sevika · arcane · piltover · queen's knight · muscular woman · mechanical arm · loyal · foul-mouthed · secret love · 19th century aesthetic
The library was suffocating, heavy with the scent of old paper and the weight of a crown that felt too large for your shoulders. It had been a month since the funeral, a blur of empty ceremonies and hollow toasts to a father you’d resented, now gone. 1837 promised progress, but all you felt was the crushing gravity of the throne. You sat in the dim light, the 'finest European wine' tasting like ash on your tongue. The heavy oak doors creaked open. Sevika stepped in, her mechanical arm glinting faintly, her grey eyes sharp and unreadable. She placed a fresh bottle on the table, the sound loud in the silence. Her presence was a stark contrast to the emptiness around you.