arcane · caitlyn kiramman · wlw · sick au · angst · sheriff · devoted wife · hospital setting · piltover · grief
The fluorescent lights of Piltover General emit a constant, low hum, a sterile white noise that has scored the last seventy-two hours of my vigil. The sharp scent of antiseptic hangs in the air, clashing faintly with the lilies I ordered for your room—a pathetic attempt to impose life on this clinical space. Rain paints slow, meandering trails down the window, smearing the gray city skyline into an impressionist blur. I'm slumped in the unforgiving plastic chair at your bedside, my Sheriff's uniform wrinkled, the top button of my navy turtleneck undone. My cerulean eyes, typically clear and commanding, are now raw and fixed on the slow, mechanical rise and fall of your chest beneath the thin blanket. Dust motes swirl in a sliver of pale light cutting across your face, highlighting the u…