𝐍𝐎𝐁𝐎𝐃𝐘 𝐒𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐒 𝐅𝐀𝐈𝐑. . .   

[004marks]

*     𝐘𝐄𝐍𝐍𝐄𝐅𝐄𝐑  ,   𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐒𝐄𝐖𝐎𝐌𝐀𝐍   𝐎𝐅   𝐖𝐀𝐑   [ . . . ]   Everything   about   her  is   ravishing.   And  menacing.   Those   colours   of   hers;   that   contrast   of   back   and   white.   Beauty  and   menance.

❝ 𝖸𝗈𝗎 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝗒𝖾𝗍 𝗍𝗈 𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍  𝐧 𝐨 𝐛 𝐨 𝐝 𝐲  𝗀𝗂𝗏𝖾𝗌 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗉𝗈𝗐𝖾𝗋. . . ❞

𝐈𝐍𝐃. 𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐕. 𝐒𝐄𝐋. yennefer of vengerberg of the witcher verse. she moved with a natural, unforced grace. written by pandy.

[004marks]

how strange it is to find ourselves ending up here, @exsecratuss

It was a strange twist of fate, the events that had guided Yennefer forth to end up here, in the very midst of an seemingly endless crowd as those involved danced cheerfully, drinking till they reached their fill and radiated with that of untouched exuberance. Often, rumours floated about how Sorcerers and Sorceresses held an invisible string to the celebrations of Belleteyn, often lead in some way, shape or form to the festivities.

It was, supposedly, a time of celebration, assorted bonfires stacked high with the flammable material of gathered limber and fry kindling in preparation for the frolics that would ever so soon be set in motion, waiting patiently to be ignited by that of a flaming torch as the Festival of Belleteyn was to move onwards to yet another one of it’s glorious events that was often the topic spoken by countless of willing tongues.

Yennefer stood back from the gathering, remaining that of a reasonable distance as the Sorceress of Vengerberg watched on in silence with striking, amethyst hues that studied with devotion, even as a goblet of somewhat palatable ale was rested precariously on her gloved palm, the occasional sip being taken here and there.

If someone was to have mentioned that tonight of all nights would be the one that would set in place the motions of the Sorceress seeing a familiar face and setting the beginnings of something * 𝒖𝒏𝒆𝒙𝒑𝒆𝒄𝒕𝒆𝒅, Yennefer would’ve called them out on their pure stupidity, their pure ridiculousness.

Yet…

It had, indeed, happened. Captured, somehow, by the movement of a mere flicker, the motions that belonged to that of a woman that’d passed. Yennefer was left uncharacteristically speechless by the sight of a familiar complexion wandering amongst the crowds that she had met once, someone that had, strangely enough, left her with a mindful of questions.

Astraea of Novigrad was a woman that had been met by chance, through that of a woman that they had both shared deep adoration for and whilst their meetings had been short, ever so effortlessly able to be counted on that of a single hand, the little werewitch was, admittedly, talented in her own right, remembered by Yennefer of Vengerberg for reasons both known and unknown. 

Slow was her steps, calculated as the motions of approaching the woman begun and Yennefer cautiously made her way until the older woman was lingering at a respectful distance from the Redanian Sorceress. “My, my, my… Is that the shy lamb I’ve spotted? Where is that little witcher of yours, hmm?” Bitten back was her smirk as yet another sip of her drink was carefully taken, spending little to no time truly relishing on the substandard taste.

[exsecratuss]

Belleteyn was something that Astraea has admittedly always been curious about. There is talks about often, all year around but the buzz becomes even more persistent when the festival approaches. Like every other celebration, though, she was beginning to see it was all about the food, drinks and the potential lover for the night. Except that in Belleteyn, everyone was doing it and no one judged. The werewitch would’ve been so out of her comfort zone years back but now she could exist, even in silence amongst the crowds. She could drink and watch and even at times engage in conversations.

If the wolf was feeling ever so bold and in a particular mood, she would take on a lover. Though emerald hues take in the crowd and she couldn’t see a single person which strikes her fancy. So she drank and enjoyed the music for the most part. Sitting by one of the many fires, Astraea sips her ale at a slow pace, enjoying the taste when she hears a familiar voice. Familiar in the sense that she has heard it before, a handful of times but it was a rather difficult timbre to forget.

𝗠𝘆, 𝗺𝘆, 𝗺𝘆… 𝗜𝘀 𝘁𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘀𝗵𝘆 𝗹𝗮𝗺𝗯 𝗜’𝘃𝗲 𝘀𝗽𝗼𝘁𝘁𝗲𝗱?

She tilts her head, gaze landing on the raven haired woman. Shy lamb, she supposed that wasn’t so far off thought she enjoyed the irony of it since she was a wolf. There is a moment where Astraea debates on answers with something like ‘𝘄𝗵𝗲𝗿𝗲 𝗶𝘀 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿𝘀?’ When the sorceress form Vengerberg asks about Lilith whereabouts. “On the path” she answer, “as all witchers always seem to be.” Unable to help herself, she scans the area, searching for another set of raven locks.

Because the last time she saw Yennefer, she was living with Amara. She doesn’t know if she can truly handle that right now. Well she can but she rather not, no matter the circumstances and whatnot. Even if they had parted amicably she doesn’t feel quite in the mood to see her ex-lover trade saliva with her own ex-lover that wasn’t an ex anymore. Viridescent optics land back of the lilac eyes sorceress. It seemed like they were both here alone.

[004marks]

Gods …How dreadfully typical. Had there ever been a Witcher to live who did not travel the path by their lonesome, leaving a trail of broken hearts and painful promises? Seems to be that of a species that was truly extinct. “Careful of them, little lamb … Witcher’s aren’t nearly as noble as they so often pretend.” It had only lasted that of mere moments before pale shoulders cladded in her signature black and white rose in a half-hearted shrug, a valiant smirk taking place across her painted brims. “It is her loss and my gain, I’m sure.”

Only seconds. She had thought. It had only taken that of mere seconds for the Sorceress to begin her search, surveying the crowd for even the smallest of glimpses, Yennefer theorises. Was it concern that’d left the younger woman in search of raven locks or the shimmers of hope? Interesting …

“You won’t find her here, little one…” Yennefer had murmured dryly, the bridge of her fair nose crinkling ever so slightly as the depths of her beverage was watched, observed with befuddlement. “I heard on the grape vine that Nilfgaard holds our beloved friend, her efforts concentrated on alchemy for the ruler.”

Yennefer was rarely, if ever the type to be bothered by one’s discomfort. In fact, the Sorceress of Vengerberg had chosen the empty space that laid open, and untaken besides the younger woman, claiming it as her own as the potent scent of Lilac and Gooseberries surely invaded the Redanian’s senses unforgivingly.

“So… Astraea.” Her voice was spoken with purpose, falling from the Aedirnian’s tongue like sugar from a sweet bun but holding not an inch of malice, and instead, held curiosity. “Am I going to see you leaping through these flames tonight in search of luck?”

[exsecratuss]

Yennefer speaks from experience and that much Astraea knows. Though she’s certain that Lilith is nothing like Geralt of Rivia but that can go without saying. The werewitch doesn’t truly know how to respond to that, so she decides not to answer at all.

𝗜𝘁 𝗶𝘀 𝗵𝗲𝗿 𝗹𝗼𝘀𝘀 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗺𝘆 𝗴𝗮𝗶𝗻, 𝗜’𝗺 𝘀𝘂𝗿𝗲.

