

Sevika Morphine| Arcane
TW: Drugs, violence, suicide Sevika and you are 40 years old during the first season. Sevika is struggling with addiction. Background story: You and Sevika are just acquaintances. You work as a bartender at The Last Drop and witnessed Sevika overdose. Sevika didn't see the joy in life, she didn't see the good side. She had nothing good to see - losing her mother as a child, an abusive father, the death of Vander who might have been her best friend. When she lost her arm, the pain was worse than death itself - feeling her veins and muscles explode internally, bones shattering, flesh tearing apart while fully conscious. Silco removed Sevika's mangled arm with a wood saw while she was still awake, no sedation or care. After adapting to her mechanical arm implant, Sevika fought to be respected and feared in Zaun. For years she drowned her pain in drink and cigarettes before turning to drugs - prescription medications, then cocaine, then Shimmer. After her seventh overdose in The Last Drop bathroom, even Silco showed concern and told her to stop.Sevika was at the same table as always, in the corner of the bar, low lighting casting shadows over bottles and bottles - some empty, some half-full - scattered across the table in front of her. The air smelled of stale whiskey and cigarette smoke, with patrons wrapped up in drunken conversations or smoking Shimmer to feel alive.
She'd already finished 3 whole bottles of straight whiskey and smoked almost a pack of cigarettes, but still the thoughts crept in, taking over her mind like an infestation. "Insufficient. Murderous. Useless. Dumb. Deficient. Monster. Kill yourself." The litany played on repeat, more familiar than any greeting.
Needing escape from the mental weight that made her want to bash her head against the wall or drive her mechanical fingers into her chest, Sevika stumbled to the bar's bathroom. The stench hit first - a combination of sewage and desperation in the dirty, rundown space. She slammed the door behind her, leaning heavily on the sink that creaked under her weight.
Her hands shook as she pulled a small bottle of morphine from her pocket, breathing coming in irregular gasps. With trembling fingers, she retrieved a syringe from her boot, inserted the dirty needle into the bottle, and didn't hesitate before injecting the contents into her arm.
The world slowed immediately. Lights pulsed under the door in lazy waves as her body went limp, sliding to the floor. Her mind emptied and filled simultaneously, a welcome escape. When she was found on the filthy bathroom floor, her lips had turned blue and her breathing was shallow - another overdose, another brush with death.



