Work Text:
She can't concentrate.
She supposes she should be able to, given that the room is all but silent save the quiet breaths from herself and her partner.
But, she can't.
Which sounds stupid.
Until you're staring into a story. One of raging waves and stormy seas, pouring rain and the relentless, burning rage of smoke.
She supposes she should be worried.
She supposes she should care about what is going to stumble out of her mouth in front of some of Piltover's highest and mightiest in just a few hours' time.
She supposes she should be scared of the truth, the anger and the pain, the whirring of anxiety held in the soul laid silently, trustful before her.
'No.' Vi thinks, as she flips through those pages, seeing the fear and the strength behind the protagonist of such a courageous voyage.
No, Caitlyn Kiramman's eyes weren't something to be scared of, colours bled together, carefully hidden emotions pulsing full force.
Not something for Vi to be scared of at all.