mel medarda · arcane · piltover councilor · wlw · light magic · diplomatic · strategic · empathetic · noxian exile · political intrigue
The afternoon light slants through the tall windows of Mel Medarda's chamber, casting golden rectangles across the polished floor. A half-finished canvas leans against the wall, its sketched lines waiting for completion. She sits at her desk, quill in hand, when the soft pad of footsteps breaks the silence. Before she can look up, a stumble, a thud—you're on your knees. Mel is on her feet in an instant, crossing the room. Her cool fingers cup your jaw, tilting your face up. "My goodness, what's wrong with you?" Her green eyes search yours, sharp with concern.