he fingered the necklace hanging limply around his neck. It was a heavy, old thing. But that weight was, at times, the only thing that kept him centered. The flat, hard surface of his cell's floor was starting to make his back stiff. As the ache settled in, he embraced it. It reminded him of his imprisonment with the Chitauri; darker times. He knew that slipping into those memories was dangerous territory; those memories, among others, were the ones that kept him up at night. However, it was the path that lead him to her. His sight unfocused, his muscles relaxed as he let himself fall into the memory of the first night she came to him.
Lying on the dirty floor of his cell, curled in a ball was the fallen prince of Asgard. The fall from the Bifrost had deposited him in some godforsaken dark reach of Yggdrasil. He could swear in the swirl of color and magic of the destruction of the Bifrost, that he caught a glimpse of her. Felling with him with her arms outstretched as if to catch him. The Chitauri found him half blind and half mad because of the Void. In their fortress, he was greeted with pain beyond his nightmares. The Chitauri were, in fact, masters of torture. They had their fun with him and left him to die, but death never came. He would fell asleep, only to awake still half alive. After a particularly terrible session with the Chitauri, he was left holding his own intestines in. Complelety gutted, he was strung up with his own organs and beaten like a game. How he was still alive or conscious was a mystery. They had haphazardly jammed everything back in his stomach and dropped him on the dirty and blood covered floor. He wondered if he could get an infection from the floor considering how soiled the floor was with who know what. As his vision blurred, he hoped that this was the end. He had to have lost more then half his blood by now.
As his eyes rolled back in his daze, they passed over a long forgotten corner of his prison. Leaning gracefully against the rusty metal, was one of the most stunning women he ever seen. She literally took his breath away. She was small. A good foot shorter then he and slim, almost fragile looking. Draped in all black, the dress she wore had patches of skin peeking through at her stomach and back. The black made her pale skin seem to glow in the dim light of the cell. Falling to just below her rib cage were crimson locks that danced with a nonexisted breeze. Reaching her face with his eyes, he was shocked to see how young she appeared to be, maybe late teens. Eternal youth graced aristocratic features. But her eyes screamed of eons of ages. An icy blue held his gaze. She seemed almost sad.
Her delicate lips parted. "I meet you before. That must be over a thousand years ago". She said, not in the high pitched voice he expected, but a deep velvet.
This was the first time that anyone had addressed him in a civilized manner in a long, long time. His silver tongue danced behind his lips. His voice came out rough from weeks of screaming. " You don't seem old enough to have lived a thousand years."
"I deceive the God of Lies. I would think that you out of all people would understand that senses and perceptions can be very misleading." One eyebrow arched. A small smile passes his lips only to be meet with a scowl of pain. His vision was starting to tunnel. Sensing his weakness she stepped forward. Her bare feet (how odd) careful not to slip in his blood. Cradling his face in her hands, she brought his eyes up to meet hers.
"I held you once also. You were small for a Jotun babe, but still I could tell that there was some strange power within you. I could feel it pulsing underneath your skin as you snuggled into my chest instead of crying for your mother. I set you down as armies fell outside the temple. Then Odin came and claimed you for his own. Really, I could not tell if I was disappointed that I lost you or happy that you lived. Because you were truly on the brink of death, as you are now. Even the Chitauri witch that they have keeping you alive cannot keep you from me much longer. I have seen many glimpses of you over the years, slipping through disaster to awake another day. I have seen you on the battlefield as I came for others. I am curious of you, God of Lies and Mischief, the Dark Prince of Asgard. You have never feared me as the others do. Why is that? Why?"
Through her entire speech she drew even closer. She was practically straddling him now, clutching at this chest with her tiny hands. Eyes blazing with anger, confusion, and sadness. She reminded him of himself at the Bifrost fighting Thor. (Is this madness? Is it? IS IT? )
" Everyone cries because of me, they mourn because of me and hate me. They think that I am ugly, diseased, and decaying. I am a monster. Why do you not fear me?" she howled.
" I live in lies. Everything I know is a lie. But Death that is the truth. Death is a promise that will never to broken and there is something beautiful about that." He whispered with his last bit of strength. He watched her eyes grow wide with surprise, her mouth drop open, her hands slacken. And within the depths of her eyes, he saw a glimpse of warmth and kindness. Then all he knew was black.
In his Asgradian dungeon, he fingered the necklace again. Thanos, he knows will come because he stole from him. Loki, the thief. He stole something much more powerful and important then the Tesseract or the Mind Gem. I stole Lady Death's heart. He smiled at the necklace.