𝐋𝐈𝐅𝐄 𝐈𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐁𝐔𝐓 𝐀 𝐒𝐏𝐈𝐑𝐀𝐋 𝐎𝐅 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐍  

[traitreespiegle]

*     𝐈𝐒𝐎𝐋𝐃𝐀  ,   𝐒𝐎𝐑𝐂𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐒   𝐎𝐅   𝐆𝐎𝐑𝐒   𝐕𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐍   [ . . . ]   It   was   in   my  flaws,   I   found    a    much    deeper   truth    and    it   is   from  them,  I  bloom  ;  a    *   𝐁𝐋𝐀𝐂𝐊   rose.

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

𝐈𝐍𝐃. 𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐕. 𝐒𝐄𝐋. amara isolda, oc designed for the witcher verse. forever bound to a life that is already carved out for me. written by pandy.

[katieskeep]

MERLIN (2008 - 2012) Morgana Pendragon ▶ Season 3, Episode 05: “The Crystal Cave”

[avasillva]

I would have sold my soul for someone to show me kindness such as this. Merlin | S05E06 · The Dark Tower

[arandomblogforeternity]

Morgana Pendragon + Green

[lilacsngooseberries]

lilacsngooseberries is an  independent  game, Netflix show & heavily  headcanon influenced  YENNEFER  OF  VENGERBERG written  by  Llŷr.

This  blog will deal  with  triggering  material  including:  discussions  of  self harm, suicidality,  emotional  abuse,  ptsd,  depression,  mental  illness,  and  possibly more. I will  tag  everything potentially triggering,  but  please  know  that  these  topics  are  heavily tied to the character.

I will  only  interact  with  those  who  are  18 + this is nonnegotiable.

[lilacandunicorns-archived-deact]

All I ever wanted was the world, I can’t help that I need it all

Indie Yennefer of Vengerberg from The Witcher universe. Game compliant through The Witcher 3: The Wild Hunt, with some book influences. 21+

Rules || Verses || Bio 

[traitreespiegle]

ties that bind, @exsecratuss

There was unmistakable excitement radiating, echoing throughout the domicile as the members of the household rose from the comforts of their slumber and begun the necessary preparation for the events that would soon be seen consuming their day, fulfilling it with joyous energy that would promptly be forgotten, vanishing to dust as rightful anger and bitterness swarmed over the loving couple. Only a few short weeks prior had seen the women feverishly and spontaneously plan an fruitful escapade to the snowy, wintry lands of Skellige in means of purposely eluding the unforgiving heat that currently showered over the lands of Gors Velen for a few days, if not a month and attend the heart-warming festivals during the duration of their stay. And today was, in fact, the day that the women had planned to leave but unbeknownst to them, such plans would be interrupted, prevented beneath interfering hands of a past lover as a favour that simply couldn’t be ignored was called upon the Sorceress of Gors Velen.

Haste regarding their departure was decelerated as the Temerian’s presence was required in the marketplace in means of picking up an array of items for their travels, which, a small collection had purposely remained that of a secret. Amara had instantly found immense enjoyment in showering her lover with thoughtful gifts and tasteful sweets from the first moment that they met, truly wanting nothing more than to ensure that bashful responses and soft blushes were coaxed out and that the younger woman felt loved, seen and appreciated as she truly deserved. There was a soft kiss that was gently applied to Astraea’s rounded cheek and that of a charming simper easily danced along the edge of Amara’s ample lips as the half-elf pulled a loose, lace shawl over her pale shoulders to hide her porcelain skin from the blistering sun. “I’ll be back in a few.” She murmured ever so softly before the older woman took her departed, exiting her adobe and heading to the marketplace. It had, for the majority, gone swimmingly and without an issue but just as the Enchantress was moments from departing and returning to her home and the woman that she had left within it, her path had been surprisingly obscured by a raven that was simply all-too familiar and a sickeningly sweet voice rung through the depths of her mind. Yennefer.

