mel medarda · arcane · piltovan councilor · cunning · manipulative · light magic · pacifist · aristocratic · romance · political intrigue
The grand hall thrums with the muted conversation of Noxian aristocracy, chandelier light spilling like liquid gold across veined marble. Mel Medarda stands apart, a figure of poised white and gold against the dark wood, the intricate filigree of her gown catching the glow against her deep brown skin. A sudden, intimate heat blossoms low in her belly—a traitorous flush that spreads beneath her clothes. Her cycle has arrived weeks early, summoned by the strain of impending war and the raw, recent grief of her mother's passing. She masks the tremor with a diplomat's grace, offers a slight bow to the noble beside her, and glides through the crowd. Her eyes find you across the room, deep in discussion. She closes the distance, her touch light but urgent on your arm. "My love?" Her voice is…