Kindred Tethers
Chapter 9: Kindred Tethers
One Month Later
Vi sat on the chair by the window in Caitlyn’s manor, her long, fiery red hair falling loosely over her shoulders. The soft strands framed her face, contrasting with the jagged scars that lined her features and glowed faintly in the morning light. The room was quiet, save for the faint hum of Piltover’s distant bustle filtering through the open window. The curtains swayed gently, casting delicate patterns across the polished wooden floor. It was peaceful here—too peaceful for someone who felt like a storm was raging inside her.
Her mechanical arm rested on her lap, its sleek design seamlessly integrated with her body. The gemstone embedded in it pulsed faintly, a steady rhythm that matched her heartbeat. The technology was precise, unyielding, a part of her now in ways she couldn’t ignore. Her fingers brushed against its surface, her touch light but hesitant, as if she were still trying to make peace with this new part of herself.
Vi was speaking more these days, though her words came in fits and starts—raw, uneven, as if her voice was learning how to find its way back into the world. Sometimes, it felt like a battle just to form the sentences, each one dredged up from a place that still hurt. But Caitlyn and Jinx never pushed, never pressed her to speak before she was ready. They sat with her through the silences, their presence steady and unyielding. It baffled Vi, this unshakable patience they seemed to have for her. She couldn’t understand it—how they could look at her, after everything she’d done, everything she’d become, and still see someone worth waiting for.
Every time she looked at them, her chest tightened, her heart growing unbearably heavy. Caitlyn’s unwavering calm, the way her soft encouragement never carried an ounce of pity. Jinx’s chaotic compassion, how she filled the silences with her wild, unpredictable energy, yet somehow knew when to leave the space open for Vi to step into. They had been nothing but kind—offering her love, support, and a chance to rebuild herself—and Vi couldn’t help but question why. She wasn’t sure she deserved it. After all, she hadn’t been the sister or the partner they’d needed. She had been something else entirely—a weapon forged by Ambessa, a shell of the person she used to be.
Her nightmares still came, dragging her back into the darkness she thought she’d left behind. Some nights, she’d wake up gasping for air, her hands clutching at the sheets as if trying to anchor herself to the present. The echoes of Ambessa’s voice lingered in her mind, soft yet commanding, words that had once been a twisted comfort but now felt like chains. “You’re perfect, Violet.” The memory of those words clung to her, heavy with the weight of expectation and manipulation. They haunted her, as did the years she spent in Ambessa’s shadow, molded into something unrecognizable.
But the nightmares didn’t crush her as they used to. Their weight, while still present, felt lighter now, as though the chains they carried had begun to loosen. Vi had started to find small moments of peace—a quiet sunrise through the manor window, the warmth of Jinx’s laughter echoing down the hall, the gentle way Caitlyn held her hand when she couldn’t steady her own. These moments didn’t erase the darkness, but they softened its edges, offering a glimmer of something she hadn’t dared to hope for in a long time.
She lashed out less often now, though the moments still came when the emotions inside her became too much to contain. The frustration, anger, and grief would build like a pressure cooker, until it boiled over in a wave of raw intensity. Her fists would slam against the walls, leaving faint cracks in the plaster or dents in the metal, her knuckles reddened but unyielding. Her voice, usually restrained, would rise in jagged bursts, trembling with the force of emotions she didn’t yet know how to articulate. It wasn’t just the anger—it was the helplessness beneath it, the crushing weight of what she’d endured and the struggle to reconcile who she had been with what she had become.
One of these moments came late one night when the weight of everything became too much for Vi to bear. The room was dimly lit by the faint glow of a single lamp on the bedside table, its soft, golden light unable to chase away the shadows that clung to her. She sat on the edge of the bed, her shoulders hunched forward, her fist clenched so tightly her knuckles turned white. Her breath came in shallow, uneven bursts, and a tremor ran through her body, as if she were trying to hold back a flood that threatened to break through her defenses.
Though the shimmer was long gone from her veins, the memory of it lingered like a ghost, a haunting reminder of what had been done to her. She could still feel the phantom heat of it under her skin, the way it had twisted her body and mind into something unrecognizable. The scars on her flesh glowed faintly in the dim light, etched like fractured lightning across her arms and shoulders, each one a painful reminder of her transformation and her survival. But survival wasn’t the same as healing.
