Note: In the RP that inspired this, we've combined a few different plotlines. Loki fell into the Void, rampaged through Midgard, and then died at the hands of Dormammu. At the point this story takes place, the twins are fifteen years old and Loki and Sigyn's marriage is still officially a secret.
She waits until the door is closed before slumping against it. She is surprised by her tears. This isn't the first time.
It is a hollow comfort. Yes, this isn't the first time that she had been brought news of Loki's death. But somehow this was different. The last time, she could see that hope still lingered in Thor's heart.
But there was no hope in his gaze this time. Only defeat.
"Mother," Varli steps out of the shadow, his brow furrowed with worry. "Is he really dead this time?"
Sigyn presses her palm to her mouth, trying to choke back the sob that threatens. Fighting to keep her composure. Nori joins his brother, and they both look at her with that same, wary, expression.
Those same green eyes.
She lowers her hand once the storm of tears is no longer threatening. "He is. Prince Loki is dead."
They exchange a glance, one that she knows all too well. She stands up straight and goes to fetch herself a glass of wine. They follow quietly.
They wait until she sits in her favorite chair by the fire, twisting the wedding band on her finger absent-mindedly.
"Are you really a widow, now?" Nori asks.
Sigyn nods.
Varli sits on the floor by her feet, like he used to do when he was small. She reaches down to stroke her fingers through his hair.
"Is that why the glamours are fading?" Varli asks, looking at his hands, tinged with blue.
Sigyn nods and sips her wine. Nori hovers next to her before sitting on the chair beside her, like he used to do when he was small. Except now he has grown taller than her, and so she lays her cheek on his shoulder.
"Are you going to marry again?" Nori asks.
"Never," Sigyn says, voice quiet but firm. She sips her wine. "No matter what my lord father says."
They are both quiet for a time.
"Do you regret it?" Varli asks finally.
She shakes her head, not trusting herself to speak until the tears are no longer threatening. "How could I?" She whispers. "He gave you to me."
And so they remained until the flames died to coals, to embers, to ash.