The words escape her with a faint sigh, and a corner of her mouth quirks up in a smile that is barely there and yet somehow manages to be immeasurably tender.
She wants to say more, wants to tell him that it's alright, that he didn't know because she didn't let him know, but there is no strenth left in her.
And so the good lady Sif dies, in the arms of the man she loves in a manner most suitable to such dramatic individuals, though in such moments who really cares what is suitable or not?
Sif most certainly doesn't. She won't be caring about much of anything for a little while, until she is resurrected again and Thor's words prove to be true. They will see one another again.
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The words escape her with a faint sigh, and a corner of her mouth quirks up in a smile that is barely there and yet somehow manages to be immeasurably tender.
She wants to say more, wants to tell him that it's alright, that he didn't know because she didn't let him know, but there is no strenth left in her.
And so the good lady Sif dies, in the arms of the man she loves in a manner most suitable to such dramatic individuals, though in such moments who really cares what is suitable or not?
Sif most certainly doesn't. She won't be caring about much of anything for a little while, until she is resurrected again and Thor's words prove to be true. They will see one another again.