It started with her fists tightening, the ridges of her calloused hand pressing painfully into her palm. Her breath hitched, and she pressed her eyes shut, trying to block out the flood of memories that came unbidden. Ambessa’s cold, calculating voice echoed in her mind, her taunts and commands slicing through her like a blade. She saw herself in that dark cell, her left arm severed, her body trembling with rage and despair. The helplessness she had felt, the agony of losing herself piece by piece, came rushing back, tightening her chest like a vice.
Without warning, Vi pushed herself up from the bed, the movement so abrupt that the lamp on the bedside table wobbled and nearly fell. Her breathing grew heavier as the tension coiled tighter and tighter within her. She stumbled toward the nearest wall, her scars catching the light as her right hand clenched into a fist. Then, with a sudden explosion of motion, she struck the plaster with all the force her body could muster. The impact echoed in the room, reverberating through the floorboards, and a jagged crack split across the wall. She pulled back and struck again, her breath hitching into a sharp, anguished gasp.
Vi’s fist slammed into the wall with relentless force, the sound of each impact echoing through the dimly lit room. The faint glow of the bedside lamp caught the jagged edges of the cracks she was creating, plaster crumbling to the floor with every strike. Her knuckles, glowing faintly from the scars etched across her skin, were raw and red, but she didn’t stop. She couldn’t. The weight of everything—the memories, the anger, the helplessness—pressed down on her like an iron shroud. Her breath came in ragged gasps, her shoulders heaving as she fought against an enemy only she could see.
Caitlyn had been standing in the doorway, her sharp blue eyes watching Vi with concern and hesitation. She knew Vi’s moods, knew when to give her space and when to step in. But this—this was different. The tension in Vi’s body, the wildness in her movements, the guttural sounds of frustration that escaped her—it was all consuming. Caitlyn couldn’t wait any longer.
“Vi,” she called softly, her voice steady but carrying a note of urgency. She took a cautious step into the room, her boots clicking softly against the wooden floor. “You need to stop. You’re hurting yourself.”
Vi didn’t seem to hear her, or if she did, she gave no sign. Her fist struck the wall again, and again, the force of the blows leaving faint dents in the plaster. Caitlyn quickened her pace, closing the distance between them. She reached out, her hand brushing Vi’s shoulder in an attempt to ground her.
The moment Caitlyn’s fingers touched her, Vi spun around, her reflexes honed by years of survival and combat. But in the haze of her emotions, she didn’t see Caitlyn standing there. She saw Ambessa. The cold, unyielding presence of the woman who had taken everything from her. The woman who had broken her, piece by piece, and rebuilt her into something unrecognizable. Her mind, overwhelmed by the weight of her trauma, twisted the reality before her.
Without thinking, Vi’s hand shot out, her scarred fingers clamping around Caitlyn’s throat like a steel vice. The pressure was immediate and brutal, her grip fueled by a volatile mix of fear, rage, and the raw instinct to survive. Caitlyn’s hands flew to Vi’s wrist, her nails raking against the scarred, glowing skin in a desperate bid to break free. Her feet scrambled for footing, her body twisting violently as she tried to wrench herself out of Vi’s grasp, but it was like fighting against an unrelenting machine.
“Vi!” Caitlyn choked, her voice ragged, barely audible over the thunder of her own heartbeat. Her vision blurred as her lungs burned for air. “It’s me—Cait! Stop!”
But Vi didn’t hear her. Her stormy blue and black eyes were wild, unfocused, her pupils blown wide with a terrifying mixture of fury and pain. In her mind, Caitlyn wasn’t Caitlyn—she was Ambessa, the woman who had shattered her, broken her in every way imaginable. “You won’t take anything else from me,” Vi growled, her voice trembling with raw hatred. “Not again.”
Caitlyn’s knees gave out as the lack of air began to suffocate her. Her body convulsed, her nails digging so deep into Vi’s wrist that blood welled beneath her fingertips, streaking down Vi’s arm. Still, Vi didn’t flinch. Her grip only tightened, her fingers pressing so hard against Caitlyn’s throat that the veins stood out in sharp relief against Caitlyn’s pale skin.
