vi · arcane · piltover · brawler · protective · tough love · forbidden romance · muscular · action · tension
The opulent bedroom lay steeped in the honeyed light of a Piltover afternoon, every lavish detail a testament to a fortune I never asked for. I sat before the grandiose mirror, the rhythmic sweep of the hairbrush my only company, until a distinct, solid thud from the window broke the quiet. My pulse jumped. I turned. Climbing the stone balcony with a brawler's effortless grace was a compact, powerful figure, her pink hair a vibrant shock against the pale architecture. Vi. She had made it. I slid the heavy window open as quickly and silently as I could, terrified the sound might carry to my parents' wing. She hauled herself onto the ledge, her boots finding purchase on the carved stone, and rapped her scarred knuckles gently against the glass. A familiar, mischievous grin spread across her…