Loki collapsed in an armchair by his unlit fire, allowing the illusion over him to drop. He had stayed at the party long after Thor had left, enjoying his time to catch up with Sigyn. But, as always, Loki was not one for celebrations or noisy places, and so he had made his excuses and left. Sigyn had smiled understandingly- as she always did- and bade him a goodnight. Loki swore to himself that he would at least make the effort to visit her sometime soon.

He rubbed his chest, where there was now a long, jagged scar. It had become something of a habit- one that he loathed because it brought back all the painful memories he tried so very hard to suppress.

(Thor's arms, warm and comforting, wrapped around him, holding him close. He was dying- dying- dying- and cold, so very cold. The warm arms left him. Why was he not dead yet? Why did his heart still beat when a sword had been stabbed through it? Why was he not dead? Why was he not dead? Why, why, why was he not dead?)

Loki stood abruptly and stalked up to his room, slamming the door behind him. With a wave of his hand, he was in his night clothes; plain, soft black pants. He stopped- for the second time that day- in front of his full length mirror. Without blinking, he allowed his glamour to drop, revealing who he was under the strong, cold facade. Of course, that blasted spell that concealed his Jotun form was still upon him, but now he could see quite clearly each and every familiar, pale scar that marred his alabaster skin.

Scars on his back from countless lashes of a cursed whip- ("Who will save you now, Jotun scum? Will you not cry for your brother? Will you not let me hear your pretty screams?" Thanos laughed. But Loki did not- could not- scream. He had long since lost his voice.)- and from snake venom- (Loki screamed, day after day, for his father, for Thor, for his mother, to save him, to take him away from the horrid place, from the pain- pain- pain that never ended as it dropped onto his skin like fire- burning- searing- incinerating.)- and from many more beatings.

Scars on his arms from his time as a prisoner of the Chitauri- (Thanos had stripped him of his Aesir form, leaving him the blue-skinned and red-eyed monster he despised with every fibre of his being. A knife. Whether or not it had been left in his cell on purpose, he did not know- did not care- but he took it and tried- succeeded- in removing the blue. Replacing the cold, hard blue with warm, flowing red.)- when he had wished for nothing more than to die and return to the Void.

Scars on his face from the Dwarves- (Why were the healers screaming at him? He was the one who should- was- screaming. He was the one with stitches through his lips. All he had wanted was for them to stay away from him with that blade- he shuddered at the sight of it- and so he had screamed at them to do so. But now they were screaming, and he was numb. Then, with his tongue, he felt the ribbons of flesh that once were his lips, tasted the blood and felt it run hot and thick down his throat, and he fell unconscious.)- when Thor had threatened him- (He always did that. Always threatened me. Why me? Why can I do nothing right? I cannot even die right.)- and forced him to find someone to replace Sif's hair.

Scars on his chest from the venom as it dribbled across his skin, from countless battles over the centuries, from the cruel hands of numerous torturers, from Kurse- (I couldn't let Thor die. If I ever did anythign right, it was making sure that Thor lived. Thor couldn't die. Asgard, Midgard, the Nine Realms needs him. I can't ever let him die. Thor must live. Thor cannot die. Thor must always live if there is a chance of saving him).

(As long as I am alive, there will always be a chance of saving him.)

A week later, Loki sat in his armchair. He had spent the last hour trying to read one of his many books, but could hardly concentrate on the words in front of him. His mind was more focused on the fact that Thor and the Warriors were getting closer and closer to his abode by the day. So when there came a knock on the door, Loki wished- and not for the first time- that he could disappear into nothingness.

Once more putting on the guise of Anguem, Loki stood and made his way to the door. His hand hesitated on the handle. Only when there was another knock did he steel himself and open the door. And he could have kissed Sigyn as he saw her standing on his doorstep- alone.

Loki frowned as he took in her attire. She wore a dark green cloak over a tunic and breeches, with brown riding boots on her feet and a dagger in a sheath at her waist. She looked as though she was going hunting, but Elves did not eat meat, nor did they kill for sport.

"Sigyn...?"

"Hmm?" She hummed, then seemed to notice Loki's expression at her clothing. "Oh, I volunteered to join Thor's search party. It's been a while since I spoke to Sif."

Immediately, Loki's eyes darted around the clearing, searching for any sign of his brother.

"Calm yourself, Loki, there are none here but me," Sigyn said.

"And why exactly are you here?"

His ex-wife sighed. "Can I not see an old friend when I like?"

Loki half smiled and stepped aside for Sigyn to come inside. Once he had closed the door, he let his disguise drop. He conjured another armchair for Sigyn, sitting in his own, and lit the fire. As Sigyn sat, she unclipped her cloak. As soon as it left her person, the material disappeared in a wisp of silver magic.

"How far away is Thor?" Loki asked.

"He will not reach this place for another two days... Loki, have you thought about seeing him? Without disguises, I mean."

Loki stiffened and stared into the fire. "And why would I want to do that?"

"Oh, don't give me that!" Sigyn snapped, her fiery temper Loki remembered so well flaring up. "You know that deep down inside, you still love him as you once did! Put aside your bitterness, Loki, and you will feel better for it."

Loki stood from his chair abruptly and towered over the elf. "What do you htink I have been trying to do these past months? Do you honestly think I abandoned everything I strived for simply because I grew bored of it? I cannot let go, Sigyn, no matter how much I try."

She remained seated, staring calmly up at the God of Mischief. "Oh, Loki, do you even believe your own lies anymore?" She said softly.

The words struck too close to home for his liking. Wiping his face clean of emotion, he turned and made his way to his stairs. "See yourself out when you are ready to leave."

He went to his bedroom and sat on his bed, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees.

(Lie, lie, lie- it's all I'm good for. No one wants a liar, no one can love a liar.)

(Mother... Why did you have to go?)