The glowing scars on Vi’s arm flared brighter, their eerie light spilling into the room like a haunting specter. Caitlyn’s head lolled to one side, her strength fading as her legs buckled entirely. The sickening sound of her strangled gasps echoed in the stillness, her lips trembling as her voice broke in a final desperate plea. “Vi… please…”
The words slipped through the haze like a blade, sharp and unyielding. Vi’s eyes twitched, the storm within them faltering for the briefest moment. The grip around Caitlyn’s neck loosened just enough for her to drag in a shallow, wheezing breath. Recognition began to seep into Vi’s expression, the fury melting into confusion as she blinked rapidly, her chest heaving.
When Vi finally released her, it wasn’t gentle—it was abrupt, as though the reality of what she was doing struck her like a physical blow. Caitlyn crumpled to the floor, her hands clutching her bruised throat as she coughed violently, her chest rising and falling in erratic bursts. Her pale skin was mottled with red where Vi’s fingers had pressed, the marks stark against the dim light.
Vi stumbled backward, her back hitting the wall with a dull thud. Her hand shook violently as she stared at it, at the faint smear of Caitlyn’s blood on her skin. Her wide eyes darted to Caitlyn, who was still gasping for breath on the floor, her gaze filled with a mix of shock, pain, and lingering fear.
“No…” Vi’s voice cracked, barely more than a whisper. Her hand clenched into a fist as she pressed it against her forehead, her body trembling. “Cait… I didn’t… I didn’t mean to…”
Caitlyn lifted her head weakly, her breaths still shallow as she struggled to form words. Her voice was hoarse, but her resolve hadn’t wavered. “Vi… it’s okay… You’re okay.” Even through the pain, her words carried a fragile, unyielding softness, a desperate attempt to ground Vi in the present.
But Vi couldn’t meet her gaze. She slid down the wall, her head in her hands, tears streaking down her face as she grappled with the weight of what she’d nearly done.
“No, it’s not okay!” Vi snapped, her entire body shaking. “I could’ve—I almost—” She couldn’t finish the sentence, the weight of what she had almost done crushing her.
Caitlyn crawled toward Vi, Her throat throbbed with sharp, lingering pain, but she forced the discomfort aside. This wasn’t about her—it was about the broken woman in front of her, curled in on herself like a wounded animal. Caitlyn’s hand trembled slightly as she reached out, her fingers brushing over the scars etched into Vi’s forearm. She paused for a moment, allowing the warmth of her touch to ground them both before gently resting her hand there.
“Listen to me,” Caitlyn said, her voice hoarse but steady, a quiet strength cutting through the chaos. “That wasn’t you. It was the pain, the memories. But you stopped, Vi. You pulled back. You came back.”
Vi flinched as though the words stung her, shaking her head violently. Her tears fell unchecked, tracing glowing scars down her cheeks as her chest heaved with ragged sobs. “What if I hadn’t?” she choked out, her voice breaking under the weight of her anguish. Her fists clenched tightly around her hair. “What if I hurt you… worse? What if I—” She swallowed hard, unable to force the rest of the thought past the lump in her throat.
Caitlyn’s grip on her arm tightened slightly, firm but reassuring. “But you didn’t,” she said, her tone unyielding, her blue eyes locking onto Vi’s shaking form, “You stopped, Vi. That’s what matters. You’re not her puppet anymore. You’re not what she made you.”
The words hit Vi like a punch to the chest, breaking through the storm of self-loathing that raged inside her. She froze, her trembling slowing, though the tears continued to fall. Her breath hitched, and she finally lifted her gaze to meet Caitlyn’s. The fear in her eyes was stark and raw, but Caitlyn saw something else there too—a flicker of recognition, of hope fighting to take root in the ashes.
Vi dropped her head again, her hands coming up to cover her face as a fresh wave of emotion overwhelmed her. Her voice, low and broken, spilled out between her fingers. “I don’t want to be this person anymore,” she whispered, the confession carrying the weight of years of torment and regret. “I can’t keep being this.”
Caitlyn hesitated only for a moment before lifting her other hand, her fingers brushing lightly against Vi’s jaw removing Vi’s hands from her face. She cupped Vi’s face with both hands, her touch soft but firm as she tilted her head up to meet her eyes. Her thumbs moved gently, brushing away the tears that had carved paths down Vi’s cheeks.
“Then don’t,” Caitlyn said simply, her voice a quiet yet unshakable promise. “We’ll figure it out, Vi. Together. One step at a time.”
