I always wondered what was wrong with her locket.
It wasn't the collar she carried around her neck at all times; laced with purple- Always proper, always in place. She held herself with her shoulders up and her eyes wide. A prim, precise, sharp woman who made sure every ounce of her time was spent yet not wasted. Emotions so controlled it made me sick to my stomach every time I heard her speak on the job.
I always wondered what was wrong with her locket, and how she could be so happy with it, yet it was so empty.
There'd be times where I'd think she was at least a little upset. Sometimes I could hear her voice falter when giving orders, or her eyesight drop just a tad bit when she thought I wasn't looking. And at night, when I'd catch her by herself, sitting silently in her study. Her head would be slumped in her hands and her stress had itched over her once beautiful features.
The town of Piltover used to be havoc before she arrived- and now she's the only one left to keep it. It's consumed her lifestyle, her ability to have friends, but it's saved my life. I have no room to complain or cry. Where I come from, it's a death sentence.
She's all I have and she's dying.
And every night when I lay a blanket across her shoulders and watch her snore against a pile of inhumane paperwork spread out in front of her, is another day I wish I could fill her locket, like she's filled mine.
Everyone loves what they can't have.