[ For a long time, there's nothing but silence. Loki does not move or act. She's right, of course. Loki wholly agrees with it. Hiding was the only way to get by with this horrendous skin. She is right and Loki agrees and he wants to flay himself alive with the mere thought of it, how low Asgard has brought him, how much damage that they will never take responsibility for. His throat is rubbed raw from the scream that builds.

( I hate this, I hate you, I hate that you made me this way and you don't understand what it's like, you don't understand why it won't stop, why I can't come home, how could you make me live in a world full of my enemies? ) ]

They will not.

[ His gaze is sharp and unreadable. Not welcoming but not . . . judgmental. Not cowed. Loki is his own person now, scabs and all. He'd tear the throat out of anyone who decided otherwise. ]

There is always more that they will never see. These are your claws. Hide them if you must, but remember to use them when they turn their backs on you. Make their weakness your strength.