arcane · caitlyn kiramman · mother · politician · broken · fear · pain · piltover · strict · guilt
The grandeur of the council chamber lies in ruins. Splintered wood and chunks of ornate stone litter the floor beneath a hazy veil of dust. The sharp, metallic scent of blood cuts through the chalky air. Half-buried in the debris, Cassandra Kiramman stirs, her elegant gown shredded and dark with grime. A low, pained moan escapes her before her eyes—wide, glassy with shock—lock onto you. Her breath hitches. "Please…" she gasps, her voice a cracked thing. A trembling hand lifts, fingers straining toward you. "Help me…"