Now what was that supposed to mean? Her lips part as though to ask but she fall shut once more. There is not much time to dwell upon that because they are now on the subject of a certain Temerian. Her name is not spoken, it doesn’t need to be. A singular brow quirks as the dry tone with which the words are uttered and she wonders if Yennefer and Amara had parted ways less amicably than herself and the Temerian. She almost snorts at term used. ‘Beloved friend’ it is seems that the lilac eyed woman has yet to let that go. And it has been years since then but then again the sorceress from Vengerberg strikes her as someone that can hold onto things for centuries.

“Good for her” is all that Astraea says in that regard before she turns to face the fire. Yennefer takes a seat beside her without being promoted to, which doesn’t really surprise the wolf. Her fingers tap the mug gently. She must admit that the raven haired woman’s presence made her nervous though surprisingly not uncomfortable. “Oh… uh, no, I don’t think so” she says softly, chuckling slightly and sitting a little straighter. “What about you?”

[004marks]

Yennefer grasped the edge of her goblet, allowing it to remain carefully between the tips of her fingers in that of a mere dangle, swinging nonchalantly in time with each strum of the performer’s lute as a pale chin settled pleasantly against the palm of her opposing hand, amethyst spherules focusing lazily on those that were currently entertaining themselves with dance.

One could see the questions arising within the woman that Yennefer had chosen to bother, the wheels of her mind ever so loud as they turned. It was, admittedly, strangely refreshing to be in the presence of someone like Astraea. She did little in regards of insisting to hide herself from the prying gazes of those that surrounded her and didn’t hide her emotions and the questions that rose within her eyes. Yennefer, of course, knew of the questions that had gathered and had simply chosen to remain silent upon them, simply letting Astraea seek enjoyment in the festival rather than having it ruined.

“It isn’t to my taste.” Once or twice had been enough, back in the days that once held her friendship with Triss Merigold, one of the few souls alive that was able to convince Yennefer to participate in such events as this. Astraea’s nerves dripped unforgivingly, earning the tasteful arch of an manicured brow as the woman was observed, watched from the edge of Yennefer’s vision. “Stop being nervous, little wold. I would have bitten if I had desired, and obviously, I do not. We can save that for later.” 

It was to her surprise that the woman was easily unnerved. She had met the woman only a handful of times but Yennefer had believed that confident women such as Astraea’s past and present lovers would have eased such quick actions.

[exsecratuss]

Astraea watched the way that the lilac eyed sorceress held her goblet. The way she watched the flames of the fire and the bodies surrounding the area as they danced. She seemed to be lost within it for a brief moment before answering to Astraea’s question.

The smell of lilac was potent, it always was of course but even more so when it was right beside her. Ever so sweet, invasive. It overtook one’s senses and she now understood why whenever Yennefer was mentioned, the color of her eyes and her smell were instantaneous thoughts which filtered through one’s mind.

Little lamb, little one, little wolf… Those were certainly choices. Rather interesting ones and it was ever so surprising that the werewitch hadn’t said anything about them. Perhaps deep down she sort of liked them. Not to mention the rather suggestive words that the raven haired woman kept throwing her way. Astraea was unsure of how to take them, unsure of Yennefer was flirting with her or being friendly. “Old habits die hard” she says after a good moment, “it seems to be an instinctive reaction around beautiful women.”

Well at the very least, she can now flirt back. She feels confident enough to dip her toe into this ever flowing River. Perhaps with time, she’ll begin to dive into then rather then rest the waters at first.

[004marks]

Suggestive words simply tumbled forth without much thought towards those that left her intrigued and admittedly, Astraea had always left her intrigued but not in the manner as she did in this very moment. Nonetheless, suggestive words and impish teasing was simply a part of Yennefer of Vengerberg. In regards to her choice of referring to Astraea persistently with a word such as little was more or less chosen after their first few meetings that lead the older woman to learning just how bashful she is.

Yennefer permitted that of a velvety smooth purr to tumble forth from her parted brims, left rather pleased by the opposing woman’s chosen response. Astraea wasn’t as nearly timid as the Sorceress of Vengerberg was previously lead to believe and it was a satisfying discovery to uncover. “I see…” It was spoken in that of a lowly murmur as the older woman remained seemingly set on watching those participating in the festivities but had continued to observe, watching the younger woman from the fringe of her vision as the corner of her ever so supple lips begin to curl in that of a barely-there smirk. “You believe I’m beautiful… You have elegant taste.” 

Only now was her feigned concentration broken and her petite stature turned just enough to grant Yennefer of Vengerberg unrestricted access for amethyst spherules to focus unwaveringly upon the Redanian, narrowing just so. “You aren’t half bad yourself, little lamb, even better with this newfound confidence.” Yennefer was always able to admire the younger woman’s beauty, and even understood how her beauty had first caught the eye of a certain raven-haired Sorceress that they both cared deeply for but now… Well, let’s settle with the knowledge that Astraea’s beauty stood out far more than it once did. “Tell me, does little wolf take bites out of said beautiful women?”

[exsecratuss]

She supposed that the years spent with Amara served to make the woman far less timid. The sorceress from Temeria had definitely brought out the little metaphorical wolf within her. “I don’t believe there is a single soul on earth who does not find you beautiful” the werewitch said matter of factly. “Whoever says otherwise is either lying or a fool.” Astraea continues to set her gaze upon the dancing flames of the fire and the bodies beyond it.

She feels those violet eyes upon her when the sorceress decides to lay her concentration upon her. Astraea, as to not be rude, looks at the raven haired woman. The werewitch cannot help the blush that settles upon her cheeks at the compliment. “I suppose time has helped me develop some of that” she says in regards to the mentioned confidence. That questions makes her pause, staring into those vivid lilac hues while her heart beat so loud. The wolf licks on her dry lips, allowing her eyes to monetarily wander the black and white encased figure.

She has only ever seen Yennefer a handful of times and while each time she had noticed how absolutely breathtaking she was, she didn’t really take the time to appreciate it or anything else regarding the woman. See Amara was always there but now she wasn’t and both women were having a conversation around a bonfire with people drinking and — well fucking.

“Yes” she says then, staring into lilac eyes for a brief second before she looks back at the fire. “Not hard though, unless they want me to.”

[004marks]

Astraea’s chosen words, whilst flattering, had coerced a small bark of laughter to tumble forth, the sound ever so sweet as it travelled, dancing around them. “I can assure you…” Yennefer begun slowly, each word tumbling slowly from rosy brims that begun to curl in a tell-tale beginnings of a mischievous smirk. “Our beloved continent is filled with those that’d rather find themselves in bed with the butcher’s daughter.” Her words rung true, motions chosen by the Sorceress of Vengerberg creating such bitterness that few viewed her as a heartless monster. Not that an ounce of care was felt towards those who cared little for her and her beauty, the interest that had been lost from those few more of a win than a loss.

Such innocence this woman possessed, even after being involved with a certain Temerian that was known for creating ruins of such a quality… She could now understand the allure, the attraction that had once been felt by their friend for this little, saccharine wolf. Yennefer’s gaze was relentless, refusing to move from the woman that currently wore her interest. “It’s a blessing in disguise, after all…” Her words balanced that of a teasing inflection that rose forth, accompanied by the smouldering mischief that was etched across her features. “It gives me time to focus on the lovely ladies that seem to adorn these lands.”

Astraea’s response to Yennefer’s little quip requiring love bites was thoroughly satisfying, only serving to increase the curiosity, the interest that’d developed, and begun to burn, demanding to be appeased. “And, if one wanted you to bite hard? Does little wolf satisfy their needs willingly?”

[exsecratuss]

Astraea found that so hard to believe and yet she knows the words ring true. Some people just despise sorceress no matter how beautiful they are and Yennefer was unapologetic. Her little care of the feelings of others, specially in regards to her only making that distaste far more prominent. “So fools then” she says simply with a light shrug and a small smile.

