The leather-bound books were old. Nowhere near ancient, but they certainly showed the wear and tear of several particularly neglectful years. The golden yellow and bright blue dyes that had been worked into the shining symbol of Demacia on each cover had faded, seeming to soak up the light where once they had dazzled and glittered. Shyvana smiled a bit, running a hand over a worn cover or trailing fingertips down a ragged and bent spine. She opened the oldest one and laughed softly at the poor penmanship and the way the ink had smeared here and there, or pooled on the page as her hand hesitated between strokes. With a faint chuckle she sat down and adjusted her cloak slightly, turning to the first page of her first diary, eyes glowing softly in the dim light as she began to read the words that Jarvan had helped her write.
Hello, my name is Shyvana. How are you? I am doing well. Today is my birthday, and you are my present. My very first present on my very first proper b