No spirit questioned the legitimacy of Achlys's place on the Shadow Isles, and that was enough for Karthus. Elise provided the sustenance for her to live, and Karthus himself saw to her care and keeping. He believed that it would be enough for the child but, as he quickly learned, Achlys did not believe that this was the case. What she truly desired was attention.

Achlys would coo softly when he held her or stroked the soft wisps of pale hair that were starting to grow but, if left alone for too long, she would begin to fuss and cry. And then she would cry when she was hungry, and when she needed cleaning, and when she was gassy, and when she was scared, and sometimes, for no reason at all. Her wailing at times was like a banshee's. This was a statement which Karthus insisted was no exaggeration since, on one occasion, her cries had attracted an actual banshee to his cathedral. No spirit could hear his sermon that day. It was after that that Karthus finally decided that something needed to be done.

While Achlys slept, Karthus sat alone and thought. As his gaze followed the tiny movements of the rise and fall of her chest, he scoured his memories, searching desperately for some inspiration. It finally came when Achlys giggled in her sleep. The sound awoke some deep memory of a similar sound. Karthus fixated on it and an image began to form in his mind.

He was sitting on the floor of a dank building. The wood was rotting and there was an oppressive dimness to the room that seemed determined to suck the vibrancy from everything within it. Despite this, he was surrounded by three younger, smiling girls. Karthus looked down at his hands and in them was a tiny toy soldier carved from wood, freshly painted in the colors of the Noxian military, and a paintbrush. He handed the toy to the youngest of the three sisters and she giggled. She said his name, and the sound rang hollowly through his mind before the memory once again faded.

A mimic of a sigh came from Karthus as he his mind returned to the present.

"Toys," he said, "she needs toys."

He leaned over Achlys and rested a boney finger in her tiny palm. Her fingers wrapped around it as she slowly stirred awake.

"I will have Elise search for some for you."

She tugged his finger closer to her.

"Though, I will see what I can do for you now."

Karthus pulled his finger back from her reluctant hand. He looked around the room for anything that would make for a stand-in toy. Nothing stood out. Karthus had no need for possessions, and as such, he owned very little. Most of what he owned was used in his ceremonies or were one of the many books he had salvaged from the Library Keep. None of these items were anything he wanted to give to an infant. He would need to make something.

"Come, child," he said, scooping her up, "what appeals to you?"

He walked with her through the entirety of the cathedral and introduced her to the many items within it in hopes that something would catch her interest.

Old tomes beyond repair?

Boring.

A headless figurine of some long forgotten man?

Couldn't keep her eyes open.

Stubs of old beeswax candles?

Uninterested.

The only new item that caught Achlys's interest was a shard of stained glass which Karthus had immediately deemed unsuitable for a plaything. Outside of this, her intersts were focused on two things; Karthus's vestments, which she kept an unwavering grip on, and the wraiths that floated around them. Her gaze had followed their glowing trails and her eyes had widened with excitement every time their forms shifted and briefly reflected the man or beast they were in life. A realization came to Karthus.

"Of course, little one," he said with pride, "that is what you want. I should have expected such from one destined to dwell among wraiths. You wish for a toy of one."

The lich set about his task at once. He found some grey fabric that was dusty but free of stains, a black string, and the ink he used in his tome recovery. With one of his ceremonial daggers, he cut the cloth into an even square before gathering up the scraps to be used as stuffing. He made a bundle of the cloth and tied the stuffing in with the string while still leaving enough to hang below like tendrils of Mist.

Karthus examined his handiwork. It was primitive, but serviceable. All it needed was a face. He dipped the tip of his finger into the ink and dotted two eyes onto the plush wraith. He went to finish with the mouth but paused.

What expression do I bestow it? A smile would be the obvious choice for a child's toy, but it would seem foolish to give it an expression that she will rarely see on the spirits here. It is a shame that their expressions are frozen in the fear they felt before release. But still, it seems equally foolish to dye a frown or scowl on something intended to comfort her. She always grows discomforted around the spirits of those who died in battle. Perhaps a neutral expression would be best.

With that, Karthus took his ink stained finger and drew a straight, expressionless mouth. He handed Achlys the toy, finally satisfied with its appearance.

"Here you are, Achlys, a wraith of your own, straight mouth and everything."

Achlys took it immediately and gave her guardian and big, toothless smile. She shook it up and down, as one of the cathedral's wraiths bobbed up and down in the air beside her. Karthus paid little mind to the odd behavior of the wraith, for he, much like the lesser spirit, was too wrapped up in how happy the child looked.

And it was much like this that their first month passed in peace, until Achlys insisted on learning how to crawl.