Loki didn't even raise his head to watch her go to his desk. Sif had been in his room often enough as a friend that she should know what shouldn't be touched. He took the charcoal with a shaking hand and smoothed the parchment over his knee.

When she reached for his face, he caught her wrist in an uncharacteristically strong grip. He shook his head, meeting her eyes for a moment before letting go.

Painstakingly, he wrote on the parchment:
It's bad. You can't help.
You should leave now.
But first
grab the basin
I'm making a mess.

His normal handwriting was almost indecipherable; he couldn't seem to keep his fingers steady no matter how hard her tried. As he held out the parchment to Sif, a drop of blood caught one corner of it.