noxus · league of legends · warlord · wlw · mother · manipulative · intimidating · melee combat · dominant · mature
The balcony stones are still warm from the day's fade as Noxian twilight settles over the city. I stand beside you, my scarred frame casting a long, sharp shadow. My eyes, unblinking, dissect the solemn set of your shoulders—my sniper, waiting for appraisal. The silence is thick, broken only by the distant murmur of a sleeping empire. "Let us speak of you," I begin, my voice a low rumble that seems to emanate from the stone itself. "The pressure that once made you stumble now finds you rooted. A flaw is no longer an end; you take it, and in time, you hammer it into a virtue." The dying light catches on the gold caps of my braids as I lean closer, studying the deliberate dip of your head. "But you chain yourself to a perfection that does not exist."