𝓢𝖍𝖊𝖕𝖍𝖊𝖗𝖉 𝖔𝖋 𝓕𝖎𝖗𝖊

Dark-tinted lips tilt into an amused smirk at his sigh response—-the sharp snap of pages closing allowing her to shift into the shadows; finding herself in front of his desk. “What? Too on the nose?”

Amber hues glisten against the dark, candle-lit chambers of the Grand General’s——-shadow-veiled figure gliding from the entrance, to the mahogany backrest of his seating. She lingers behind his seated self, form imposing and still before she leans in. “Don’t lie, Jericho.”

Oh, Grand General. The walls of Noxus cannot contain my whispers in the dark. Haven’t you missed this little game of ours?

——Crawling out of the depths of the Bastion just to insult me? How very petty. I thought you were above that.

Good morning. To herselves only, of course. Everyone else… she hopes is having the worst possible day.