He doesn't fight it this time. He doesn't cower or cringe. He simply allows the tingling sensation to overtake his body.
Loki, the trickster, the silver-tongue, the God of mischief...the son of Laufey.
He picks up the small basin of water placed by his side. Gazing into the reflection, he sees only blue. Blue with a hint of red. He sees a monster.
A phantom chill immediately sweeps down Loki's spine. He feels cold and desolate.
The light provided by a single candle in the corner of his cell soon extinguishes and he's left in darkness.
Some distant part of him recalls this feeling. Alone, cold, deserted from love itself.
He draws in a harsh, ragged breath and gradually rises to his feet. He approaches the candle and with slender, blue hands, he musters up enough magic to re-ignite the flame. He lets his hands hover above it for some time. It's warmth and light somewhat comforting him.
He turns his gaze from the flame to glimpse out the small barred window. The night's stars seem to dance in their place as they twinkle and shine. Loki entertains the idea of one of them being Asgard, but soon dismisses the thought.
His thoughts on the matter are clear. He accepts the fact that he will never return to the Realm Eternal. He doesn't want to. There hadn't been anything there for him regardless.
This is his home now, even if he had never really belonged to one in the beginning.
Though Thor would completely oppose the idea, Loki is right. He doesn't belong in Asgard, in Jotunheim, anywhere. He forgets what it feels like to be loved and cherished. That was so long ago. To Loki, the memories seem like vague, distant dreams. And if Thor were here, he'd likely only make the matters worse. Thor had no idea as to what Loki felt or needed. Though they spent their life together, Loki's mind had always been but a mystery to Thor.
Loki also accepts the fact that he will eventually have to adapt to these living standards and surroundings. The cold meals, confined spaces and endless nights. But he won't have to adapt to the bitterness and distance of the people here. No, he's used to that.
What Loki can not accept is the fact that, essentially his entire magical core will be stripped from him. Only to remain will be enough to keep him merely alive for the remainder of his sentencing.
The thought scares him to the point of becoming nauseous.
He can't stay here. He has to leave... He has to escape.
If only he hadn't wasted his magic in an attempt to earlier, because this would have been a much better time to. Especially without any guards preparing to strike him in the head with their staffs.
Loki lifts a shaky hand to feel the generously sized lump forming on the back of his scalp.
Without realizing it, as Loki places his hand back to hover over the candle, his palms fade from cobalt blue to Aesir pink.
Loki soon becomes weary and gradually curls into himself, his head resting next to the warm flame and back against the frigid stone wall.
Though thoroughly exhausted, he's afraid to fall asleep. He's afraid of what he might see. Be it a horrific nightmare, an ancient childhood memory or the image of Thor, powerful and golden seated next to the All-Father looking over Asgard.
That is what he's afraid of seeing most, because where might Loki be amidst the pride and power? Forgotten among the shadows, loathed upon for his every move, hatred bursting from the seams which struggle to hold his heart intact.
That said, no. He is not about to fall asleep anytime soon.
But seconds turn into minuets and minuets turn into hours and after lying curled up next to the light of a now diminishing candle on the stone floor, it's difficult to stay awake.
Alas, once Loki drifts off, it's early in the morrow and distant rays from a foreign sun are beginning to make their way through the corridors of the forlorn prison.
Even if the guards were to arrive with their clubs in hand and a surprisingly appetizing meal for breakfast, Loki will only so much as stir for the remainder of the morning.
AN: Apologies for my brevity!