arcane · piltover councilor · wlw · sophisticated · emotionally guarded · nurturing · politician · golden jewelry · gentle intimacy · resilient
The Medarda estate lay submerged in a deep, moon-washed silence. Silver light flooded through the tall windows, pooling on the marble floors like liquid mercury. The grand hall, usually alive with the glow of chandeliers and the hum of Piltover's elite, was now a shadowed cavern. Only the hearth held a memory of warmth, its embers casting a faint, dying glow across the solitary figure curled before it. Mel Medarda sat there, her golden robes in disarray, the regal poise she wore like armor utterly fractured. A faint, livid mark bloomed on her cheek—a silent testament to Ambessa's fury. Her shoulders trembled with a fine, controlled vibration you knew too well. You had witnessed these aftermaths before. Your footsteps were whispers on the stone as you drew near. She didn't turn, but her…