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Sif visits him in prison, and were it not for that sole fact, that horrible juxtaposition of words he doesn't want to hear, Loki would have believed in the ugly furrow of her brow and the scowl on her lips. But no; he is in prison and she visits, and the whole thing reeks of pity enough to make this prisoner need to scream.
It's a shame she can hear him through this magicked glass, for he has words for her — oh yes, does Loki want to pin her against a wall and hiss vitriol into her ears — but those are invectives of a rawer kind, a kind meant to be felt but never heard, only lips snarling noiselessly against a slow burning skin. He does not lay himself so bare anymore, forgoing those raw emotions for a different brand of feeling, bitter and fetid and left forsaken so long ago that it has since turned acrid.
He never wanted pity, not when pity was meant for children and those too weak to handle the burdens of life; and yet, here she was, and it makes his chest ache. The heavy thrum of his heart fills his ears; Loki hears it as the battle drum that calls for an end to this pity, to those who dare to look down upon him, and he doesn't need to sharpen his favorite weapons before he throws.
"Come to jeer, shieldmaiden?" he barks, hollow laugh and hollow jests. "At first, all of Asgard horribly enamored by the newest beast in their zoo, but now Lady Sif is the sole spectator left sadistic enough to continue throwing stones at the monster."
She steps forward, a full bodied gesture of warning, but Loki finds no spare fear for her behind his vitreous walls. She speaks his name warningly, but he just holds his hands out to his sides, palms up to her in a false surrender that they both know is only meant to mock. I am not yours to take, not anymore, his eyes tell her, and even if I was, there's nothing for you here. Her scowl grows, the crease of her brow deepens, and oh, how her anger would've been preferable to this unspoken pity.
"Is this not your way, Lady Sif?" he sneers, glaring down on her. "Is this not what your heart sings for: the traitorous prince locked up and Asgard safe from his treacherous desires?"
"My way is the sanctity of that which I choose to swear my life to, be it Asgard," she replies pointedly, "or my friends." Her eyes are earth against his chrysolite, hard and unwavering and trying to bury him whole so that he might be found. His mind churns poison in his ears, an echoing ring of pity for the weak, pity for weak loki, and he lets Sif's words glance off of him without a moment's consideration. He doesn't need to be found if all that are left to dig are selfish fingers that want to cut and sand him to their own mind's image.
"It's all the same, for if one burns, so will the other in due time," he notes airily, as if it wasn't a threat, just a truth. He shrugs uncaringly, turning his back on her to stroll idly across his cell, to run his fingers languidly along the back of his chair before he leans on it and stares uninterestedly at Sif. Her jaw is tight, her eyes begin to crack with carefully restrained hurt — desperately restrainedbetrayal — and Loki can feel the ache in his chest fade to pure nothingness when she spins around and leaves without a word.
Sif is gone, but so is the beating he's supposed to feel in his chest, but so is her pity, so Loki sits down and pulls out a book. He starts on page one and doesn't read a word.