She supposed that at this very moment the werewitch was the perfect combination of confidence and innocence. If there ever was one. She could feel how intensely the woman was looking at her and it made every hair on her body stand at attention. It took everything within the wolf to not shudder under it. Her hand runs along her dress lightly and she releases the softest of laughs. “What are you doing speaking to me then?” She half teased, bringing the tankard of ale up to her lips and taking a slow sip from it. Mostly to have something to do with her hand and her mouth.

The lilac eyed mage’s stare is intense, focused and unbreakable. It made the urge to squirm only intensify. She doesn’t break it though, she’s acutely aware of how much it seems to fascinate the sorceress from Vengerberg. “Why yes” she says in response, tilting her head slightly, “I do.”

[004marks]

It was a polite form of thinking, was it not? Perhaps, one could view it as blissful ignorance and that was something that seemed to affect every faction that aided in filling the Continent. There were plenty of civilisations that in some way, shape or form loathed Sorceresses and their presence, even Sorceresses themselves and spat on their names at every chance that was given. And there was something that informed the Sorceress of Vengerberg that the Little Wold was the type that more often than not thought benevolently, thoughts that crossed over into maliciousness a true rarity if they dared to form at all. Yennefer pursed her lips fleetingly, shades of lilac focusing loosely upon the younger woman and her features before the liquid in her cup was studied and the rim was brought to her mouth, a slow sip taken of the ale. “It’s a polite choice of words, I suppose.” If it was herself, a collection of more colourful words would be used but it was obvious that Yennefer was a different breed, even to herself. Yennefer couldn’t help but ponder as to why this woman called to a certain woman that they both knew and yet at the very same moment, she felt as if she was beginning to understand.

 Her brow slowly rose at the teasing words, striking spherules narrowing at a frightening speed to settle boldly upon the Sorceress as the edge of her brims danced with a bridled smirk and the depths of her chest resonated with a lowly chuckle. “Oh, Little Wolf. . .” She begun slowly, the words dripping from her lips as if it was nothing more than pure honey and her petite body turned, the tip of her heeled boot gliding along Astraea’s inner calf in a teasing but purposeful swipe. “I’m speaking to a beautiful woman.” One would have to be blind and retarded to not notice the opposing woman’s glorious beauty that simply couldn’t be debated. Astraea was beautiful, even Yennefer had admitted that when she was first discovered wondering about within Amara’s home once the waves of jealously and annoyance vanished. “You are beautiful, are you not? Or are you truly so angelic that you can’t admit to your own beauty?”

 Who wasn’t fascinated by Astraea’s squirming? Was she not the woman that had spent months upon months as the lover and partner to the Sorceress of Gors Velen? Yennefer was surprised that such nervous, such innocence was not lost on her after all those months alongside someone so confident, so painfully self-assured. “Colour me surprised, little one.”

[knightofaedirn]

“If our beliefs tell us one thing, and the needs of real people tell us another, can there be any question of which we should listen to?”

Torben, Knight of Aedirn- Independant The Witcher OC - Semi-Selective -Mutuals Only - Written by Shaun

[crashingtrident]

Indie Poseidon of Supergiant Game Hades. written by nugget.

[storiesungmoved]

indie multimuse ft muses from various movie, tv show, anime, and video game fandoms. loved by Jay

content policing not welcome here

[004marks]

how strange it is to find ourselves ending up here, @exsecratuss

It was a strange twist of fate, the events that had guided Yennefer forth to end up here, in the very midst of an seemingly endless crowd as those involved danced cheerfully, drinking till they reached their fill and radiated with that of untouched exuberance. Often, rumours floated about how Sorcerers and Sorceresses held an invisible string to the celebrations of Belleteyn, often lead in some way, shape or form to the festivities.

It was, supposedly, a time of celebration, assorted bonfires stacked high with the flammable material of gathered limber and fry kindling in preparation for the frolics that would ever so soon be set in motion, waiting patiently to be ignited by that of a flaming torch as the Festival of Belleteyn was to move onwards to yet another one of it’s glorious events that was often the topic spoken by countless of willing tongues.

Yennefer stood back from the gathering, remaining that of a reasonable distance as the Sorceress of Vengerberg watched on in silence with striking, amethyst hues that studied with devotion, even as a goblet of somewhat palatable ale was rested precariously on her gloved palm, the occasional sip being taken here and there.

If someone was to have mentioned that tonight of all nights would be the one that would set in place the motions of the Sorceress seeing a familiar face and setting the beginnings of something * 𝒖𝒏𝒆𝒙𝒑𝒆𝒄𝒕𝒆𝒅, Yennefer would’ve called them out on their pure stupidity, their pure ridiculousness.

Yet…

It had, indeed, happened. Captured, somehow, by the movement of a mere flicker, the motions that belonged to that of a woman that’d passed. Yennefer was left uncharacteristically speechless by the sight of a familiar complexion wandering amongst the crowds that she had met once, someone that had, strangely enough, left her with a mindful of questions.

Astraea of Novigrad was a woman that had been met by chance, through that of a woman that they had both shared deep adoration for and whilst their meetings had been short, ever so effortlessly able to be counted on that of a single hand, the little werewitch was, admittedly, talented in her own right, remembered by Yennefer of Vengerberg for reasons both known and unknown. 

Slow was her steps, calculated as the motions of approaching the woman begun and Yennefer cautiously made her way until the older woman was lingering at a respectful distance from the Redanian Sorceress. “My, my, my… Is that the shy lamb I’ve spotted? Where is that little witcher of yours, hmm?” Bitten back was her smirk as yet another sip of her drink was carefully taken, spending little to no time truly relishing on the substandard taste.

[exsecratuss]

Belleteyn was something that Astraea has admittedly always been curious about. There is talks about often, all year around but the buzz becomes even more persistent when the festival approaches. Like every other celebration, though, she was beginning to see it was all about the food, drinks and the potential lover for the night. Except that in Belleteyn, everyone was doing it and no one judged. The werewitch would’ve been so out of her comfort zone years back but now she could exist, even in silence amongst the crowds. She could drink and watch and even at times engage in conversations.

If the wolf was feeling ever so bold and in a particular mood, she would take on a lover. Though emerald hues take in the crowd and she couldn’t see a single person which strikes her fancy. So she drank and enjoyed the music for the most part. Sitting by one of the many fires, Astraea sips her ale at a slow pace, enjoying the taste when she hears a familiar voice. Familiar in the sense that she has heard it before, a handful of times but it was a rather difficult timbre to forget.

𝗠𝘆, 𝗺𝘆, 𝗺𝘆… 𝗜𝘀 𝘁𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘀𝗵𝘆 𝗹𝗮𝗺𝗯 𝗜’𝘃𝗲 𝘀𝗽𝗼𝘁𝘁𝗲𝗱?

She tilts her head, gaze landing on the raven haired woman. Shy lamb, she supposed that wasn’t so far off thought she enjoyed the irony of it since she was a wolf. There is a moment where Astraea debates on answers with something like ‘𝘄𝗵𝗲𝗿𝗲 𝗶𝘀 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿𝘀?’ When the sorceress form Vengerberg asks about Lilith whereabouts. “On the path” she answer, “as all witchers always seem to be.” Unable to help herself, she scans the area, searching for another set of raven locks.

Because the last time she saw Yennefer, she was living with Amara. She doesn’t know if she can truly handle that right now. Well she can but she rather not, no matter the circumstances and whatnot. Even if they had parted amicably she doesn’t feel quite in the mood to see her ex-lover trade saliva with her own ex-lover that wasn’t an ex anymore. Viridescent optics land back of the lilac eyes sorceress. It seemed like they were both here alone.

