metamorphosis || VIKTOR FANFICTION

chapter 9 : across the river

She spotted Caitlyn as soon as her foot stepped onto the balcony.

Standing in the distance of the vast field, the young Kiramman was surrounded by a group of children. She was firing what Lyra could only assume was her birthday present. Aiming at practice targets, while a boy who could not have been much older, did the same from a shotgun at her right. The kids watched in awe and cheered at Caitlyn every time she made the mark, laughing teasingly at her opponent when he incessantly kept missing his.

Lyra could not help but chuckle when the little girl noticed her. Dressed impeccably into her luxuriously decorated dress, she waved at the student wildly, toothy grin beaming and stretching all the way up. What made Lyra's amusement grow, was the sight of the large muddied mountain-boots peaking from under the birthday girl's skirt. Most definitely something Cassandra forced her to wear so the daughter wouldn't slob up her good flats.

When Caitlyn was younger, and Tobias had just began introducing her to the family craft of rifle-shooting, the student was encouraged to join. Lyra was sixteen then, only recently adopted by the Dean of the Academy.

She believed that he introduced her to the family because he wanted her to make friends.

And he was hardly to blame, if she was honest, because she was anything but an easy child. She remembered being abnormally quiet during that period of her life. Stoic and empty-looking. Haunted by the recent events that had led her to Piltover to begin with.

But as time progressed, and more lessons were provided, she grew close to the family. And the pain simmered away just a smidge.

She also found, she quite enjoyed the signature hobby of the Kiramman household, and was always eager to join them during practices. So even that day, upon being beckoned, the student couldn't help but meet the young Kiramman into a prolonged shooting match. Unsurprisingly, Caitlyn won. But Lyra could confidently say they got very close to a tie. And she did, emphasising it incessantly through a playful smile while Caitlyn laughed and cheered at her own victory.

All in all, the activity lightened Lyra's spirits. The little girl's enthusiasm was endearing and extremely infectious, to the point the student's cheeks ended up tingling from the amount of smiling she was doing.

For the first time in what felt like ages, Lyra was actually laughing. It wasn't a loud laugh, more of a chuckle here and there.

But it felt good.

She'd forgotten how it felt to be even a little bit carefree.

The cake was brought out soon after, and Cassandra's calls from the balcony hauled her and the children inside. The whole room sang in honour of the Kiramman heir, candles were blown out, and the spongy vanilla dessert was eaten with readiness.

Lyra had it half in mind to return to the gardens. But despite her better wishes, an imperatively intoxicated Councillor Hoskel had bowled towards her.

She never would have thought a forty-minute praise of her designs could dull her quite like so.

When Lyra managed to finally slip away, she found her way back onto the balcony. Which is where she stood now, sipping leisurely at her glass, while watching Caitlyn practice in the field. The night had rolled in by then, so most of the children had left the party. The Kiramman girl, however, was above all that and resorted to running off to practice as soon as her mother's attention pivoted off her.

Lyra watched her as she relentlessly fired and reloaded her rifle, stance firm and concentrated, her focus unbreakable and aim exemplary even in the darkness of the night. The large grassy field was enveloped into dark-blue shadows by then, and whistling with a cool breeze. Lyra did not feel the cold though, the light buzzing from the alcohol flowing through her insides, making her warm and relaxed. She just stayed put, peaceful, listening to the distant bustling of people and the languid dragging of the orchestral waltz behind her, and the quietness of nature ahead. Elbows leaning on stone, a small smile playing on her lips in the partial darkness.