his presence? the ravens? it was an amalgamation of her skin seeming to twitch and crawl against a further sensation she could not properly place. jericho swain was something someone that felt inhuman to her ; shrouded in murkiness, trudging through sludge — that is how it felt in this moment to be in his presence… suffocating. her gaze trails from of the wailing corvids to the man at her side ; skimming for a moment his cane before resting her eyes with something akin to perhaps defiance.

      ❛ one could say i simply followed your advice, ❜     there’s an edge, something pointed, in her tone — it’s as though she tastes what he thinks of her. 

though, in truth, riven could little blame any noxian who was to find her alive for thinking her to be traitorous… in some respect, she was. she let her homeland believe her to be dead ; she let them mourn her ; she let them cry over one of their own lost. and yet — here she stood, alive and proud, though somewhat lost. her heritage would always be relevant, but she no longer fought alongside her people… she did not blame swain for believing she abandoned her home in favor of her own ends, it was true and she could not deny it. her next words held irony just as much as they held truth,         ❛ — i refused death. ❜

thegadgetfish:

Hello old friend

riive:

breathe?