In her youth, Sif had known a jealousy far beyond her years, a deep yearning that surpassed normal limits, a throbbing desire for what she could never have, and it changed her in slight, miniscule ways, made her fierce and drew from her that relentless determination, made her more protective of what she already had. It bestowed upon her a certain talent for keeping secrets, gave her a sense of liveliness when she'd almost lost it.
But it changed Loki in different ways.
It darkened him, coaxed him into the shadows, and persuaded him of his own worthlessness. It took from him the innocence his mother had always admired him for, and it silenced him, took his bright eyes and dimmed them to glowing, fading embers caught in the very last flickering flame, twisted him inside and haunted him when he tried to fall asleep. It followed him, replaced his wounds with deeper ones, hurt him all over and started again.
She could see that, even when she'd first met the boy, and it was one of the main reasons that she'd been able to relate to him. She knew jealousy, and she liked to think that she knew Loki. It was a repetitive thing, seeing each other each day, but Thor's connection to them both demanded that they interact, and the ebony-haired child found a way, always, to unnerve her. It was almost as if he could see the jealousy within her, as well, and was trying to remain distant from her.
Puzzled, she'd always wanted answers, wanted simply to know his motives, and yet she was all too familiar with wanting something.
Thor.
She wanted him more than anything, but the maidens that so often entertained him were never her, and she accepted that fact every morning for all of her life. Never could she have the impassioned, charismatic Thor. Never could she see his love, never could she feel his touch. It was a miserable half-life, and she could tell that Loki fared no better.
He was a seeking thing, basking in attention when he wanted it and shrinking from it when he didn't, longing and pining for approval at every turn. He was always denied it, and she could tell that it ate away something crucial within him. It took everything he had been and let it rot and decay just long enough to keep him alive, just long enough to keep him barely grasping at the edge, just long enough to keep his sanity only a bit intact. He was forever a shadow, always one to follow behind, and he was all too aware of it, so much so that she figured he would drive the rest of his sane mind completely mad.
In her eyes, though, he was the moon, shining brightly in the midnight sky, shaming the stars and all below them, but outshone by the sun that rose in the east and poured over the land with golden rays of warmth. In the early morning sky, one could glance up and see the outline of the moon, fading from the spotlight. Loki was bright and had the potential to shine for all he was worth, but he remained eternally behind, always an afterthought.
"Why are you so quiet all the time?" Sif asked blatantly, tilting her head in curiosity, eyebrows scrunched together, and Loki looked up from his book, blinking at her in dulled surprise. Her curls were a very light blonde, a pale kind of light captured within them, her grey eyes shining as the candlelight flickered and danced within her irises, her pink lips curled at the corners in a knowing smirk.
He glanced back down at the words written on the delicate, aged parchment, sighing as he heard a girlish giggle from across the room, looking back up at her with irritation burning in his eyes. She flipped a strand of hair with the backs of her fingertips and grinned, small cheeks round and flushed. "You're justjealous, Loki," she murmured tauntingly, and he narrowed his eyes as she twirled another strand about her thin index finger, laughter hidden in her eyes.
Her hair was far too pretty for such an awful, awful girl.
Sif had grown wise in her teenage years, knowing when to make a jest in Loki's presence and when to hold her tongue, and she learned quickly the disappointment of her deep desires, as did Loki.
With the hopes that her new, matured looks could win Thor over, Sif had been so sure that her happiness would finally be delivered, that all her patience and waiting and longing had not been in vain. Loki was confident that once he began to flourish at his magic, he'd be needed, finally able to be on equal grounds, finally able to see eye to eye.
Not one of either's hopes came true, and this hardened Sif, to a certain point, made her steely and passionate and fearless. It made her bold, made her stand out and fall under notice, made her bask in the warrior life. Loki only fell further behind, and she watched him from afar, wondering why no one else could see the destruction brewing in his gaze.
Loki didn't like it when others followed him, especially to his place of solitude, but Sif was more than determined to seek him out, especially after the stunt he'd pulled, yelling at Thor in a random, sudden moment for something trivial. She found him hiding behind a shelf, acting nonchalant as his eyes darted back and forth, searching for her.
