It was made certain that Loki would not starve, nor die of thirst during his punishment. Enchantments were cast on him to constantly sustain his hunger and thirst. There were no books, and from his cell, there would be no visitors. His cell was located at the very end of the dungeon, so he could not even look upon other prisoners. He was made lower than them. As far as Odin was concerned Loki could rot in the belly of the realm for eternity.

Weeks past, how many exactly, Loki did not know. Long enough for Loki to forget what sunlight felt on his skin.

By definition, darkness is the utter absence of light. It is said that light is the sole revealer of truth, reality. However, it was in the darkness of his confinement where Loki found truth. Loki was well acquainted with darkness, with shadows that lurked in the far recesses of his mind, with the demons that lie waiting for weakened will.

The darkness, is a cancer, so Loki concluded. Some years ago, it had crawled its way inside him, seeping like tar through the cracks, cold and viscous. In the deepest parts of his soul, it found its home, stretching and sticking to every piece of him it could. It grew, becoming more wrathful and malevolent. It hungered for every bit of light it could swallow, gorging itself on the golden flecks of what was once the prince of Asgard. It grew, flourished with the rage he felt, the betrayal, the sorrow.

It grew intelligent, coiling itself on any weakness it could claw into. It blossomed poison, its sweet bite addictive to Loki and he allowed it into himself. He didn't give up, so much as give in to the demons inside him, taunting his every absent thought. Loki opened the door, and they graciously walked in. So began their reign.

"Oh Loki, darling. I'm sorry but this was unfortunately the only way." Amora, the Valkyrie, stoops beside Loki as he sits propped against his cell wall. In the darkness of his cell he can only make out her bright cat-like eyes, green like the fields of Vanaheim in late summer. "We could have brought the realms to their knees..." she coos, straddling his lap. Loki stares into the entity around him, seeing nothing but feeling her lithe body rest over his. Her spiced scent is cool to his senses and almost soothing. Amora runs her palm over his cheek, yet he remains still as a statue. When once he could have wrapped his fingers around her throat until the life was choked from her, he can't even bring himself to acknowledge her presence. "Ignoring me will change nothing, I will still continue with my plan, and if you refuse to help me," Amora brings her lips to cusp of Loki's jaw, laying a small peck there before whispering, "I'll see that she suffers in ways her mortal mind cannot even conceive."

A small, muffled, chuckle rises from his throat.

"You laugh dear but I am completely serious." He feels Amora's body leave his and footsteps echo at the far side of his cell. "You may think you have hidden her, but sooner or later I will find her. You forget," Amora's voice wavers, "That I always get what I want one way or another."

Loki grinds his teeth as a small light flickers at the edge of his cell, Amora disappearing from him.

He asks the darkness, Why her? Why did he have to fall for her? Now, it'd be his affection that would kill her.

The silence crushes him, the abyss giving no answer. It rarely does.