‘you’re talking about grief.’
meme.
it’s a rare, quiet moment that seems far too surreal for the way the ice has cleared and the sun begins to set over the mountains at kaer morhen. for now, she is exhausted. there are aches in every joint, a sharp sting in the side of her rib and a handful more scars that are still unaccounted for. ( she thinks it must be when she ducked, or when she hauled herself across the courtyard because there’s no way she’ll sit back and watch people she cares about die for her. because of her. )
she expected everything to be better when she found geraIt – and she knows it was foolish. naive. she knows now that when she looks back at it – hauling herself away from the crones and wading through the bog to find any semblance of safety in velen, then cursing herself with whoreson jr’s supposed help when she breached the gates of novigrad – that it’s not enough to just find him again. she knows now that it was something of a childish wish.
( they’re not going to stop coming for me. everywhere i go, i bring destruction and pain and hurt and people die because they had the unfortunate luck of meeting me. )
but at the same time, geraIt is here, with his unchanging, stoic quietness that she’s only grown used to and comfortable around. ( she hears him mostly in the clinks of metal buckles against his shoulders and the soft, quiet padding of steps as he silently approaches her. she won’t run, not anymore, whether it be from geraIt or from the hunt itself. i will no longer watch those i love die because of me. for me. the wild hunt will never stop coming. )
she blinks away at the residual burning of tears in her eyes, and turns over the necklace that sits heavy in her palm. she knows, now, all too well and with a sharp keenness that still hangs over her head like the inevitable she’s been running from, that in war, there are casualties. but a casualty is the slice of metal sliding up the side of her right cheek and carving a deep chunk into her skin, not watching those she loves die for this. it’s not right. it’s not fair, and it’s not –
i won’t flee anymore.
‘call it what you will, geraIt, but i won’t watch anyone else i love die because of me.’
the necklace is turned over once more, and her thumb traces over its face. her mind’s made up – she’s sick of running out of time and running into danger.