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.
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.