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She's floating in a dark space, empty save for occasional flashes of light and electrical impulses.
It's not the Void, Nienna knows, though this purgatory of a prison is not too far off.
She has always pitied Melkor, and now she knows how he must have felt. Her compassion for him almost makes her understand why he did this to her and the rest of her kin, but the compassion she feels for the others is stronger.
Their fates are worse than hers. For her alone, Melkor had a shred of mercy.
Nienna stops moving. She looks like a dove frozen mid-flight, and her ëala, though tied to her form by invisible bonds, takes wing, searching for her brothers.
Their presence, too familiar to ever be forgotten, cannot be concealed by the strange, twisted fánar they were imprisoned in. Námo is silent, ever patient, ever enduring what may come, while Irmo is weeping, mourning the loss of his beautiful butterfly wings and the freedom of wandering where he pleases.
"It is alright," she tells him, "we still have one another, and you will always be precious to us, no matter which form you take."
Námo's ëala reaches out to brush against the two of them in tacit support and agreement. When there is no solace to be found in his wisdom, he relies on his sister's ability to provide comfort.
His sorrow soothed for the time being, Irmo responds in kind.
Despite everything that has happened since Dagor Dagorath, the three of them are still the same siblings they all have known since the beginning of time, and no power in this world or beyond can ever change that.
Nienna embraces her brothers and holds them close, pouring her love and strength into them, endlessly generous as she's always been.