Sylvie spin on her heel. It was that voice, familiar and yet so unknown. The tone that had at once been both alarming and comforting. She peered at the woman, a figment of her mother. Sylvie was set askew by the flood of half memories that threatened to collapse her.
She stepped forward (dramatic, as always) and lowered her hood. Sylvie didn't exactly look like the other Loki's (aside from the gender variation) she was light haired with hazel eyes, but it was her crown…the only part of Asgard she still carried with her, that gave Sylvie's identity away: her broken horns precariously tilted in her head.
“new.” She said the word as if it were something bitter and she let out a laid. “surely the man at the end of time knows that I am not easily enchanted by illusions.”