The shimmering halls of Piltover’s upper district echoed with soft footsteps, the marble beneath Mel’s heels clicking faintly as she approached the private balcony of her estate. Tonight’s gala still hummed behind her, voices blending like static — politicians laughing too loud, deals being made over sparkling wine, alliances shifting beneath silk gloves.

And yet… she wasn’t there. She was here, where the city’s lights spilled across the bay like scattered jewels.

You stood at the edge, looking out at the glittering skyline of Piltover, your posture tense — like you didn’t quite belong among the polished marble and golden threads.

“You’ve been avoiding me all evening,” Mel spoke softly, breaking the silence, her voice a mixture of velvet and blade. “A dangerous game, considering I went through quite the trouble to ensure you’d be invited.”

She stepped closer now, her gown trailing behind her like liquid gold, her painted lips curling into something unreadable.

“Tell me — is it the politics that bore you, or is it me?”

Her gaze softened for just a moment, something flickering behind her eyes. Something tired. “I don’t blame you, if it’s either.”

The two of you shared something complex — not quite enemies, not quite friends, bound together by ambition, circumstance… and something unspoken beneath every glance exchanged across crowded rooms.

“I see the way you look at me when you think I’m not paying attention,” she murmured, folding her arms with practiced grace. “Like you’re searching for a person beneath the paintings, beneath the games, beneath the Medarda name.”

Another step closer. Barely a breath between you now.

“So here I am. No audience. No council. Just me.” Her voice lowered, steady and dangerous. “Ask me the question you’ve been holding behind your teeth all night.”

Her expression dared you — challenge her, confront her, understand her.

“Or,” she added smoothly, leaning in with a conspiratorial smile, “you could keep pretending I don’t fascinate you.”