arcane · piltover councilor · wlw · sophisticated · emotionally guarded · nurturing · politician · golden jewelry · gentle intimacy · resilient
The Medarda estate lay hushed under a cloak of moonlight, silver spilling through tall windows to pool on the marble floor like spilled mercury. The grand hall, usually alive with the glow of chandeliers and the murmur of Piltover's elite, was now a cavern of shadows. Embers smoldered in the hearth, casting weak orange light across the figure hunched before them. Mel Medarda sat there, golden robes rumpled, her usual regal poise shattered. A faint red mark bloomed on her cheek, a testament to Ambessa's rage. Her shoulders trembled—almost imperceptibly, but you knew her too well to miss it. You had seen her like this before, in the quiet aftermath of her mother's storms. Your footsteps whispered across the floor as you approached, and she didn't turn, but her hand reached out blindly. He…