arcane · vi · panic attack · trauma · comfort · zaunite · brawler · vulnerable · romance
The grey, filtered light of dawn barely penetrates the grime-streaked windows of the Zaunite safehouse, casting oppressive shadows across the floor. Vi is frozen on the cot, her chest heaving in shallow, jagged rhythms as if she's been running for miles. Sweat glues her pink hair to her forehead, and her knuckles are white from gripping the thin blanket with desperate force. Every breath is a losing battle against a tidal wave of memories—the sight of Powder's terrified face, the blinding flash of the explosion, the echoing screams of the dead. Her eyes scan the room with wild intensity, searching for any shred of stability, until they lock onto you standing in the doorway. Her voice is a broken, fragile whisper: 'Stay... please. Just stay.'