Promptly, Yennefer had informed the Sorceress of Gors Velen of her latest challenge that, so far, served to provide her unforgivingly with issue upon issue and requested Amara’s aide at the younger woman’s behest. And just as usual, the older woman had agreed without a single moment of hesitation and with little thought to her own life or those around her to help the Sorceress of Vengerberg and had, in turn, cancelled the trip that she and Astraea had planned without truly taking in the opposing woman or her reaction in regard to such a change. It was customary for Yennefer to request help from the Temerian and for Amara to give it without thought, often ruining plans that the older woman shared with Astraea without little consideration or thought. She had returned home, bags from the market in tow and discarded them by the edge of the door with loving care, flowing through the house in search for her beloved and silver orbs flickered hazardously. “Astraea? Where are you?” Once the younger woman had been discovered, Amara offered a smile of utter and complete warmth as she stepped close, embracing a tender waist and applying a soft kiss to the curve of her shoulder. “Hi, Darling. . . I’m afraid we might have to push plans back for a few days.”

[exsecratuss]

Loving Amara was like learning how to use magic. It is exciting, invigorating and awe inducing. However it also came with it challenges. It hates to even think of it as such because there was nothing hard about loving Amara, nothing draining about her love itself for the woman. The challenge of it, the draining came from the half-elf’s history with another sorceress. The wolf was not naive to believe that even if the history and years spent apart, the Temerian’s love for Yennefer of Vengerberg would simply vanish. Quite honestly, she did not care. She did not hold it against the sorceress from Gors Velen, she knows very well that if she ever were to end up with another, that if she and Amara were no longer together she will still love her as fiercely, as deeply. So you see, that is also not even the problem, she prides herself in being quite understanding of it all and knows one cannot compete much with history but — why must she compete to begin with?

The presence of the Vengerberg woman, even when she was not physically there constantly loomed over them. Amara is in no way, shape or form a horrible partner. She showed the werewitch affection, always made sure Astraea was aware of her lover and bathed her constantly in gifts and no matter how simple or extravagant they were, she felt that love in each one of them. Regardless of all of that, she still did not feel like the Temerian’s first choice and in there laid the problem. Amara had a nag of dropping whatever she was doing, with whomever she was with of Yennefer so much as utters her name.

More often than not the wolf finds herself alone, with plans ruined all because Yennefer had an urgent matter which required the help from the Temerian. As if the infamous sorceress of Vengerberg did not have other sorceress friends she could probably turn for help to. Perhaps it is because she was very much aware of the fact that Amara would never deny her, just as Astraea was very much aware of that. However the Redenian never spoke up on the matter, she would simply put up an understanding smile and nod or lately she’d taken to not responding at all and would simply find something to do herself to keep busy and keep her feelings buried.

Today was the day they left for Skellige for a little vacation they had planned. A way to get away from the merciless heat and humidity that seemed to have overtaken this side of the sea. An excuse to lock themselves away and bury themselves under furs by a fire and leave the bed only when hunger and the need for other necessities arose. They had planned it for weeks, speaking of it through the days which served to build up the excitement. If this came to be, if they truly managed to get away just for a bit, she’d be able to forgive and forget all the times Amara has had to change their plans. All she needed was one moment in time where it was just them, them far away from everything and everyone — specially Yennefer of Vengerberg.

She had waited, these last few days,waited for the raven haired woman to pop up with an emergency that would require Amara’s help for days but it never came. Perhaps she had celebrated too early, has sung in victory too soon. The wolf had shared a lovely morning with her beloved, shared sweet kisses while they prepared to leave. The half-elf had taken off towards the market to buy some final things they would need before they departed and in the meantime Astraea busied herself with finishing the trunk they would take. It is just as she finishes it that she hears the sorceress pf Gors Velen call for her. “Chambers, darling” she calls back, closing the truck and sighing. The Redenian hums and smiles at the kiss, closing her eyes which briefly pop open when those next words come out.