[004marks]

Gods …How dreadfully typical. Had there ever been a Witcher to live who did not travel the path by their lonesome, leaving a trail of broken hearts and painful promises? Seems to be that of a species that was truly extinct. “Careful of them, little lamb … Witcher’s aren’t nearly as noble as they so often pretend.” It had only lasted that of mere moments before pale shoulders cladded in her signature black and white rose in a half-hearted shrug, a valiant smirk taking place across her painted brims. “It is her loss and my gain, I’m sure.”

Only seconds. She had thought. It had only taken that of mere seconds for the Sorceress to begin her search, surveying the crowd for even the smallest of glimpses, Yennefer theorises. Was it concern that’d left the younger woman in search of raven locks or the shimmers of hope? Interesting …

“You won’t find her here, little one…” Yennefer had murmured dryly, the bridge of her fair nose crinkling ever so slightly as the depths of her beverage was watched, observed with befuddlement. “I heard on the grape vine that Nilfgaard holds our beloved friend, her efforts concentrated on alchemy for the ruler.”

Yennefer was rarely, if ever the type to be bothered by one’s discomfort. In fact, the Sorceress of Vengerberg had chosen the empty space that laid open, and untaken besides the younger woman, claiming it as her own as the potent scent of Lilac and Gooseberries surely invaded the Redanian’s senses unforgivingly.

“So… Astraea.” Her voice was spoken with purpose, falling from the Aedirnian’s tongue like sugar from a sweet bun but holding not an inch of malice, and instead, held curiosity. “Am I going to see you leaping through these flames tonight in search of luck?”

[exsecratuss]

Yennefer speaks from experience and that much Astraea knows. Though she’s certain that Lilith is nothing like Geralt of Rivia but that can go without saying. The werewitch doesn’t truly know how to respond to that, so she decides not to answer at all.

𝗜𝘁 𝗶𝘀 𝗵𝗲𝗿 𝗹𝗼𝘀𝘀 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗺𝘆 𝗴𝗮𝗶𝗻, 𝗜’𝗺 𝘀𝘂𝗿𝗲.

Now what was that supposed to mean? Her lips part as though to ask but she fall shut once more. There is not much time to dwell upon that because they are now on the subject of a certain Temerian. Her name is not spoken, it doesn’t need to be. A singular brow quirks as the dry tone with which the words are uttered and she wonders if Yennefer and Amara had parted ways less amicably than herself and the Temerian. She almost snorts at term used. ‘Beloved friend’ it is seems that the lilac eyed woman has yet to let that go. And it has been years since then but then again the sorceress from Vengerberg strikes her as someone that can hold onto things for centuries.

“Good for her” is all that Astraea says in that regard before she turns to face the fire. Yennefer takes a seat beside her without being promoted to, which doesn’t really surprise the wolf. Her fingers tap the mug gently. She must admit that the raven haired woman’s presence made her nervous though surprisingly not uncomfortable. “Oh… uh, no, I don’t think so” she says softly, chuckling slightly and sitting a little straighter. “What about you?”

[004marks]

Yennefer grasped the edge of her goblet, allowing it to remain carefully between the tips of her fingers in that of a mere dangle, swinging nonchalantly in time with each strum of the performer’s lute as a pale chin settled pleasantly against the palm of her opposing hand, amethyst spherules focusing lazily on those that were currently entertaining themselves with dance.

One could see the questions arising within the woman that Yennefer had chosen to bother, the wheels of her mind ever so loud as they turned. It was, admittedly, strangely refreshing to be in the presence of someone like Astraea. She did little in regards of insisting to hide herself from the prying gazes of those that surrounded her and didn’t hide her emotions and the questions that rose within her eyes. Yennefer, of course, knew of the questions that had gathered and had simply chosen to remain silent upon them, simply letting Astraea seek enjoyment in the festival rather than having it ruined.

“It isn’t to my taste.” Once or twice had been enough, back in the days that once held her friendship with Triss Merigold, one of the few souls alive that was able to convince Yennefer to participate in such events as this. Astraea’s nerves dripped unforgivingly, earning the tasteful arch of an manicured brow as the woman was observed, watched from the edge of Yennefer’s vision. “Stop being nervous, little wold. I would have bitten if I had desired, and obviously, I do not. We can save that for later.” 

It was to her surprise that the woman was easily unnerved. She had met the woman only a handful of times but Yennefer had believed that confident women such as Astraea’s past and present lovers would have eased such quick actions.

[exsecratuss]

Astraea watched the way that the lilac eyed sorceress held her goblet. The way she watched the flames of the fire and the bodies surrounding the area as they danced. She seemed to be lost within it for a brief moment before answering to Astraea’s question.

The smell of lilac was potent, it always was of course but even more so when it was right beside her. Ever so sweet, invasive. It overtook one’s senses and she now understood why whenever Yennefer was mentioned, the color of her eyes and her smell were instantaneous thoughts which filtered through one’s mind.

Little lamb, little one, little wolf… Those were certainly choices. Rather interesting ones and it was ever so surprising that the werewitch hadn’t said anything about them. Perhaps deep down she sort of liked them. Not to mention the rather suggestive words that the raven haired woman kept throwing her way. Astraea was unsure of how to take them, unsure of Yennefer was flirting with her or being friendly. “Old habits die hard” she says after a good moment, “it seems to be an instinctive reaction around beautiful women.”

Well at the very least, she can now flirt back. She feels confident enough to dip her toe into this ever flowing River. Perhaps with time, she’ll begin to dive into then rather then rest the waters at first.

[004marks]

Suggestive words simply tumbled forth without much thought towards those that left her intrigued and admittedly, Astraea had always left her intrigued but not in the manner as she did in this very moment. Nonetheless, suggestive words and impish teasing was simply a part of Yennefer of Vengerberg. In regards to her choice of referring to Astraea persistently with a word such as little was more or less chosen after their first few meetings that lead the older woman to learning just how bashful she is.

Yennefer permitted that of a velvety smooth purr to tumble forth from her parted brims, left rather pleased by the opposing woman’s chosen response. Astraea wasn’t as nearly timid as the Sorceress of Vengerberg was previously lead to believe and it was a satisfying discovery to uncover. “I see…” It was spoken in that of a lowly murmur as the older woman remained seemingly set on watching those participating in the festivities but had continued to observe, watching the younger woman from the fringe of her vision as the corner of her ever so supple lips begin to curl in that of a barely-there smirk. “You believe I’m beautiful… You have elegant taste.” 

Only now was her feigned concentration broken and her petite stature turned just enough to grant Yennefer of Vengerberg unrestricted access for amethyst spherules to focus unwaveringly upon the Redanian, narrowing just so. “You aren’t half bad yourself, little lamb, even better with this newfound confidence.” Yennefer was always able to admire the younger woman’s beauty, and even understood how her beauty had first caught the eye of a certain raven-haired Sorceress that they both cared deeply for but now… Well, let’s settle with the knowledge that Astraea’s beauty stood out far more than it once did. “Tell me, does little wolf take bites out of said beautiful women?”

[exsecratuss]

She supposed that the years spent with Amara served to make the woman far less timid. The sorceress from Temeria had definitely brought out the little metaphorical wolf within her. “I don’t believe there is a single soul on earth who does not find you beautiful” the werewitch said matter of factly. “Whoever says otherwise is either lying or a fool.” Astraea continues to set her gaze upon the dancing flames of the fire and the bodies beyond it.

She feels those violet eyes upon her when the sorceress decides to lay her concentration upon her. Astraea, as to not be rude, looks at the raven haired woman. The werewitch cannot help the blush that settles upon her cheeks at the compliment. “I suppose time has helped me develop some of that” she says in regards to the mentioned confidence. That questions makes her pause, staring into those vivid lilac hues while her heart beat so loud. The wolf licks on her dry lips, allowing her eyes to monetarily wander the black and white encased figure.