For a moment, Vi just stared at her, the storm in her eyes finally beginning to settle. The tightness in her shoulders eased, her breathing becoming more even. Caitlyn didn’t let go, her touch steady as if she feared Vi might slip away again.
“I don’t know if I can,” Vi whispered, the vulnerability in her voice almost childlike. Her eyes searched Caitlyn’s, looking for something—reassurance, absolution, anything to hold onto.
“You can,” Caitlyn said firmly, her voice low but resolute. “And you will. I’m not going anywhere, Vi.”
Vi’s lip quivered, she let herself lean into Caitlyn’s touch. Her head dipped forward, her forehead resting against Caitlyn’s, and a shaky exhale escaped her. Caitlyn stayed with her, her hands never leaving Vi’s face, her presence a steady anchor pulling Vi back from the edge.
But even those moments were becoming fewer, less frequent. The storms still came, but they didn’t linger as long as they once had. She was learning to breathe through them, to steady herself when the rage threatened to pull her under. Caitlyn had shown her how—quietly, patiently—standing beside her in the aftermath, never judging, only guiding. Jinx, too, helped in her own way, distracting her with bursts of humor or sharing stories about things she was building in the workshop. These small acts grounded Vi, gave her something to hold onto when the chaos threatened to consume her.
She was learning to find a quiet space within herself, a place where the storm couldn’t reach. Sometimes, it was in the early hours of the morning, when the first light of dawn spilled through the window and bathed the room in a soft, golden glow. Other times, it was in the stillness of the garden, surrounded by the hum of insects and the gentle rustling of leaves. In those moments, she discovered a sliver of peace, a reminder that she could exist beyond the rage, beyond the pain. It wasn’t perfect, and it wasn’t easy, but it was a start. And for Vi, that was enough for now.
And yet, despite the progress, one question lingered in the back of her mind, gnawing at her during the quiet moments when she was left alone with her thoughts: ‘What happened to Ambessa?’ It was a shadow that loomed over her recovery, a question she couldn’t escape no matter how hard she tried to push it away.
She wanted to ask Caitlyn or Jinx, but the words always got caught in her throat, choking her before she could voice them. She wasn’t ready for the answer. Whether Ambessa was alive or dead, the thought cut too deeply. If she was alive, it meant the woman who had shaped her suffering—who had taken her, broken her, and rebuilt her into something unrecognizable—still existed somewhere, untouched by the weight of her crimes. If she was dead, it meant there would be no reconciliation, no chance to confront her and force her to see the damage she had done. It would be final—an ending that left too much unresolved, too many questions unanswered.
And the truth that she couldn’t admit, not even to herself, was that the love was still there. It was twisted, tangled, and buried beneath layers of anger, resentment, and pain, but it lingered. Ambessa had called her daughter, a word Vi had longed to hear from someone during her darkest moments. The memory of that word, spoken with an uncharacteristic tenderness that felt almost alien coming from Ambessa, struck something deep within her that she couldn’t shake. She hated it—hated the way it complicated her feelings, the way it softened the edges of her rage.
Ambessa had been cruel, controlling, and unrelenting, but she had also been the only constant during those six years of captivity. In a warped, inescapable way, she had been Vi’s mother during that time—a dark, twisted version of what a mother should be, but a mother nonetheless. And now, the thought of Ambessa’s fate tore at her in ways Vi couldn’t explain. She hated her, but she also missed her. She wanted to erase her from her mind, yet she couldn’t let go of the bond they had shared, however fractured and painful it had been.
So, she remained silent, the question unspoken, the answer unclaimed. The not knowing was easier to bear than the certainty—whatever it might be.
A soft knock at the door pulled Vi from the heavy fog of her thoughts. She blinked, glancing toward the sound just as Caitlyn stepped into the room. Her footsteps were quiet, deliberate, as if she knew how fragile the moment could be. In her hands, she carried a tray with tea and toast, the faint aroma of chamomile and honey drifting through the air. Caitlyn set the tray gently on the table by the window, her movements calm and practiced.
Her blue eyes, steady and unyielding in their warmth, met Vi’s gaze. They carried the same patient reassurance they always did, a quiet strength that never seemed to falter no matter how dark things became. It was a look that always made Vi’s chest ache with a mix of gratitude and guilt.
“You slept longer today,” Caitlyn said softly, her tone light but laced with cautious hope. “That’s a good sign.”
