prompts from @flashfictionfridayofficial and @meljaymicrofics "give it time" and "proximity"
relationship: Jayce/Mel, brief mentions Mel & Kino, Mel & Elora
content warning: mentions of character death(s), hurt/no comfort
ββ΄οΈΛｑβ ββ΄οΈΛｑβ ββ΄οΈΛｑβββ΄οΈΛｑβ ββ΄οΈΛｑβ ββ΄οΈΛｑβββ΄οΈΛｑβ ββ΄οΈΛｑβ
It had been nearly twenty years. More than half of her life and Mel still broke into a breathless sweat at the sound of carriages rolling down cobblestone roads. The sound of horses squeals and screams in acute distress. Those have been few and far between, but even the calm of huffs and neighs were no different. In private she found it humiliating, shameful how weak her knees went.
Leaving it on her face she could never do.
Instead she steels herself, stiffens her spine and puts one foot in front of the other. Mel firmly decided she preferred walking most places, eternally grateful Piltover's designed to be a walkable city.
Earlier that year, the same year she lost her father, Mel was witness to the execution of Binan noble Lady Mion; the girl's head hitting the ground with three sloppy wet smacks before rolling to Mel's feet at an achingly slow pace. Her feet took her back in a shuffle at the sight. Lady Mion couldn't have been more than a year or two older than Mel herself. Upon her mother's swift action, Mel found eyes once green, a shade not too dissimilar to her very own, open blank to a lifeless void.
A river of blood staining the earth flowed from Lady Mion's neck, permanently eroding the flooring of the Kumangran castle.
Mel could have done somethingβ anything. Maybe she could have saved the other girl. But her words weren't enough: not against her mother's might. Nearly every fiber of her being twitched to bend down and close Lady Mion's eyes.
But she couldn'tβ especially not in the presence of her mother. Her katar glistening with still warm blood. Instead Mel immortalized Mion's crimson vitality along with the creams and turquoise of her necklace on tapestry.
ββ΄οΈΛｑβ ββ΄οΈΛｑβ ββ΄οΈΛｑβ
It had been several years since her mother told her about her brother's death. Searches for any sign of Kino came up fruitless, leaving Mel with countless unanswerable questions, cursed to forever linger in the back of her mind.
What exactly happened to him and when? Was he all alone? Was he in pain? In the years since she was exiled, had he received any of her letters? Respond to them? Or at least try to?
When Mel was cast away to Piltover, she had only a quick farewell to share with her brotherβ the ship she was bound for was to leave that very night and there was little time for preparation. At least she was able to speak with him: their mother was able to at least grant that mercy. Blurred by swelling tears, Mel still managed to remember his warm scent, lanky arms holding her close as possible as an anchoring weight. Even the wiry scratches of a beard not fully connected yet tickled her forehead.
Mel convinced herself she'd be reuinted with her family again soon.
Instead the earth and its possibiliites of a brighter future, a kinder one, a warmer one, crumbled beneath her feet, leaving behind a chasm.
A loss of a part of her heart never to return to her. Hosting rites with her mother without his body but with this certain⦠strain between the two of them was a hollow symbol of closure. She was pointedly aware of its superficiality. A brittle house ready to crumble at the faintest breeze.
ββ΄οΈΛｑβ ββ΄οΈΛｑβ ββ΄οΈΛｑβ
It had been nearly a year since he disappeared. Since Noxian troops invaded Piltover's shores. Since Jayce's soul vanished into an oblivion her sigils could not reach. No matter hwo hard she tried.
There was a time when Mel believed Noxus was her home. One day she would make a name for herself in Piltover, prove herself to her mother her values had merit and she could return home.
Before she knew it, home took on a different color. Slowly sneaking up on her to wholly pull her under in a warm embrace.
It was the steadiness Elora gave her in her youth during a time of loss and redisocvering her place in a foreign land. The cups of tea she brewed for her when nights in her council chambers ran long reviewing policies, writing proposals, and the like. Elora knew what Mel needed, at times even before Mel even knew herself.
It was the uncontrollable fire in Jayce Talis's heart. It caught her off guard, someone so recklessly ambitious, yet she found it fascinating. Him capturing her eye in his own desire to leave a mark in helping the public. Someone who reminded her it was okay to feel. That being your true self was more than enough. That she was enough.
Without her conscious knowing, she started making room on the left side of the bed for him to take. A spare toothbrush when he spent the night at her estate. And drawers for his own clothes so he wouldn't need to worry about changes of clothes.
The very same applied when she wanted to be with him. To venture a life outside the path of a Medarda.
It has been almost a year since.
Since his presence next to her soothed her nightmares.
Since he rested his head in her lap and allowed her to see his own weights and strains melt away if for a quiet moment.
It has been a long, long year.
Mel still leaves room on the left side of the bed. She has yet to abandon the toothbrush he'd use when he'd stay over.
"Time heals all wounds." At least that's what people said in times of loss. The further one was from the aching strain, one day, eventually, new memories and experiences would paint over the tenderness in one's heart. A blurred memory distorted and dulled by time.
But Mel knew better. Such a saying was nothing more than an empty platitude people said because they didn't know what to say. They never did.
Instead, grief curses Mel to replay events over and over again. She humorlessly laughs at the butterfly effect's intimate impact. Time doesn't heal woundsβ only compounds it.
In the shadows of the night alone in her chambers, Mel is left to ponder one question as she closes her eyes: which ghost will visit her this time?
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