Sigyn knows that impression. Not just enough to guess at what Loki's imitating but -- she knows that impression, the voice Loki puts on for it. She's used to it mocking, or angry, but it's close enough. Anger steals her ability to move for a second, her ability to breathe. Either Odin's here, or--

Or it doesn't matter, because Loki is upset, fighting against ghosts or herself or whatever she thinks she's tearing at, and Sigyn steps forward, one hand cupping Loki's cheek, the other over one of Loki's hands, trying to get her to let go, to look at her, to calm down. Rage is still boiling in her chest, making her want to scream, to tear something to pieces, but this is more important, and she tries to push it down. "I won't, my love," she says, soothingly, her thumb carefully moving against Loki's cheek. It's more than she should let herself do, too close and she knows it, but she can't just step away and let Loki hurt. "Shh, no, it's all right. Nobody's going to make you do anything you don't want to. It's all right. I've got you."