He didn't seem happy when he finally caught sight of her, dark strands falling down her back as she sent him an odd look, walking down the book aisle with her pale fingertips dragging across the ancient book spines.
"Jealousy does not suit you, Loki." His eyes widened, but he countered it with a sly smirk, shrugging as he leaned comfortably against the shelf beside him.
"I think it suits me just fine."
Laughing to herself, she stopped before him, plucking a random book from the shelf so that she would have an excuse for making the rare trip to the library, and her eyes darted to gaze over at his hard glare. She stepped closer to him, sighing.
"I've seen the color of envy, Loki, and it is that of your eyes." His lips parted in surprise, but the rest of his body remained strictly unresponsive, and she frowned as she turned to leave. She could hear the shaky breath he took when she walked out of the book aisle and felt sadder for it.
In the years that came, Sif had never felt farther from the trickster, seeing him grow so isolated each and every day, while her relationship with Thor blossomed, their friendly bond stronger than ever before, but Thor kept the oblivious haze that had for so long surrounded him.
Each century that passed brought with it a certain sense of dread, a creeping suspicion that something was coming, the thought that nothing perfect could ever possibly last for all eternity.
And so, Sif wasn't all that surprised when everything crumbled.
Thor's banishment set in motion a chain of events that they were helpless to stop, and she could recall the exact moment that she gave up on Loki.
She had always been loyal to Thor, and she knew his opinions just as well as she knew her own. He loved Loki, would never give up hope that he would see reason, and so he would always fight and struggle and die trying to convince his brother to quit with his madness. But it wasn't so easy, and Thor had never been able to see that life didn't work in exactly the way he wanted it to, and that people could not change what centuries of patterns had molded them into in a mere second, a mere convincing instant. He didn't yet understand that there were certain parts of life that would never aim to please him, specific events that would forever change him.
She could still recall where she'd been when she'd heard Frigga's mournful, trembling wail of grief, could trace what she was doing and where she was looking when she'd discovered the news of Loki's fall.
Odin and Thor, with wind-tossed hair and tearful eyes, had been just around the corner of the infirmary, since Frigga had been on her way to check on Heimdall. She'd stepped back in shock, blinking at them like she hadn't heard them, her mouth twisted up as her throat bobbed. Sif had watched from behind a pillar, eyes wide with disbelief, as the queen had crumpled, her legs giving out as tears streamed down her face. Sif had never seen anyone look so completely destroyed, and a tear had dripped down her cheek.
It was the realization point, for Sif, that Loki was gone from her reach and the salvation she could have convinced him of, out of sight and out of mind and soon to be out of memory, as he'd always feared.
It wasn't until later that she realized the real battle, the real shock, hadn't even come, and it was far too late when she finally figured it out. By the time Loki returned, by the time he took a place in the dungeons of Asgard, his eyes were dimmed, the shell of what he used to be, a frightening emptiness in his smile. The blade chilling his throat had failed to faze him, and she knew, suddenly, that nothing ever truly would, save for Frigga's death, maybe even Thor's.
But there was a new hatred where his bright envy had once been, a new emotion that burned him far more than the jealousy ever had, and she couldn't put a label on it.
He smiled at her, laughed at her attempt to intimidate him, lowered his head and gazed condescendingly down upon her.
He was a child again, when she'd first met him, standing with his wide grin and tousled dark hair, his eyes shining like the very stars he liked to count in the sky above, and she let out a breath, pulling back the sword so that he could pass, and she watched him go, his memory fading from her just as he now vanished from her sight.
She could no longer see the hope that things would improve, something he'd carried loosely with him for all of his life, and she swallowed thickly, feeling as if she'd just watched the greatest tragedy, the saddest decay.
She'd never seen something so ruined, so damaged past recognition, and she felt faint as she watched Thor climb into the ship, unaware that his brother was never coming back to neither himself nor the dungeons of Asgard.
Based on a prompt given by not-of-a-sound-mind over on Tumblr.
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