She generally looks like a debutante. Bright, shiny blonde hair, immaculate skin, brilliant, wide smile. She holds herself properly: legs crossed, hands folded, eyes attentive, head nodding. It's like she doesn't even know what slouching is. She even cups a hand in front of her mouth to giggle politely when she's engaged in small talk. Her armor is always clean and polished, her hair is always in perfect order,and her words are witty but always politically correct, carefully construed so as to ensure she talks lots but never really says anything at all.

It's comical, really, that anyone even falls for her charade to begin with. Her smile, her words, her body language - they're al too perfect. It's like watching an actor deliver the perfect performance, only they don't honestly care at all about the show, and you can tell because everything they do or say is just a little bit off, a little too rehearsed. Like it's just a mechanical response.

She's holding on to something, and he loves to dig up secrets.

He still hasn't found it yet. Not after years of knowing her. It's like trying to shovel past bedrock. Some things just aren't meant to be, and even if they are, they need time to weather, to break into palpable pieces.

He's found out plenty of other things, though. For instance:

She hates shiny things. Loathes them. She complained to him privately once that she hated getting jewelry as gifts, because what was the point of wearing silver or diamonds when they could fall off and get lost so easily? Oh, and they were far too dull to be so highly valued, and what on Earth was the point in valuing something that simply glittered prettily?

She likes spellbooks. Reads them cover to cover, not resting until she's absorbed the whole thing into her pretty, blonde head. She babbles on and on about any topic in there that caught her attention or piqued her interest. He brought her an ancient book from Shurima once. It was so worn and old and dusty that half the text on the pages was essentially illegible. She didn't care. She pieced together what she could, and went on for days about how exquisite and ingenious the author's recorded spells were.

She respects Noxians. It's surprising in some ways, because she's a Crownguard, a Demacian, a sworn enemy to anything that even smells vaguely Noxian; but it's also not surprising at all, because she's a spy, and she's spent months in Noxus and years wearing a Noxian mask, and she knows that beneath the facades, they're only human, too. She doesn't make excuses for their assasins or wars. But she acknowledges their strength and determination, finds solace in the fact that they are also unwavering in the face of duty, and she respects their livelihoods as much as she does his own. When she explains it, he wonders if she's really on to something, after all.

Most importantly to him, though: She loves to hear about his adventures. She envies his freedom, his lack of fealty to anything and (almost) anyone, and she longs to pursue knowledge without the shackles of appearances and justice yanking her backwards. She hangs on his every word, and gasps at every twist or turn, and begs for more when his tales are done.

So he indulges her, because watching her when he weaves his embellished stories is like watching mist fade. He can finally see the shore for what it really is.

And it's not the sandy beach she promises. Oh, no. It's jagges cliffs and deadly rocks and undercurrents, so many undertows to pull you under.

And he'll admit it, it's hard not to get swept up in them, not to get drowned in her fury and fear, and it's even harder not to get swept away by her ardor, her laughter. The fire in her eyes when he fights bandits, the shivers down her spine when he fells demons. The intensity she exhumes is ridiculous, and he can't get enough of it, so he drags his tales on and on, far past the sunset and well into midnight, until the only lights outside are stars and gauntlets and bright, wide eyes looking back into his.

She doesn't lie to him, and he can sometimes see her for who she is: a girl, and a fighter, and a bundle of feelings and hopes laid bare for him to grasp. She's no debutante, no princess, and she's no charade, no hidden treasure.

She's Lux. Lux with the blue eyes and the stupid laugh and the stupider selflessness.

And he'd be lying if he said he loved her any less for it.

xoxoxox

Thought I'd share this with you guys. I'm done with exams for a while, so I wrote a one-shot to celebrate. :)

xoxoPigTails