Summoner Lessa Carin sat in her private quarters across from Orianna, the Lady of Clockwork. At her shoulder was a floating bronze and gold sphere, affectionately called the Ball. Carin's room was smaller than those afforded to her seniors but appeared even more so due to all the clutter, mostly from empty food cartons and textbooks on numerous subjects, wedged open with assorted unconventional items so the current page could be quickly found.

Carin did not like Orianna. She found the automaton creepy. Her expression did not try to hide her disgust either, but the creature never seemed to notice, hence why she wasn't more polite about it. Even creatures native to the Void had feelings and when she summoned them, they often conversed in a scornful manner; Cho'Gath specifically seemed to have nothing but contempt for the young woman, but Orianna's mind was entirely blank. Her soul was pantomimed — stolen from the girl she was sculpted in the likeness of.

Nevertheless, Carin had become something of her official representative to the League, as she had been one of two summoners who conducted her judgment, the other being Senior Summoner Ezekiel Montrose. Her colleagues felt restricting Orianna's interactions to a specific summoner would help her feel more welcome in the Institute of War, but Carin had serious doubts that a being composed of gears and electricity cared either way.

Carin sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose, collecting herself. She often had to curb her prejudice when it came to the League's more exotic champions. Physically, Orianna wasn't much different than Blitzcrank, though Carin had summoned the Great Steam Golem on numerous occasions and while he definitely did not think as most organic beings did, he was far less alien than Orianna. He had hopes, dreams, and opinions; Orianna did not, responding to Carin only when she initiated the conversation.

But today was about business only. She had earlier received a missive forwarded from Piltover which included both a newspaper clipping and a secondary letter penned by the esteemed summoner and friend Gregory Merad. The clipping was an obituary, a single paragraph detailing the cause of death of one Corin Reveck and where he had been buried. He had no living family and no known friends, so he had been afforded no service. The letter was a gentle warning that Orianna should be told, but gently. This man was her father, after all.

Carin could measure her words gently if necessary, but she didn't believe Orianna would care either way. Her programming might register the loss of her father as something that she should be sad about, but the reaction would be the same rigid mockery of emotion that it always was.

Not wanting to prolong this conference, Carin pulled the envelope out of her pocket and held it up so Orianna could see it, then held it outward. Rather than take an extra step forward to accept the envelope with the natural length of her arm, Orianna leaned forward and disconnected her torso from her waist. Her upper body maintained an invisible connection with her lower half, and when she accepted the letter from Carin's fingertips, she bobbed back into one piece like a spring.

Carin shuttered at the sight.

Orianna had always had some difficulty with fine motor control, so as she attempted to carefully extricate the letter from the envelope, she instead tore the entire flap off. Undeterred, she used the now more accessible opening to pull out the two pieces of paper and cast her lidless gaze first over the obituary. The mangled envelope fell unceremoniously to the floor. Carin was reminded that she probably should not have let Orianna see Merad's warning, but again, she wasn't trying to spare her feelings.

"My father is dead," the automaton spoke, that distinctive flanging ever present. As Carin predicted, her lipless mouth curled into something resembling a frown, but the rest of her face did not match expressions typically associated with sadness.

"That's right," Carin said with a nod. "You do not live with him so I don't know how often you spoke but… well… you have my condolences."

"I do?" Orianna replied, looking up from the obituary and at Carin. The summoner's eyes widened at bit at that.

"Um… yes. You do. It's unfortunate when a loved one passes." Carin leaned forward, looking more carefully at Orianna's metallic face. "You must be heartbroken."

"Yes. I am heartbroken," Orianna confirmed, but there was no change in the tempo of her voice. She then slipped the scrap behind Merad's letter and read the words contained therein.

"Summoner Merad is concerned for me. That is sweet of him."

In confirmation, the Ball bobbed and chirped.

"He worries about you, Orianna. You've been a champion of the League for months now. You're still very isolated."

"I have tried to make friends," she countered, though her tone was still wholly neutral. "The others do not like me. But that is OK. The Ball likes me."

The Ball whirred in acknowledgment. Orianna giggled and wrapped her arms around her floating friend.