She has only ever seen Yennefer a handful of times and while each time she had noticed how absolutely breathtaking she was, she didn’t really take the time to appreciate it or anything else regarding the woman. See Amara was always there but now she wasn’t and both women were having a conversation around a bonfire with people drinking and — well fucking.

“Yes” she says then, staring into lilac eyes for a brief second before she looks back at the fire. “Not hard though, unless they want me to.”

[004marks]

Astraea’s chosen words, whilst flattering, had coerced a small bark of laughter to tumble forth, the sound ever so sweet as it travelled, dancing around them. “I can assure you. . .” Yennefer begun slowly, each word tumbling slowly from rosy brims that begun to curl in a tell-tale beginnings of a mischievous smirk. “Our beloved continent is filled with those that’d rather find themselves in bed with the butcher’s daughter.” Her words rung true, motions chosen by the Sorceress of Vengerberg creating such bitterness that few viewed her as a heartless monster. Not that an ounce of care was felt towards those who cared little for her and her beauty, the interest that had been lost from those few more of a win than a loss.

Such innocence this woman possessed, even after being involved with a certain Temerian that was known for creating ruins of such a quality. . . She could now understand the allure, the attraction that had once been felt by their friend for this little, saccharine wolf. Yennefer’s gaze was relentless, refusing to move from the woman that currently wore her interest. “It’s a blessing in disguise, after all. . .” Her words balanced that of a teasing inflection that rose forth, accompanied by the smouldering mischief that was etched across her features. “It gives me time to focus on the lovely ladies that seem to adorn these lands.”

Astraea’s response to Yennefer’s little quip requiring love bites was thoroughly satisfying, only serving to increase the curiosity, the interest that’d developed, and begun to burn, demanding to be appeased. “And, if one wanted you to bite hard? Does little wolf satisfy their needs willingly?”

[004marks]

how strange it is to find ourselves ending up here, @exsecratuss

It was a strange twist of fate, the events that had guided Yennefer forth to end up here, in the very midst of an seemingly endless crowd as those involved danced cheerfully, drinking till they reached their fill and radiated with that of untouched exuberance. Often, rumours floated about how Sorcerers and Sorceresses held an invisible string to the celebrations of Belleteyn, often lead in some way, shape or form to the festivities.

It was, supposedly, a time of celebration, assorted bonfires stacked high with the flammable material of gathered limber and fry kindling in preparation for the frolics that would ever so soon be set in motion, waiting patiently to be ignited by that of a flaming torch as the Festival of Belleteyn was to move onwards to yet another one of it’s glorious events that was often the topic spoken by countless of willing tongues.

Yennefer stood back from the gathering, remaining that of a reasonable distance as the Sorceress of Vengerberg watched on in silence with striking, amethyst hues that studied with devotion, even as a goblet of somewhat palatable ale was rested precariously on her gloved palm, the occasional sip being taken here and there.

If someone was to have mentioned that tonight of all nights would be the one that would set in place the motions of the Sorceress seeing a familiar face and setting the beginnings of something * 𝒖𝒏𝒆𝒙𝒑𝒆𝒄𝒕𝒆𝒅, Yennefer would’ve called them out on their pure stupidity, their pure ridiculousness.

Yet…

It had, indeed, happened. Captured, somehow, by the movement of a mere flicker, the motions that belonged to that of a woman that’d passed. Yennefer was left uncharacteristically speechless by the sight of a familiar complexion wandering amongst the crowds that she had met once, someone that had, strangely enough, left her with a mindful of questions.

Astraea of Novigrad was a woman that had been met by chance, through that of a woman that they had both shared deep adoration for and whilst their meetings had been short, ever so effortlessly able to be counted on that of a single hand, the little werewitch was, admittedly, talented in her own right, remembered by Yennefer of Vengerberg for reasons both known and unknown. 

Slow was her steps, calculated as the motions of approaching the woman begun and Yennefer cautiously made her way until the older woman was lingering at a respectful distance from the Redanian Sorceress. “My, my, my… Is that the shy lamb I’ve spotted? Where is that little witcher of yours, hmm?” Bitten back was her smirk as yet another sip of her drink was carefully taken, spending little to no time truly relishing on the substandard taste.

[exsecratuss]

Belleteyn was something that Astraea has admittedly always been curious about. There is talks about often, all year around but the buzz becomes even more persistent when the festival approaches. Like every other celebration, though, she was beginning to see it was all about the food, drinks and the potential lover for the night. Except that in Belleteyn, everyone was doing it and no one judged. The werewitch would’ve been so out of her comfort zone years back but now she could exist, even in silence amongst the crowds. She could drink and watch and even at times engage in conversations.

If the wolf was feeling ever so bold and in a particular mood, she would take on a lover. Though emerald hues take in the crowd and she couldn’t see a single person which strikes her fancy. So she drank and enjoyed the music for the most part. Sitting by one of the many fires, Astraea sips her ale at a slow pace, enjoying the taste when she hears a familiar voice. Familiar in the sense that she has heard it before, a handful of times but it was a rather difficult timbre to forget.

𝗠𝘆, 𝗺𝘆, 𝗺𝘆… 𝗜𝘀 𝘁𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘀𝗵𝘆 𝗹𝗮𝗺𝗯 𝗜’𝘃𝗲 𝘀𝗽𝗼𝘁𝘁𝗲𝗱?

She tilts her head, gaze landing on the raven haired woman. Shy lamb, she supposed that wasn’t so far off thought she enjoyed the irony of it since she was a wolf. There is a moment where Astraea debates on answers with something like ‘𝘄𝗵𝗲𝗿𝗲 𝗶𝘀 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿𝘀?’ When the sorceress form Vengerberg asks about Lilith whereabouts. “On the path” she answer, “as all witchers always seem to be.” Unable to help herself, she scans the area, searching for another set of raven locks.

Because the last time she saw Yennefer, she was living with Amara. She doesn’t know if she can truly handle that right now. Well she can but she rather not, no matter the circumstances and whatnot. Even if they had parted amicably she doesn’t feel quite in the mood to see her ex-lover trade saliva with her own ex-lover that wasn’t an ex anymore. Viridescent optics land back of the lilac eyes sorceress. It seemed like they were both here alone.

[004marks]

Gods …How dreadfully typical. Had there ever been a Witcher to live who did not travel the path by their lonesome, leaving a trail of broken hearts and painful promises? Seems to be that of a species that was truly extinct. “Careful of them, little lamb … Witcher’s aren’t nearly as noble as they so often pretend.” It had only lasted that of mere moments before pale shoulders cladded in her signature black and white rose in a half-hearted shrug, a valiant smirk taking place across her painted brims. “It is her loss and my gain, I’m sure.”

Only seconds. She had thought. It had only taken that of mere seconds for the Sorceress to begin her search, surveying the crowd for even the smallest of glimpses, Yennefer theorises. Was it concern that’d left the younger woman in search of raven locks or the shimmers of hope? Interesting …

“You won’t find her here, little one…” Yennefer had murmured dryly, the bridge of her fair nose crinkling ever so slightly as the depths of her beverage was watched, observed with befuddlement. “I heard on the grape vine that Nilfgaard holds our beloved friend, her efforts concentrated on alchemy for the ruler.”

Yennefer was rarely, if ever the type to be bothered by one’s discomfort. In fact, the Sorceress of Vengerberg had chosen the empty space that laid open, and untaken besides the younger woman, claiming it as her own as the potent scent of Lilac and Gooseberries surely invaded the Redanian’s senses unforgivingly.

“So… Astraea.” Her voice was spoken with purpose, falling from the Aedirnian’s tongue like sugar from a sweet bun but holding not an inch of malice, and instead, held curiosity. “Am I going to see you leaping through these flames tonight in search of luck?”

