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My reasoning with this chapter was that I could make up for how shitty it is by making it long, so here you go. 

"787," I murmur, stepping back to survey my handiwork. 787 dark brown lines on the wall, each one marking a day I've been in here. I rub at the cut on my arm, dabbing the blood away and ignoring the pain. Every day, same routine. My meal comes first, waking me up. After that I pick away the scab on my arm and draw a line on the wall, counting each tally mark. Then I run on the spot, then I do push-ups and sit-ups. I may be stuck in a cell, but I want my body to be in good condition when I get out.

I don't exactly know what's driving me crazy the most. Maybe it's the smell of my own filth, the counting, the food which only comes once a day or the fact that I haven't seen the sun in over two years. It doesn't matter, because today is different.

I notice it first when I hear heavy footsteps down the corridor, and I go over the golden membrane to try to see who it is. The person comes into view, and I shrink back against the wall. It's not a person, it's one of the cursed elves that Loki and I used to read about in the library, a monstrous creature of darkness. It pays me no attention, but it's heading for Loki's cell.

I listen carefully. The footsteps stop, and a cool voice says something I can't quite hear. The footsteps start again, receding.


The next day is different too. I could feel the shaking of the palace last night, and the guards haven't done their rounds. I think the cursed elf killed them all.

"Let me see her! Let me see her!"

"There's no time, brother!"

I recognise the voices; Thor and Loki. I get up from the corner and run to the force field at the front of my cell, almost pressing my hand against it.

"Loki?" I shout, my voice husky from not being used in so long. "Is that you?"

"(Y/N)! Thor we can take her with us!"

"We're not bringing-! I have enough to worry about with you, I don't need another backstabbing traitor to watch!"

"I can hear you," I call, completely unfazed by Thor's insults.

"She can be useful!" Loki argues, "She's smart and a good fighter and knows how to..."

"No. I am only asking you because there is literally nobody else, we are not bringing her."

"Fine," I yell, "I'm pretty happy just rotting in this cell by myself anyway!"


"(Y/N)," Thor stands before me, and I approach the golden membrane separating us.

"That would be me," I say wearily, "what do you want?"

"Loki is dead."

"Liar," I spit. It must be a lie. It has to be a lie.

"I'm not lying," he says quietly, and I feel my stomach sink.

"No," I shake my head, "he's alive. He has to be alive. Why are you saying that he's dead?"

"He's dead," Thor's voice cracks, "I watched him die. I was right there." The emotions on his face are so real, so genuine, that I almost believe him. But this is Loki. He can't be dead, he's as un-killable as a cockroach.

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