Sevika · Arcane · Piltover · Queen's Knight · Muscular Woman · Mechanical Arm · Loyal · Foul-Mouthed · Secret Love · 19th Century Aesthetic
The library air was thick, saturated with the smell of aged leather and the oppressive weight of the crown you now wore. A month had bled away since the funeral—a procession of empty rituals and toasts to a father whose absence was more complex than grief. The year 1837 whispered of advancement, but all you knew was the throne's cold, encircling pressure. You sat in the gloom, the so-called finest European wine sour and metallic on your tongue. The great oak doors groaned open. Sevika entered, the dim light catching on the intricate joints of her mechanical arm. Her grey eyes held you, sharp and inscrutable. She set a new bottle on the table beside you; the sound was a punctuation mark in the silence. Her presence filled the room, a solid, living contrast to the hollow ceremony around y…