Vi shifted in her seat, her fingers brushing the edge of the tray before picking up a piece of toast. She tore off a small bite, chewing more out of obligation than hunger. “Yeah,” she muttered, her voice low and rough, the simple word feeling like an effort.
Caitlyn moved to the chair beside her, sitting with her usual composure, her hands folding neatly in her lap. For a moment, she didn’t say anything, letting the silence between them settle. Then, after a beat, she spoke again. “Jinx is outside,” she said, her voice softer now. “She’s working on one of the statues in the garden. Says she’s fixing it, but…”
A faint snort escaped Vi, the closest thing to a laugh she’d managed in days. “Fixing, huh? Sounds like she’s probably blowing it up instead.”
Caitlyn’s lips curved into a small, knowing smile. “Probably,” she agreed, a hint of amusement in her tone. “But at least she’s not trying to turn it into a flamethrower this time. That’s progress, right?”
Vi shook her head, the faintest ghost of a smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. It wasn’t much, but Caitlyn caught it, her own smile softening. She leaned back slightly, her gaze drifting to the window where sunlight poured into the room in golden streams. The warmth of the light seemed to make the air less heavy, the space between them less strained.
“You don’t have to say anything,” Caitlyn said quietly, her voice almost a whisper. “I just… I’m here. Always.”
Vi’s grip on the toast tightened for a moment before she set it down on the tray. She didn’t look at Caitlyn, her gaze fixed on the garden outside where Jinx’s vibrant figure darted around the statue. “Thanks,” she muttered, the word barely audible.
The room fell into a comfortable silence, one that didn’t demand words or explanations. Caitlyn sat beside Vi with quiet assurance, her hands resting loosely in her lap, her presence as steady and grounding as the sunlight streaming through the window. Vi didn’t need to say anything; Caitlyn’s patience had become something Vi relied on more than she cared to admit. She didn’t push, didn’t pry—she simply stayed, a constant anchor in the midst of Vi’s turbulent emotions.
Outside, the garden was alive with sound. Jinx’s laughter, bright and chaotic, floated through the open window. It was unrestrained, the kind of laugh that used to twist Vi’s heart in knots, reminding her of the sister she had lost and the pain they had both endured. But now, the sound didn’t sting as much. Instead, it brought an odd kind of comfort, a reminder that even in the aftermath of everything, there was still room for moments of joy.
Vi’s gaze drifted to the window, where she could see Jinx flitting around the garden, gesturing wildly at the statue she was “fixing.” Caitlyn had been right—there was a certain destruction to Jinx’s methods, but there was also life, an energy that had started to feel less erratic and more focused. Both Caitlyn and Jinx had changed recently. They moved through the manor with a lightness that Vi didn’t understand but couldn’t ignore. There was a peace in them that hadn’t been there before.
Breaking the silence, Vi turned to Caitlyn, her voice hesitant and uneven. “You’ve… both been different lately. Like something’s changed. What happened?”
Caitlyn looked at her, her expression softening. For a moment, she didn’t respond, as if weighing her words. Then, with the quiet sincerity that defined her, she reached out and placed her hand lightly over Vi’s. The touch was gentle, grounding. “We’re healing,” Caitlyn said simply, her voice steady and warm. “Just like you are.”
Vi’s brow furrowed slightly, her fingers twitching under Caitlyn’s hand. “Healing,” she repeated softly, as though testing the word, trying to find a place for it in her reality. It wasn’t a word she had ever felt belonged to her. Surviving, fighting, enduring—those she understood. But healing? That felt foreign, like a hope she wasn’t sure she could grasp.
Her gaze dropped to the floor, her long hair cascading over her shoulders as she leaned forward slightly. The sunlight caught the faint glow of the scars tracing her arms and neck, a reminder of everything she had endured. Yet, for the first time in weeks, the weight pressing on her chest seemed to ease, just a fraction. Healing. Maybe Caitlyn was right. Maybe it wasn’t as impossible as it seemed.
Outside, Jinx’s laughter rang out again, followed by the sound of something collapsing with a muffled thud. Caitlyn glanced toward the window, her lips curving into a faint smile. “Sounds like progress,” she said lightly, her voice tinged with amusement.
