I wrote this when I was really depressed, and I just now found it and cast it into loki's pov. Enjoy the creepiness.
Loki wandered through Helheim. A feast, a dead feast filled with corpses, rotting away, strings of putrid flesh hanging off gaunt skeletons, covered with an illusion of skin. They disgusted him. Him, (Loki no one's son) the ghost walking from hall to hall, revolted by by them, searching for ghosts like himself, who see things truly. But the screams disorient him, and all he could see were these false fake (god of lies) beings. No matter how far he walked, no matter how hard he tried, there is no way out, and he was alone and trapped in this sadistic hall. The corpses could walk, too. Chattering to each other, but listening only to themselves. Striving, yearning to be the most followed after, but they all fade, they all die (again) and no one remembers. (Ragnarak) He was stuck here, not among the dead, but not separate either. He was a ghost, disgusted by his own fouls stench. (Hela Lokisdotter) Cracked lips move, speaking truth for the first time in an age.
"We're all dead here."