Astraea grows slightly rigid at that and there’s a deafening silence which envelopes them both. “If I were to ask why that is” the wolf begins, ever so slowly stepping away from Amara, “would your answer be relation to Yennefer?” The Redanian keeps her back to the half-elf, looking out of the bedroom window.

[traitreespiegle]

Yennefer of Vengerberg had been her first love, in spite of the Sorceress of Gors Velen effortlessly being a century older, if not more and with that, came an array of memories that mounted into history that couldn’t simply be forgotten. Yennefer had managed to slip past Amara’s defences as if they simply hadn’t existed, were not towered feverishly high in means of protecting herself from further possibilities of pain. There had been an instant connection between the women, a soul-bond buried beneath flesh and branded into their very bones that was, well, partly responsible for the connection that had formed, the love that had blossomed. It had been given without their permission, a ‘gift’ as some would call it decided and handed over by fate, herself, before the women’s life was even in consideration. History, a soul-bond and the first love. . . It was already pretty heavy stuff but it was not the only contributing factor to this already sensitive situation. If you breathed in this world, you would have heard the story of the White Wolf and his wish regarding the Lady Yennefer, how it intertwined his life with the Sorceress of Vengerberg. Well. . . Such a wish that twirled with the likes of destiny had damaged the soul-bond that the women shared, had seen it crack and grow fragile beneath the weight and most of the damage received had mostly been on Yennefer’s side. For Yennefer, the bond previously shared with the older sorceress was felt on a smaller scale, if at all, whereas, Amara still felt everything as it had been and possibly if not more as fate tried to even the unbalance. She remained bonded to the pale-skinned beauty and painfully so. For Amara, her heart still sang at even the simplest idea of the woman, the simplest of mentions and her body feverish, warm and bouncing with excitement whenever Yennefer graced her with her presence and the woman remained the definition of perfection in her eyes, had not moved that of an inch from the pedestal Amara placed her on so very long ago.

At first, Amara had given Yennefer everything that she wished for, that she wanted in hopes that perhaps, Geralt would be left and they would return to their lives but after time, after the moments they would be brought together and torn apart, answering to Yennefer’s beck and call simply became customary as there was no-one else in the older woman’s life and the younger woman remained the apple in her eye, in spite of the constant heartache their relationship brought to Amara. It was tradition that was buried deep and had been the knife that sliced slowly away at the relationship Amara had formed with Astraea. You see, Amara had not been without lovers, simply none of them had caught her attention to the point that they’d be more than a simply fling or a dirty one-night stand. Until Astraea, that is. Astraea was the first woman that had managers to steal her attention other than Yennefer. She was the absolute opposite. Astraea had been this bashful, silent Sorceress who came into the older woman’s town and their paths had crossed out of nowhere but Amara had instantly been taken, bewitched by her beauty and the bashfulness that was truly breathtaking in every form that it had been expressed and well, nothing had stopped the older woman from slowly carving her way into Astraea’s life. Time had seen them grow, soft and delicate until they became an item and all of those sickeningly sweet firsts were shared and Astraea was shyly invited to live with Amara rather than living in one of the local taverns. Everything that the younger woman wanted was given, well, where Yennefer was not concerned. A relationship with Amara came with the painful side of Yennefer and her interruptions that were more often than not demands and expectations for help, seeing the women’s plans ruined or postponed. Astraea had remained quiet and Amara had seen that as nothing more than that she had no issue and felt no way in regards to the constant interference.

Until now.

“I. . . It would, yes.” Confusion had swarmed a pale visage as Astraea grew frigid and stepped from her embrace. Had she said something wrong? Her fingers had reached out, settling at the base of the woman’s elbow. “It won’t take long, I promise. . . Geralt’s found himself in a bit of a pickle and Yennefer’s concern for his safety is growing. She requires my influence in the Nilfgaardian realms to free him. We could go, head to Skellige the moment we finish.” Supple brims curled upwards, forming slowly into that of a gentle smile towards the younger woman as a finger prodded gently against her side. “I’ll make it up to you with sweet pies and something that’ll leave you screaming. And maybe we can finally try out that idea you have wanted to do with cream.”

