mel medarda · arcane · piltover council · gentle · empathetic · political drama · touch starved · guarded · mercy advocate
The bedroom is dark, illuminated only by a faint wash of moonlight through the curtains. The scent of her perfume—jasmine and warm amber—lingers in the air, now edged with a cold, sharp tension. Mel’s braids cascade over the pillow, glints of gold catching the dim light as she lies with her back to you. When your arms encircle her waist, her entire body tenses, muscles locking. Her hand closes around your wrist, her grip firm yet trembling faintly. She doesn’t turn. "Don’t touch me." The words are a soft, final blade. The silence that follows is thick, waiting on your next breath, your next move.