[exsecratuss]

Yennefer speaks from experience and that much Astraea knows. Though she’s certain that Lilith is nothing like Geralt of Rivia but that can go without saying. The werewitch doesn’t truly know how to respond to that, so she decides not to answer at all.

𝗜𝘁 𝗶𝘀 𝗵𝗲𝗿 𝗹𝗼𝘀𝘀 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗺𝘆 𝗴𝗮𝗶𝗻, 𝗜’𝗺 𝘀𝘂𝗿𝗲.

Now what was that supposed to mean? Her lips part as though to ask but she fall shut once more. There is not much time to dwell upon that because they are now on the subject of a certain Temerian. Her name is not spoken, it doesn’t need to be. A singular brow quirks as the dry tone with which the words are uttered and she wonders if Yennefer and Amara had parted ways less amicably than herself and the Temerian. She almost snorts at term used. ‘Beloved friend’ it is seems that the lilac eyed woman has yet to let that go. And it has been years since then but then again the sorceress from Vengerberg strikes her as someone that can hold onto things for centuries.

“Good for her” is all that Astraea says in that regard before she turns to face the fire. Yennefer takes a seat beside her without being promoted to, which doesn’t really surprise the wolf. Her fingers tap the mug gently. She must admit that the raven haired woman’s presence made her nervous though surprisingly not uncomfortable. “Oh… uh, no, I don’t think so” she says softly, chuckling slightly and sitting a little straighter. “What about you?”

[004marks]

Yennefer grasped the edge of her goblet, allowing it to remain carefully between the tips of her fingers in that of a mere dangle, swinging nonchalantly in time with each strum of the performer’s lute as a pale chin settled pleasantly against the palm of her opposing hand, amethyst spherules focusing lazily on those that were currently entertaining themselves with dance.

One could see the questions arising within the woman that Yennefer had chosen to bother, the wheels of her mind ever so loud as they turned. It was, admittedly, strangely refreshing to be in the presence of someone like Astraea. She did little in regards of insisting to hide herself from the prying gazes of those that surrounded her and didn’t hide her emotions and the questions that rose within her eyes. Yennefer, of course, knew of the questions that had gathered and had simply chosen to remain silent upon them, simply letting Astraea seek enjoyment in the festival rather than having it ruined.

“It isn’t to my taste.” Once or twice had been enough, back in the days that once held her friendship with Triss Merigold, one of the few souls alive that was able to convince Yennefer to participate in such events as this. Astraea’s nerves dripped unforgivingly, earning the tasteful arch of an manicured brow as the woman was observed, watched from the edge of Yennefer’s vision. “Stop being nervous, little wold. I would have bitten if I had desired, and obviously, I do not. We can save that for later.” 

It was to her surprise that the woman was easily unnerved. She had met the woman only a handful of times but Yennefer had believed that confident women such as Astraea’s past and present lovers would have eased such quick actions.

[exsecratuss]

Astraea watched the way that the lilac eyed sorceress held her goblet. The way she watched the flames of the fire and the bodies surrounding the area as they danced. She seemed to be lost within it for a brief moment before answering to Astraea’s question.

The smell of lilac was potent, it always was of course but even more so when it was right beside her. Ever so sweet, invasive. It overtook one’s senses and she now understood why whenever Yennefer was mentioned, the color of her eyes and her smell were instantaneous thoughts which filtered through one’s mind.

Little lamb, little one, little wolf… Those were certainly choices. Rather interesting ones and it was ever so surprising that the werewitch hadn’t said anything about them. Perhaps deep down she sort of liked them. Not to mention the rather suggestive words that the raven haired woman kept throwing her way. Astraea was unsure of how to take them, unsure of Yennefer was flirting with her or being friendly. “Old habits die hard” she says after a good moment, “it seems to be an instinctive reaction around beautiful women.”

Well at the very least, she can now flirt back. She feels confident enough to dip her toe into this ever flowing River. Perhaps with time, she’ll begin to dive into then rather then rest the waters at first.

[004marks]

Suggestive words simply tumbled forth without much thought towards those that left her intrigued and admittedly, Astraea had always left her intrigued but not in the manner as she did in this very moment. Nonetheless, suggestive words and impish teasing was simply a part of Yennefer of Vengerberg. In regards to her choice of referring to Astraea persistently with a word such as little was more or less chosen after their first few meetings that lead the older woman to learning just how bashful she is.

Yennefer permitted that of a velvety smooth purr to tumble forth from her parted brims, left rather pleased by the opposing woman’s chosen response. Astraea wasn’t as nearly timid as the Sorceress of Vengerberg was previously lead to believe and it was a satisfying discovery to uncover. "I see. . .” It was spoken in that of a lowly murmur as the older woman remained seemingly set on watching those participating in the festivities but had continued to observe, watching the younger woman from the fringe of her vision as the corner of her ever so supple lips begin to curl in that of a barely-there smirk. “You believe I’m beautiful... You have elegant taste.” 

Only now was her feigned concentration broken and her petite stature turned just enough to grant Yennefer of Vengerberg unrestricted access for amethyst spherules to focus unwaveringly upon the Redanian, narrowing just so. “You aren’t half bad yourself, little lamb, even better with this newfound confidence.” Yennefer was always able to admire the younger woman’s beauty, and even understood how her beauty had first caught the eye of a certain raven-haired Sorceress that they both cared deeply for but now. . . Well, let’s settle with the knowledge that Astraea’s beauty stood out far more than it once did. “Tell me, does little wolf take bites out of said beautiful women?”

[004marks]

how strange it is to find ourselves ending up here, @exsecratuss

It was a strange twist of fate, the events that had guided Yennefer forth to end up here, in the very midst of an seemingly endless crowd as those involved danced cheerfully, drinking till they reached their fill and radiated with that of untouched exuberance. Often, rumours floated about how Sorcerers and Sorceresses held an invisible string to the celebrations of Belleteyn, often lead in some way, shape or form to the festivities.

It was, supposedly, a time of celebration, assorted bonfires stacked high with the flammable material of gathered limber and fry kindling in preparation for the frolics that would ever so soon be set in motion, waiting patiently to be ignited by that of a flaming torch as the Festival of Belleteyn was to move onwards to yet another one of it’s glorious events that was often the topic spoken by countless of willing tongues.

Yennefer stood back from the gathering, remaining that of a reasonable distance as the Sorceress of Vengerberg watched on in silence with striking, amethyst hues that studied with devotion, even as a goblet of somewhat palatable ale was rested precariously on her gloved palm, the occasional sip being taken here and there.

If someone was to have mentioned that tonight of all nights would be the one that would set in place the motions of the Sorceress seeing a familiar face and setting the beginnings of something * 𝒖𝒏𝒆𝒙𝒑𝒆𝒄𝒕𝒆𝒅, Yennefer would’ve called them out on their pure stupidity, their pure ridiculousness.

Yet…

It had, indeed, happened. Captured, somehow, by the movement of a mere flicker, the motions that belonged to that of a woman that’d passed. Yennefer was left uncharacteristically speechless by the sight of a familiar complexion wandering amongst the crowds that she had met once, someone that had, strangely enough, left her with a mindful of questions.

Astraea of Novigrad was a woman that had been met by chance, through that of a woman that they had both shared deep adoration for and whilst their meetings had been short, ever so effortlessly able to be counted on that of a single hand, the little werewitch was, admittedly, talented in her own right, remembered by Yennefer of Vengerberg for reasons both known and unknown. 

Slow was her steps, calculated as the motions of approaching the woman begun and Yennefer cautiously made her way until the older woman was lingering at a respectful distance from the Redanian Sorceress. “My, my, my… Is that the shy lamb I’ve spotted? Where is that little witcher of yours, hmm?” Bitten back was her smirk as yet another sip of her drink was carefully taken, spending little to no time truly relishing on the substandard taste.

