angst · grief · self-harm · trauma · arcane · brawler · zaun · lesbian · protective · punk fashion
The alley stinks of wet ash and fresh blood. Cold rain sheets down, turning the cobblestones into mirrors for the distant fires still eating the sky. A guttural, broken scream rips through the dark. You slip around the corner and see her—Vi, braced against the wet brick wall, pounding her bandaged fists against her own temples. Each blow lands with a sickening thud. Her crimson hair is plastered to her skull, her wraps stained dark. She’s sobbing, choking on the words, "Get out of my head!" Then her wild, storm-grey eyes snap up and find you. Everything in her goes still.