@ly-cub has said: "either be part of the solution or get the hell out"
Charlotte’s words were sharp, cutting through the tense air like a blade.
❝ Get the hell out? That’s rich coming from you, sister.❞ Her voice dripped with venom, and she paced the room like a caged animal, her steps restless, her frustration pouring out with every syllable. Her vivid blue eyes locked onto Caitlyn’s — so much like her own — burning with a mixture of defiance and pain. It was a strange, almost surreal sight, like staring into a mirror that reflected a life neither of them could fully understand.
❝ You’re the one who asked me to stick around,❞ Charlotte snapped, gesturing wildly as if her emotions couldn’t be physically contained.
❝ You’re the one who wanted this — wanted to ‘get to know each other’ or whatever noble nonsense you told yourself. And now? Now it’s inconvenient for you? My presence? My existence?❞ She stopped pacing for a moment, staring at Caitlyn as though daring her to argue. Her voice dropped, bitter and biting.
❝ Why? Because I grew up in Zaun? Because your precious topside citizens don’t trust me? Or maybe because your father can’t even look at me without that... that resentment. That grief. Like I’m some walking reminder of everything he lost.❞
Her voice cracked for a split second before she steadied it, turning away briefly as if to gather herself. When she faced Caitlyn again, the fire in her gaze was still there, but it was joined by something else — something raw and vulnerable.
❝ What do you want from me, huh? To fix it? To somehow roll back time and undo it all? To stand in front of all of Piltover and apologize for being kidnapped as a baby? For being raised in the undercity? For not being the perfect little Kiramman they wanted both of us to be?”
She laughed bitterly, her voice shaking slightly as the anger threatened to give way to something deeper.
❝ Don’t ridicule me. Don’t stand there and act like I chose this. Like any of this was something I could control.❞
Charlotte’s pacing slowed, her arms falling to her sides as she finally stopped moving. Her tone softened, though it carried the weight of exhaustion and hurt.
❝ You have no idea what it’s like. To look at someone and see everything you could’ve been — everything you should’ve been — if life had just gone a little differently. And then to know, deep down, you’ll never be that. Not to them. Not to anyone. Piltover will never trust me. Your father will never look at me like his daughter. I'll always be the misfit, the rejected daughter. The fucked up one. The addict one. The sumprat one.❞