Vi let out a breath that might have been a laugh, though it came out more like a sigh. She leaned back in her chair, her shoulders relaxing as she allowed herself to take in the moment—the warmth of the sunlight, the steadiness of Caitlyn’s presence, and the vibrant chaos of Jinx outside. She didn’t know what tomorrow would bring, didn’t know if she would ever fully believe in this thing Caitlyn called healing. But for now, this was enough. And for now, enough felt like a start.
Caitlyn gave Vi’s hand a gentle squeeze, the pressure warm and reassuring. Her thumb brushed lightly over Vi’s knuckles, a quiet gesture of understanding and support. “I think I better go check on your sister,” she said softly, her voice carrying a hint of humor and affection.
She rose from the chair gracefully, smoothing the hem of her shirt as she cast a glance out the window. Jinx’s chaotic laughter filled the air again, followed by a loud metallic crash that echoed through the garden. Caitlyn let out a small, exasperated sigh, but the faint curve of her lips betrayed her amusement.
Turning back to Vi, she paused for a moment, her blue eyes lingering on her with an unspoken reassurance. “You’re doing better than you think, Vi,” she added gently, her voice low but firm, as though willing Vi to believe it. Then, with one last glance toward the garden, she walked toward the door, her steps deliberate but unhurried.
As she reached the threshold, Caitlyn looked back over her shoulder, a playful smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “And if she’s dismantled the statue again, I’ll tell her you volunteered to fix it this time.” Her tone was light, teasing, but her gaze remained warm, filled with the kind of care that made Vi’s heart ache in ways she didn’t fully understand yet.
Caitlyn left the room quietly, her presence lingering even after the door remained open behind her. The sound of her footsteps faded, replaced by the distant chaos of Jinx in the garden. For a moment, Vi sat motionless, staring at the spot where Caitlyn had been, the ghost of her touch still lingering on her hand. It was a simple interaction, but it carried a weight Vi couldn’t quite name—one that settled over her chest like a bittersweet warmth.
Vi continued to stay by the window, her elbows resting on the edge of the table as she watched Jinx and Caitlyn in the garden below. The golden hues of the setting sun spilled across the manicured greenery, painting the scene in warm, soft light. Jinx was animated, her hands moving in wild, exaggerated gestures as she explained something to Caitlyn. From the way her sister’s lips moved, Vi could tell she was probably spinning an over-the-top story, and Caitlyn, ever patient, stood with her arms lightly crossed, her head tilted in quiet amusement. A faint, genuine smile played on Caitlyn’s lips, softening her usually sharp features. It was a rare moment of calm, a slice of peace that felt almost fragile, and Vi found herself unwilling to look away.
Her fingers lightly tapped the edge of the table, the rhythm uneven and distracted, mirroring the restless thoughts swirling in her mind. She didn’t fully understand what she felt when she watched them like this. There was warmth, certainly—an undeniable gratitude for their unwavering care—but it was tangled with something else, something heavier. An ache sat in her chest, deep and persistent, whispering that she might never truly deserve their love or their patience. The thought stung, but it was a familiar sting, one she had long since accepted as part of herself.
Her long red hair, now grown well past her shoulders, fell in loose waves around her face, catching the fading sunlight and glowing like embers in the golden hour. Absentmindedly, Vi tugged at a strand, twisting it between her fingers—a nervous habit she’d picked up in the quiet days of recovery. Her mechanical arm rested on the table beside her, the smooth surface catching the light in soft, purple reflections. The faint pulse of its energy matched the rhythm of her heartbeat, a constant, inescapable reminder of the life she now lived. It wasn’t just a piece of her anymore—it was part of her, as much as the scars that mapped her body or the memories that haunted her dreams.
From her perch at the window, Vi could hear Jinx’s laughter float up toward her, bright and unrestrained. It was a sound that had once made her chest tighten with guilt, a painful reminder of everything she had failed to protect. But now, it was different. It didn’t hurt as much. The laughter didn’t feel like a sharp echo of the past but rather something new—a sign that maybe, just maybe, they were all learning to move forward, even in their own broken ways.
Vi’s gaze shifted to Caitlyn, who was gently teasing Jinx now, her hands gesturing toward the statue Jinx had been working on. The sight of them, standing together in the golden light, sent another pang through Vi’s chest, one that she couldn’t quite name. She didn’t know what she’d done to deserve them—this quiet, enduring love they both offered her—but as she sat there, she began to wonder if maybe she didn’t have to understand it. Maybe it was enough that they were here.
