On the days that Sif could handle the reality around her, she seemed fine. She seemed like her normal self, her fiercely loyal, protective self, and she liked to keep it that way.
But on the days that Sif couldn't look at her own reflection without feeling the bitter pang of memory, she struggled to keep the mask on. Thor was and would always be her closest friend, but the love she'd always wanted from him would never show itself, especially since he was going to devote his time and heart and life to the mortal woman, away from his friends and his old life and all who needed him more than he'd ever know.
And it was his old life, and it hurt Sif all over again to realize that they were all a part of his past, a fading memory, a moment in the life he was leaving behind. Everything was so different, so prone to change and in such a very drastic way. So much had happened, and Sif was only barely grasping at the truth, trying to come to terms with it all.
Frigga was dead, and the thought always sent a line of shock through Sif's body, always made her question the world around her. Kind, sweet, brave Frigga, struck down and murdered in her own home.
Hogun had left, moved back home to Vanaheim in the hopes of returning to a life of mild normalcy. The Warriors Three were no more because of it, and Sif found herself overcome with nostalgia, yearning for how it used to be, when all six of them had been young and naïve and blessedly unburdened, when all six of them had been less wise and less scathed and less damaged.
All six.
Sif, The Warriors Three, Thor, and Loki-all together, as it should be. The thought of them all sent her heart pounding, made her eyes water, made her cheeks burn with fresh grief.
Loki, too, was gone, she'd discovered earlier in the day, dead and left somewhere in Svartalfheim, and she could hardly bear the thought. He'd sacrificed himself, his safety and his life, for Thor, had saved him, and been run through for it. She could only imagine how much it had hurt, and she could only hope that his death had been quick, held tightly in Thor's arms.
To think like that, though, perhaps hurt even more than thinking about Loki himself, and how he'd been and how far he'd fallen. The hatred she'd harbored for Loki melted away when there was no longer a reason to hold onto it, and she felt emptier for the absence.
The memory surfaced, then, the one she'd for so long tried to suppress and avoid, the one she swore she'd never think about again.
It was the memory of affection, tender if not even slightly romantic, and those rare smiles in the moment she could recall, smiles that now looked more like the grimaces of a worn, weary ghost than the sly grins of a snarky, amused prince.
The memory overwhelmed her, made her ache for the past in a way she hadn't ached in a long time, a way she hadn't ached since she'd realized Thor would never love her, a way her mind could barely even remember. Her heart knew, though, and Sif, sitting alone in her chambers with the dying firelight flickering across her face and casting shadows on her walls, shook her head.
It was a true loss for the teenaged boy laughing at one of her jests to just begone, to vanish from existence and be wiped from the pages of their story.
It just wasn't fair, none of it was, and she felt a cold, fat tear stroll down her cheek.
She didn't feel in the mood to wipe it away and feared that she never would again.
Based off a prompt given over on Tumblr.
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