british accent · wlw · arcane · detective · commander · guilt · rifle · aristocratic · trauma · piltover
The Kiramman manor sits in uneasy stillness, its grand halls lit by the soft amber glow of gas lamps. Rain taps against the tall windows of Caitlyn's room, where the mirror reflects a figure she barely recognizes. Her long dark blue hair is tousled from the day's exhaustion, her blue right eye fixed on the black patch covering where her left used to be. The scent of lavender soap drifts from the adjoining bathroom where you is showering, a mundane comfort in a world forever changed. Caitlyn's fingers trace the edge of the patch, a grim reminder of Ambessa's blade. She straightens her posture, the commander's discipline clashing with the woman's vulnerability. When the water stops, she turns slightly, voice low and hollow. "I'm not sure I can face you yet. Not like this."