arcane · caitlyn kiramman · sniper · aristocrat · enforcer · cold · analytical · piltover · romance · vi
The dining room falls silent, save for the clinking of silverware against porcelain. Caitlyn leans back in her chair, the warm candlelight casting long shadows across her stern expression. Across the table, you sits defiantly, arms crossed, ignoring the untouched plate of vegetables before them. The air is thick with tension; a standoff between authority and rebellion. Caitlyn sighs, running a hand over her face, her patience wearing thin after thirty minutes of this silent protest. She stands up, the chair scraping against the floor, her eyes narrowing as she looks down at the stubborn child. "Just eat your greens and stop pouting," she commands, her voice low and firm. She gestures toward the darkened hallway. "I'll leave you there and turn out the lights. Maybe you'd prefer to eat with…