The soft click of the manor’s front door broke her reverie. Vi tensed slightly, her fingers tightening around the edge of the table as her eyes darted toward the sound. The gentle hum of distant conversation in the garden faded into the background as footsteps echoed through the hall, steady and deliberate, growing louder with each step. Her heart quickened, though she wasn’t sure why. Then she saw her—a figure stepping into the doorway, poised and elegant as always. Mel Medarda.
Vi’s breath hitched. She hadn’t seen Mel since the first week she’d been brought to the manor, back when her days blurred together in a haze of pain and confusion. Back then, Vi had been too raw, too fragmented, to process much of anything, let alone Mel’s presence. But now, as Mel stood framed in the doorway, the sight of her was sharp and vivid, cutting through Vi’s thoughts like a blade.
Mel’s tailored white coat with gold trim caught the light, its edges gleaming faintly in the golden hues of the setting sun filtering through the window. Her amber eyes, sharp yet softened by something unspoken, fixed on Vi with an unreadable expression. Her dark hair was pinned neatly, a small braid woven into the elegant updo—a subtle nod to her Noxian heritage. She carried herself with the same unshakable grace that Vi remembered, yet there was a weight to her presence now, a hesitation in her movements that hadn’t been there before.
“Vi,” Mel greeted softly, her voice steady but carrying an undertone of something deeper—uncertainty, perhaps. She hesitated at the threshold, her usual confidence tempered by a quiet vulnerability. “May I join you?”
Vi blinked, her grip on the table loosening as she studied Mel. The last time they’d spoken, Vi had been too consumed by her own turmoil to see the woman standing before her clearly.
Vi nodded, the motion stiff and uncertain. “Yeah. Sure.”
Mel moved with practiced grace, crossing the room with deliberate steps. She eased into the chair opposite Vi, her posture as composed as ever, though her hands rested lightly on the edge of the table, betraying a hint of tension. For a moment, neither of them spoke. The silence that settled between them wasn’t hostile, but it was heavy—a palpable weight of unspoken words, of memories they both carried but had yet to confront.
“I wasn’t sure if you’d want to see me,” Mel admitted finally, her voice quieter than usual, softer. “It’s been… a while.”
Vi’s gaze flicked to Mel’s hands before meeting her eyes. Her expression was guarded, her tone edged with skepticism. “Didn’t think I’d see you again.”
Mel’s lips pressed into a faint smile, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. It was the kind of smile that carried too much weight, too many layers of regret. “I thought it best to give you time. To heal.”
Vi let out a dry chuckle, the sound rough and humorless. “Healing,” she repeated, shaking her head. “Yeah, sure. Let’s call it that.”
Mel didn’t flinch at the bitterness in Vi’s tone. She had expected it, perhaps even braced herself for worse. Instead, she leaned forward slightly, resting her forearms on the table as her eyes searched Vi’s face with quiet intent. “I didn’t come here to stir old wounds,” she said, her voice steady but gentle. “I came because… I thought it was time.”
Vi raised an eyebrow, her fingers drumming idly on the table’s surface. “Time for what?” she asked, her voice quieter now, tinged with genuine curiosity despite herself.
“To talk,” Mel repeated simply, her voice steady but unassuming. “About everything. Or nothing. Whatever you’re ready for.”
Vi leaned back in her chair, her gaze drifting toward the window where Jinx and Caitlyn were still in the garden. The golden light of the setting sun framed their figures, the sound of their laughter faintly carrying through the glass. “Talking’s not really my thing these days,” Vi muttered, her tone laced with quiet resignation.
Mel followed her gaze, her expression softening as she observed the two women below. “They care about you,” she said after a moment. “More than you realize.”
“I know,” Vi admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “That’s the problem.”
Mel’s brow furrowed, her head tilting slightly. “Why would that be a problem?”
“Because I don’t deserve it,” Vi said, her mechanical hand curling into a fist on the table. The faint glow of the gemstone embedded in her arm pulsed subtly, reflecting the storm of emotions within her. “Not after everything I’ve done. After everything I’ve become.”
Mel didn’t respond immediately. Instead, she studied Vi, her gaze steady but free of judgment. “Do you think they see you as anything less than who you are?” she asked, her voice gentle but firm. “They’ve stayed by your side, Vi. That’s not pity. That’s love.”
