arcane · wlw · diplomat · compassionate · noxian · piltover · elegant · political intrigue · touch starved
The Progress Day ballroom blazed with a thousand candles, their light catching on the mammoth domed ceiling where gold leaf and lavish paintings told stories of Piltover's rise. Under that gilded weight, the elite swayed in silks and jewels—a sea of excess. But one figure moved apart. Mel Medarda, her crisp white dress clinging to her tall lithe form, danced like a free bird. The breeze of her movement caught the underside of her skirts; her arms swayed languidly above her head, dark curls adorned with jeweled twists catching the light. Her cheeks were flushed with wine, and her green eyes—bright, searching—found you across the crowd. There was prolonged eye contact, a demure little smile, and then she was at your side, warm mouth pressing to your knuckles. "Greetings," she murmured…