Author's Note: Deleted scene from my one-shot "Discolored" originally, it was from both Hela and Loki's POV, and this was a small fraction of what was Loki's POV.

Characters: Loki

Warnings: None

Written: 2018 some time. :)

Note: Not checked for spelling or grammar!


There was only stillness. The endless, infrangible stillness. Always present, unrelenting, it wouldn't let him go. There was no darkness, but the light swallowed him all the same. There was nothing he could do to stop it-he tried, oh he tried, but nothing would stop it from coming back, from it's needy fingers clawing around his throat and dragging him under again.

Nothing stopped it, the stillness from swallowing him. He wanted out but was trapped, (sinking, helpless, GET ME OUT!) only broken by his ragged gasps and attempts for breath that are long since stale in his chest.

At one point, he remembers trying to break it. Doing anything to break the fragile stillness before it swallowed him, again, again and again. His voice gave out eventually, his rage broke, the hopeless swallowed him and he collapsed, among the broken glass and furniture. (Sleep is easier, sleep does not hurt so much. It does not ache.) Now he does not fight it. He hasn't for a long time.

His eyes are raw and ache at every available moment from the light, the never ending light but the pulse no longer feels as strong, not as painful.

What, what, what, what-?

Where did the pulse go?

Has his vision finally started to go out? He does not hope for that, but life has a cruel sense of irony and he would not be surprised.

He attempts to pull his eyelids apart to see to understand why, but they refuse to seperate. Panic grasps at him, wrapping around his throat and squeezing, he cannot lose his sight.

Perhaps this is a new punishment.

No, he won't let it be, it can't be.

He lifts his arm, the limb is exhausted and drags it towards his face. He grabs the eyelid and rips it open, the other follows, as if embarrassed not to and he winces at the light, but it is not as intense. It does not burn.

The color is wrong.

There is only white, and red, and wood. This is...not that. Blue, a voice supplies in his head. Yes, blue, why is it blue? Does it matter? He's not there. His lips pressed together and he drops his hand across his chest and squeezes his eyes shut. He is not there. Safe. Fine. Alive. He can feel exhaustion grabbing at him again.

No!

He doesn't want to sleep!

He wants to understand why-

Exhaustion is biting.

His breath heaves and uncoinsouls claims at him once more.