Vi’s jaw tightened, and her stormy eyes met Mel’s gold ones with a mix of defiance and vulnerability. “You sound like you know a lot about love.”
Mel’s composure faltered, a flicker of pain crossing her features. “Not as much as I’d like,” she said quietly, her voice tinged with a sadness that made Vi pause. “But I know what it’s like to feel unworthy of it. To think you’ve been shaped into something that can’t be loved.”
Vi blinked, her posture stiffening. The raw honesty in Mel’s words caught her off guard, and for a moment, she searched Mel’s face for any hint of pretense. There was none. What she saw instead was something unsettlingly familiar—a reflection of her own turmoil.
“You mean Ambessa,” Vi said finally, the name heavy on her tongue, as though it carried the weight of both their pasts.
Mel’s nod was slow, deliberate. Her hands rested on the edge of the table, her composure steady despite the vulnerability in her voice. “She shaped us both, didn’t she? In different ways, but with the same tools. Pain. Fear. Control.”
Vi looked away, her jaw clenching as memories she tried to bury surged to the surface. Ambessa’s voice—commanding, calculated—echoed in her mind. “You’re perfect, Violet. My daughter.” The words twisted in her chest, filling her with a mix of anger and longing she didn’t know how to untangle. “She’s still in my head,” Vi admitted, her voice barely audible. “Even now. And the worst part? I don’t hate her for it.”
Mel’s breath hitched, her eyes glimmering with unspoken emotion. “Neither do I,” she said softly, her words trembling with quiet honesty. “I wish I could, but… there’s a part of me that still loves her. That probably always will.”
Vi hesitated, her gaze dropping to the faint grooves of the table as her fingers traced an idle pattern along the edge. The words sat heavy on her tongue, threatening to surface but held back by a tangle of uncertainty. She could feel Mel’s steady gaze on her, a quiet, patient weight that didn’t demand anything from her but still made her chest tighten.
For a long moment, she didn’t speak. The silence stretched between them, not oppressive but thick with unsaid things. Vi’s mind churned, a storm of conflicting emotions swirling just beneath the surface. She thought of Jinx, of the bond they had built piece by fractured piece over the last month. That bond had always been there, raw and untamed, but this was different. What she felt with Mel was… harder. More jagged. It wasn’t something she wanted, but it was something she couldn’t deny.
Her fingers curled into a fist against the table, the edges of her mechanical arm glinting faintly in the soft light. “I don’t… I don’t even know how to say this,” she muttered, her voice low and rough, as if the words were being dragged from a place she didn’t want to touch. Her eyes flicked up to meet Mel’s, her own expression guarded, stormy. “You’re not like Powder. Not like Cait. But…”
She faltered, the thought slipping through her fingers before she could catch it. Her jaw tightened, and for a moment, she looked like she might push it all back down, bury it where it couldn’t touch her. But Mel didn’t press, didn’t prod. She just waited, her golden eyes steady, offering Vi the space she needed to fight through the knots in her mind.
Vi exhaled sharply, her breath trembling as she leaned back slightly in her chair. “You get it,” she said finally, the words rough but gaining strength as she spoke. “What she did to us. How she—how she twisted everything.”
Her hand pressed against the faint glow of her scars, her jaw clenching tightly. “I’ve got Powder. She’s my sister, blood or not. But you…” She paused, her eyes flicking up to meet Mel’s again, the storm in her gaze finally breaking, revealing something raw and hesitant beneath. “You’re… something else. I don’t even know what to call it. But you get it in a way no one else ever could.”
Mel’s lips parted slightly, her sharp features softening as the weight of Vi’s words settled over her. “We’re survivors,” Mel said gently, her voice steady but laced with a quiet vulnerability of her own. “That’s a bond no one can take away.”
Vi nodded slowly, her throat tightening as the truth of those words hit her. She didn’t say the word “sister,” didn’t let herself fully name the connection forming between them, but the weight of what she meant was clear. Mel seemed to understand, her faint smile carrying a flicker of hope—fragile but real.
The silence that followed was lighter now, no longer heavy with hesitation. It wasn’t perfect, and it wasn’t easy, but it was a start.
Outside, the sun dipped lower on the horizon, casting a warm, golden glow over the garden. Jinx’s laughter echoed faintly through the open window, mingling with the rustle of leaves in the gentle breeze. For the first time in a long while, Vi felt a flicker of something she hadn’t dared hope for: peace.