The little elven girl sat in her room trying magic with little success. She knew she had magical abilities, but all she could do with magic was to heal simple wounds. She heard many stories from her father, a powerful sage who saw other worlds. She also wanted to move to another place, maybe even meet another person who likes magic. She closed her eyes, concentrating very hard on imagining the place where she would like to be, felt her reach to the source of her older power and felt something thrashing wildly with her and landing on something…soft? She opened her eyes and found that she was lying on the bed, gently turned her head and looked at the sleeping, beautiful raven haired woman who opened her violet eyes.
“Uhmm…Hello. I’m so sorry, my lady.“ The little elf whispered softly, feeling that the raven-haired woman was also a mage. She didn’t want to wake her up. This was not the place she wanted to be at all. "I didn’t want to disturb you. I swear it.”
A strange, sharp vibration in the night air spilling in through the half-open window (soft and sweet with her perfume) heralds an unexpected arrival: Yennefer moans and stirs amid the thick furs that cover her; she is not yet awake, yet every last inch of her body is wholly aware of that which is to come; the child comes rushing through some malformed portal and tossed onto her bed, and the enchantress groans, lashes fluttering open, vexed by the disturbance; a sharp exhale, and she is violently pulled out of her slumber, and shocked into wakefulness. A pale triangular face, violet eyes and narrow, slightly contorted lips appear beneath masses of black tresses; the strange child sat near her atop her bed has a glimpse of blazing violet eyes and then, the sorceress is forcefully pulling away from it, shocked at its abrupt appearance, cursing through her teeth and leaping out of the bed, eyes sharp and cold as she pierces it with a glare. The sorceress, still muddled with sleep, observes the child in silence, narrowing her eyes. Is it an elf? half dazed from her slumber, still, she wonders in some astonishment, glimpsing through the shadows that envelope them its face, its vibrant, curious eyes, radiating with magic. Heavens! Could she not get a moment's peace any more?
Yennefer, upright and threatening, with an authoritative, sharp expression sprawling across her fair face (unnaturally beautiful, radiating with power) demands Who are you? her voice dark with anger that this stranger has disturbed her peace and sleep in such frustrating a manner. Without taking her eyes off the girl, she picks a black, velvet coat with a fur collar up off the floor and wraps herself up in it tightly, eyes flaming. ❝ How did you get in here? Speak, child, and quickly! ❞ the sorceress demands sharply soon after, wondering where she had come from and for what reason; some part of her, too, is already on edge, alert, half expecting it to prove itself to be something else entirely. If that is the case, she shall not hesitate to end its miserable existence with naught more than the flick of her wrist.
The low, dim glow of the furnace casts strange shadows upon the enchantress' face, making her appear simultaneously beautiful, ravishingly radiant, and yet, menacing, too, a sharp shard of ice. ❝ speak! ❞ she orders calmly, stood unwaveringly near the bed.