[exsecratuss]

Belleteyn was something that Astraea has admittedly always been curious about. There is talks about often, all year around but the buzz becomes even more persistent when the festival approaches. Like every other celebration, though, she was beginning to see it was all about the food, drinks and the potential lover for the night. Except that in Belleteyn, everyone was doing it and no one judged. The werewitch would’ve been so out of her comfort zone years back but now she could exist, even in silence amongst the crowds. She could drink and watch and even at times engage in conversations.

If the wolf was feeling ever so bold and in a particular mood, she would take on a lover. Though emerald hues take in the crowd and she couldn’t see a single person which strikes her fancy. So she drank and enjoyed the music for the most part. Sitting by one of the many fires, Astraea sips her ale at a slow pace, enjoying the taste when she hears a familiar voice. Familiar in the sense that she has heard it before, a handful of times but it was a rather difficult timbre to forget.

𝗠𝘆, 𝗺𝘆, 𝗺𝘆… 𝗜𝘀 𝘁𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘀𝗵𝘆 𝗹𝗮𝗺𝗯 𝗜’𝘃𝗲 𝘀𝗽𝗼𝘁𝘁𝗲𝗱?

She tilts her head, gaze landing on the raven haired woman. Shy lamb, she supposed that wasn’t so far off thought she enjoyed the irony of it since she was a wolf. There is a moment where Astraea debates on answers with something like ‘𝘄𝗵𝗲𝗿𝗲 𝗶𝘀 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿𝘀?’ When the sorceress form Vengerberg asks about Lilith whereabouts. “On the path” she answer, “as all witchers always seem to be.” Unable to help herself, she scans the area, searching for another set of raven locks.

Because the last time she saw Yennefer, she was living with Amara. She doesn’t know if she can truly handle that right now. Well she can but she rather not, no matter the circumstances and whatnot. Even if they had parted amicably she doesn’t feel quite in the mood to see her ex-lover trade saliva with her own ex-lover that wasn’t an ex anymore. Viridescent optics land back of the lilac eyes sorceress. It seemed like they were both here alone.

[004marks]

Gods …How dreadfully typical. Had there ever been a Witcher to live who did not travel the path by their lonesome, leaving a trail of broken hearts and painful promises? Seems to be that of a species that was truly extinct. “Careful of them, little lamb … Witcher’s aren’t nearly as noble as they so often pretend.” It had only lasted that of mere moments before pale shoulders cladded in her signature black and white rose in a half-hearted shrug, a valiant smirk taking place across her painted brims. “It is her loss and my gain, I’m sure.”

Only seconds. She had thought. It had only taken that of mere seconds for the Sorceress to begin her search, surveying the crowd for even the smallest of glimpses, Yennefer theorises. Was it concern that’d left the younger woman in search of raven locks or the shimmers of hope? Interesting …

“You won’t find her here, little one…” Yennefer had murmured dryly, the bridge of her fair nose crinkling ever so slightly as the depths of her beverage was watched, observed with befuddlement. “I heard on the grape vine that Nilfgaard holds our beloved friend, her efforts concentrated on alchemy for the ruler.”

Yennefer was rarely, if ever the type to be bothered by one’s discomfort. In fact, the Sorceress of Vengerberg had chosen the empty space that laid open, and untaken besides the younger woman, claiming it as her own as the potent scent of Lilac and Gooseberries surely invaded the Redanian’s senses unforgivingly.

“So… Astraea.” Her voice was spoken with purpose, falling from the Aedirnian’s tongue like sugar from a sweet bun but holding not an inch of malice, and instead, held curiosity. “Am I going to see you leaping through these flames tonight in search of luck?”

[exsecratuss]

Yennefer speaks from experience and that much Astraea knows. Though she’s certain that Lilith is nothing like Geralt of Rivia but that can go without saying. The werewitch doesn’t truly know how to respond to that, so she decides not to answer at all.

𝗜𝘁 𝗶𝘀 𝗵𝗲𝗿 𝗹𝗼𝘀𝘀 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗺𝘆 𝗴𝗮𝗶𝗻, 𝗜’𝗺 𝘀𝘂𝗿𝗲.

Now what was that supposed to mean? Her lips part as though to ask but she fall shut once more. There is not much time to dwell upon that because they are now on the subject of a certain Temerian. Her name is not spoken, it doesn’t need to be. A singular brow quirks as the dry tone with which the words are uttered and she wonders if Yennefer and Amara had parted ways less amicably than herself and the Temerian. She almost snorts at term used. ‘Beloved friend’ it is seems that the lilac eyed woman has yet to let that go. And it has been years since then but then again the sorceress from Vengerberg strikes her as someone that can hold onto things for centuries.

“Good for her” is all that Astraea says in that regard before she turns to face the fire. Yennefer takes a seat beside her without being promoted to, which doesn’t really surprise the wolf. Her fingers tap the mug gently. She must admit that the raven haired woman’s presence made her nervous though surprisingly not uncomfortable. “Oh… uh, no, I don’t think so” she says softly, chuckling slightly and sitting a little straighter. “What about you?”

[004marks]

Yennefer grasped the edge of her goblet, allowing it to remain carefully between the tips of her fingers in that of a mere dangle, swinging nonchalantly in time with each strum of the performer’s lute as a pale chin settled pleasantly against the palm of her opposing hand, amethyst spherules focusing lazily on those that were currently entertaining themselves with dance.

One could see the questions arising within the woman that Yennefer had chosen to bother, the wheels of her mind ever so loud as they turned. It was, admittedly, strangely refreshing to be in the presence of someone like Astraea. She did little in regards of insisting to hide herself from the prying gazes of those that surrounded her and didn’t hide her emotions and the questions that rose within her eyes. Yennefer, of course, knew of the questions that had gathered and had simply chosen to remain silent upon them, simply letting Astraea seek enjoyment in the festival rather than having it ruined.

“It isn’t to my taste.” Once or twice had been enough, back in the days that once held her friendship with Triss Merigold, one of the few souls alive that was able to convince Yennefer to participate in such events as this. Astraea’s nerves dripped unforgivingly, earning the tasteful arch of an manicured brow as the woman was observed, watched from the edge of Yennefer’s vision. “Stop being nervous, little wold. I would have bitten if I had desired, and obviously, I do not. We can save that for later.” 

It was to her surprise that the woman was easily unnerved. She had met the woman only a handful of times but Yennefer had believed that confident women such as Astraea’s past and present lovers would have eased such quick actions.

[petrichoreds]

IND. SEMI-SEL. A WITCHER OC.

AU AND MAJORLY CANON DIVERGENT.

SHE'S A WITCHER —

dreams where you're murdered, i

know you heard it all before, you

shut your eyes to pain.

[004marks]

how strange it is to find ourselves ending up here, @exsecratuss

It was a strange twist of fate, the events that had guided Yennefer forth to end up here, in the very midst of an seemingly endless crowd as those involved danced cheerfully, drinking till they reached their fill and radiated with that of untouched exuberance. Often, rumours floated about how Sorcerers and Sorceresses held an invisible string to the celebrations of Belleteyn, often lead in some way, shape or form to the festivities.

It was, supposedly, a time of celebration, assorted bonfires stacked high with the flammable material of gathered limber and fry kindling in preparation for the frolics that would ever so soon be set in motion, waiting patiently to be ignited by that of a flaming torch as the Festival of Belleteyn was to move onwards to yet another one of it’s glorious events that was often the topic spoken by countless of willing tongues.

