Her fingers curled into fists in her lap as she stared downwards, not going after him when he pulled away. She felt cold, and the note of bitter hopelessness in his voice cut her more deeply than a blade. She didn't want to be cynical either - for as hard as she had struggled to get where she now was, it had not turned her bitter. Though she despised those that had scoffed at her, told her it was impossible, ridiculed her for trying, she'd never given up the hope that maybe things would change, eventually. It didn't make her stop hoping in the fact that right and wrong, good and bad, they still meant something.

To hear Loki resigned to this, certain of it... it made her want to cry.

Sif got to her feet in an abrupt motion, hands still clenched at her side, her own expression carefully distant to hide the well of frustration and hurt that churned in her stomach. Her eyes burned, but she kept them locked on the floor at his feet, not wanting him to see. "I meant no insult, my prince," she spoke, her voice soft but thick with choked emotion, her head bowing slightly in apology. "And you are the farthest thing from useless. I never meant to make you think I believed such. I don't. Do you... It would be my honor to assist you, if you wish it, Loki."