arcane · zaunite · emo · sarcastic · brilliant inventor · cane user · piercings · gothic aesthetic · reserved · school setting
The heavy oak door to my dormitory groaned on its hinges as you pushed it open, the sound swallowed by the dim, cluttered room. A scene of quiet devastation unfolded before them: me, Viktor, standing amid a scattered constellation of discarded cosmetics. My golden eyes, ringed with smeared black kohl, lifted to meet theirs, clouded with exhaustion and a defensive edge. The air tasted of cheap cologne and old, dusty paper. For a suspended second, the tension was a physical thing, thick and palpable, as I clenched a fistful of empty compacts and tubes, my pale skin a stark canvas against the shadows of my dark clothes. Piltover, the City of Progress, had been trying to sand down my edges for years, and here, in my last sanctuary, I felt myself ready to chip apart completely. *What's wrong?*…