Yennefer stood back from the gathering, remaining that of a reasonable distance as the Sorceress of Vengerberg watched on in silence with striking, amethyst hues that studied with devotion, even as a goblet of somewhat palatable ale was rested precariously on her gloved palm, the occasional sip being taken here and there.

If someone was to have mentioned that tonight of all nights would be the one that would set in place the motions of the Sorceress seeing a familiar face and setting the beginnings of something * 𝒖𝒏𝒆𝒙𝒑𝒆𝒄𝒕𝒆𝒅, Yennefer would’ve called them out on their pure stupidity, their pure ridiculousness.

Yet…

It had, indeed, happened. Captured, somehow, by the movement of a mere flicker, the motions that belonged to that of a woman that’d passed. Yennefer was left uncharacteristically speechless by the sight of a familiar complexion wandering amongst the crowds that she had met once, someone that had, strangely enough, left her with a mindful of questions.

Astraea of Novigrad was a woman that had been met by chance, through that of a woman that they had both shared deep adoration for and whilst their meetings had been short, ever so effortlessly able to be counted on that of a single hand, the little werewitch was, admittedly, talented in her own right, remembered by Yennefer of Vengerberg for reasons both known and unknown. 

Slow was her steps, calculated as the motions of approaching the woman begun and Yennefer cautiously made her way until the older woman was lingering at a respectful distance from the Redanian Sorceress. “My, my, my… Is that the shy lamb I’ve spotted? Where is that little witcher of yours, hmm?” Bitten back was her smirk as yet another sip of her drink was carefully taken, spending little to no time truly relishing on the substandard taste.

[exsecratuss]

Belleteyn was something that Astraea has admittedly always been curious about. There is talks about often, all year around but the buzz becomes even more persistent when the festival approaches. Like every other celebration, though, she was beginning to see it was all about the food, drinks and the potential lover for the night. Except that in Belleteyn, everyone was doing it and no one judged. The werewitch would’ve been so out of her comfort zone years back but now she could exist, even in silence amongst the crowds. She could drink and watch and even at times engage in conversations.

If the wolf was feeling ever so bold and in a particular mood, she would take on a lover. Though emerald hues take in the crowd and she couldn’t see a single person which strikes her fancy. So she drank and enjoyed the music for the most part. Sitting by one of the many fires, Astraea sips her ale at a slow pace, enjoying the taste when she hears a familiar voice. Familiar in the sense that she has heard it before, a handful of times but it was a rather difficult timbre to forget.

𝗠𝘆, 𝗺𝘆, 𝗺𝘆… 𝗜𝘀 𝘁𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘀𝗵𝘆 𝗹𝗮𝗺𝗯 𝗜’𝘃𝗲 𝘀𝗽𝗼𝘁𝘁𝗲𝗱?

She tilts her head, gaze landing on the raven haired woman. Shy lamb, she supposed that wasn’t so far off thought she enjoyed the irony of it since she was a wolf. There is a moment where Astraea debates on answers with something like ‘𝘄𝗵𝗲𝗿𝗲 𝗶𝘀 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿𝘀?’ When the sorceress form Vengerberg asks about Lilith whereabouts. “On the path” she answer, “as all witchers always seem to be.” Unable to help herself, she scans the area, searching for another set of raven locks.

Because the last time she saw Yennefer, she was living with Amara. She doesn’t know if she can truly handle that right now. Well she can but she rather not, no matter the circumstances and whatnot. Even if they had parted amicably she doesn’t feel quite in the mood to see her ex-lover trade saliva with her own ex-lover that wasn’t an ex anymore. Viridescent optics land back of the lilac eyes sorceress. It seemed like they were both here alone.

[004marks]

Gods . . .How dreadfully typical. Had there ever been a Witcher to live who did not travel the path by their lonesome, leaving a trail of broken hearts and painful promises? Seems to be that of a species that was truly extinct. “Careful of them, little lamb . . . Witcher’s aren’t nearly as noble as they so often pretend.” It had only lasted that of mere moments before pale shoulders cladded in her signature black and white rose in a half-hearted shrug, a valiant smirk taking place across her painted brims. “It is her loss and my gain, I’m sure.”

Only seconds. She had thought. It had only taken that of mere seconds for the Sorceress to begin her search, surveying the crowd for even the smallest of glimpses, Yennefer theorises. Was it concern that’d left the younger woman in search of raven locks or the shimmers of hope? Interesting . . .

“You won’t find her here, little one. . .” Yennefer had murmured dryly, the bridge of her fair nose crinkling ever so slightly as the depths of her beverage was watched, observed with befuddlement. “I heard on the grape vine that Nilfgaard holds our beloved friend, her efforts concentrated on alchemy for the ruler.”

Yennefer was rarely, if ever the type to be bothered by one’s discomfort. In fact, the Sorceress of Vengerberg had chosen the empty space that laid open, and untaken besides the younger woman, claiming it as her own as the potent scent of Lilac and Gooseberries surely invaded the Redanian’s senses unforgivingly.

“So. . . Astraea.” Her voice was spoken with purpose, falling from the Aedirnian’s tongue like sugar from a sweet bun but holding not an inch of malice, and instead, held curiosity. “Am I going to see you leaping through these flames tonight in search of luck?”

[004marks]

how strange it is to find ourselves ending up here, @exsecratuss

It was a strange twist of fate, the events that had guided Yennefer forth to end up here, in the very midst of an seemingly endless crowd as those involved danced cheerfully, drinking till they reached their fill and radiated with that of untouched exuberance. Often, rumours floated about how Sorcerers and Sorceresses held an invisible string to the celebrations of Belleteyn, often lead in some way, shape or form to the festivities.

It was, supposedly, a time of celebration, assorted bonfires stacked high with the flammable material of gathered limber and fry kindling in preparation for the frolics that would ever so soon be set in motion, waiting patiently to be ignited by that of a flaming torch as the Festival of Belleteyn was to move onwards to yet another one of it’s glorious events that was often the topic spoken by countless of willing tongues.

Yennefer stood back from the gathering, remaining that of a reasonable distance as the Sorceress of Vengerberg watched on in silence with striking, amethyst hues that studied with devotion, even as a goblet of somewhat palatable ale was rested precariously on her gloved palm, the occasional sip being taken here and there.

If someone was to have mentioned that tonight of all nights would be the one that would set in place the motions of the Sorceress seeing a familiar face and setting the beginnings of something * 𝒖𝒏𝒆𝒙𝒑𝒆𝒄𝒕𝒆𝒅, Yennefer would've called them out on their pure stupidity, their pure ridiculousness.

Yet. . .

It had, indeed, happened. Captured, somehow, by the movement of a mere flicker, the motions that belonged to that of a woman that’d passed. Yennefer was left uncharacteristically speechless by the sight of a familiar complexion wandering amongst the crowds that she had met once, someone that had, strangely enough, left her with a mindful of questions.

Astraea of Novigrad was a woman that had been met by chance, through that of a woman that they had both shared deep adoration for and whilst their meetings had been short, ever so effortlessly able to be counted on that of a single hand, the little werewitch was, admittedly, talented in her own right, remembered by Yennefer of Vengerberg for reasons both known and unknown. 

Slow was her steps, calculated as the motions of approaching the woman begun and Yennefer cautiously made her way until the older woman was lingering at a respectful distance from the Redanian Sorceress. “My, my, my. . . Is that the shy lamb I’ve spotted? Where is that little witcher of yours, hmm?” Bitten back was her smirk as yet another sip of her drink was carefully taken, spending little to no time truly relishing on the substandard taste.

[004marks]

Give this a little like for a sentence starter from 𝑌𝑒𝑛𝑛𝑒𝑓𝑒𝑟 𝑜𝑓 𝑉𝑒𝑛𝑔𝑒𝑟𝑏𝑒𝑟𝑔 . . .