"The resources of the League are available to you. Counselors, for instance. You're also quite famous. Perhaps if you attempted to associate with people outside of the League…"

"They do not understand me. They stare and point," Orianna's voice was now beginning to develop a melancholy twinge, but Carin noticed it was several minutes after the fact. "Even if they act kind, I know they are lying."

Carin sighed and shook her head. She wasn't sure what to make of this but it hadn't been the first time she'd attempted to expand Orianna's social repertoire. Even from the start, the automaton seemed eager to broaden her horizons, as if attempting to make up for the life her template never got to enjoy, which made it a simple task for Carin to find parties and other gatherings for Orianna to attend. As time went on, however, she began to catalogue an ever-increasing number of people — champions or otherwise — who seemed unnerved by her; they were cordial, but dismissive. Others were outright hostile and insulting.

The one champion that everyone believed Orianna could find some common ground with was Blitzcrank, but even he seemed perplexed and ultimately frustrated by the clockwork girl. In her first month with the League, Blitzcrank had quickly assembled a comprehensive "humanities" course for Orianna, scheduled for their leisure time. While Orianna could easily record and recite the information Blitzcrank relayed, she could apply none of it to an actual social gathering. Her mannerisms were still as stiff and unusual as ever. The two eventually ceased their interaction due largely to Blitzcrank's frustrations. The other, more personal reason, was that Orianna no longer felt welcome.

"Thank you, Lessa," Orianna spoke after a moment of silence. Her arms disjointed and reached behind her back, winding up the large key protruding from her shoulder blades. "I will let you get back to your studies." With that, Orianna's upper body turned toward the exit, followed shortly by her lower body, and walked out of Carin's room.

For the first time since Orianna's arrival, Carin felt sorry for her. She couldn't help but feel that the automaton was beginning to finally develop some of that long-sought sentience, but because of her extraordinary circumstances, she had no one to help her cope. Perhaps it wouldn't hurt to bring the question before the counselors one more time…


Orianna's metal heels clattered down the wide halls of the Institute of War toward her own room, passing numerous people as she did. Most avoided her; those that didn't seemed engrossed in another activity and didn't notice her at all. Her room was in a somewhat isolated section, shared with secretive champions by the likes of Ryze and Malphite. Each room was customized for the needs of the champion, many of which possessed unique anatomies that required exotic architecture or reinforced floors.

In Orianna's case, her room was oval-shaped and the door had no visible handle. Instead, it possessed a tiny keyhole in the center, which unlocked as Orianna ejected a key from her right index fingertip, the digit parting bilaterally. Heavy metal locks parted and the door slowly cranked open, allowing Orianna and the Ball entry. It shut by itself a few moments later.

The Ball seemed happy to finally be alone with its mistress. She hugged it, cooing affectionately, and let it drift over to a small platform in the far south-eastern corner. It lowered itself upon a cartridge-like device and began to recharge. Orianna passively observed her friend for a moment before winding her key yet again and walking away.

This space was all Orianna could truly call her own. She had no furniture to speak of, just numerous bookshelves and dozens of canvases either pinned to the wall or resting in easels, each with an exquisite painting of primarily bright, warm colors. Most of Orianna's books had to due with topics about socialization, fraternization, how to read body language, and other human-centric topics. Scholastic information was unnecessary, for her father had programmed her with knowledge on virtually every topic imaginable. She ran her fingers across the spines of several stacked books then, taking note of their titles and recalling the effort she had personally put forth in becoming more like the first Orianna. That her father hadn't thought to craft Orianna more like his first daughter in both personality and appearance was… frustrating. She sighed.

Orianna reached behind several books and extricated a hidden one, more personalized than the published tomes. The spine was laced with twine and the cover was soft leather. She grazed her hand across it and smiled, then skipped back underneath the window and sat down on the floor. Her sharp metal skirt prevented her from leaning back against the wall, so she adopted an Indian-style sitting position.

Nearby was a small duffle bag filled with art supplies, and resting against the wall behind it was an unfinished painting of what appeared to be a family. She took from the bag a pencil, tapped the tip against her pliable but completely dry tongue, and flipped to a blank page.

"Dear diary…"