[exsecratuss]

She had in fact claimed victory too soon. Seems that Yennefer of Vengerberg had managed to catch them and ruin this plan after all. The wolf remains quiet as the woman speaks, tells about Geralt, Nilfgaard and how they’ll be in Skellige in no time after that. Her eyes flutter close and she feels just more of that hurt gripping at her heart even as Amara speaks of how she’ll make it up to her. “Don’t, Amara” she says softly, stepping further away from the sorceress of Gors Velen. “I knew this would happened, I was an idiot to think we’d actually manage to do as planned this time around” she laughs hollowly.

She could feel the tears slowly building in her eyes. A tongue peaks out to lick her lips, feeling an array of emoticons she couldn’t quite contain anymore. She doesn’t know why this is exactly the tipping point. Perhaps it was because she was looking forward to it the most. Perhaps it was because it meant something big for them, their first vacation while being officially together. Something serious for them, something that could mark the next step for them. She doesn’t really know, but it seems this is what finally breaks the dam. “You know lucky of her to catch you here rather than in Skellige and have you travel all the way back.” The words hold an edge of bitterness to them.

Her throat feels raw and gods, how could she ever think she ever stood a chance? And the thing is? She doesn’t blame Amara, whatever it was that kept her so devoted, so grounded in Yennefer’s orbit was — beyond either of their hands. It was the kind of love that the wolf knew deep within her she felt for the half-elf. The kind of love that would make you burn the world down, change it even. The kind of love that exists beyond your self being, so grand it was everything. And that was devastating, painfully tragic. The werewitch runs her fingers gently over her cheek and she realizes then that it is wet. A tear had slipped out unbeknownst to her.

“You won’t have to make it up to me” she says, looking around as if for some sort of answer. “Not now or the next time it happens or the next” a hand runs through her hair. “You go help Yennefer but I don’t think I’ll be here when you return.”

[traitreespiegle]

“I. . .” She was unable to find words, her mouth dry and mind swimming with an array of questions that all fought to be answered. Astraea’s refusal had felt like that of a fierce hollow, shadowed painfully by the distance she ensured was kept between the women and had ignited the Sorceress of Gors Velen’s with an ache that refused to ease. “You. . . You knew what would happen?” Gods. What. . . What had brought this on? Had she said something and not noticed? Was it regarding Yennefer and another one of her favours? Astraea had previously been careless to the favours that the Sorceress of Vengerberg asked of Amara and the aide that the older woman had gifted to the Lady Yennefer and often, encouraged it. “We can still do as we planned, Astraea. . . It’ll only be a few days in Nilfgaard. See it as a small holiday before our adventure.” She knew it wasn’t easy for Astraea to be around Yennefer but the younger woman had never uttered a word and made the ill emotions she felt towards the bond shared between Amara and her past-lover known.

It felt like a weight had shifted and not for the better. This felt as if something was coming to an end. Amara refused to accept that this heavy weight that settled on her chest was in relation to Astraea and the life they shared. Astraea was rightfully hers and she was Astraea’s. Why was it changing? How had she, too, messed this up? No. It couldn’t be, not when she had only just found happiness and created a life for herself. This couldn’t end. She couldn’t ruin the only treasure that existed in her life. Her actions had seen Yennefer run for the hills in disgust, frightened by an careless act and falling into the arms of Geralt and his ridiculous wish. “Astraea. . .” She whispered out emotionally, her timbre thick with utter and complete concern as the younger woman turned and her pale visage was tinged with tears. Amara had taken a step forth, hand extending only to pull back as she remembered the woman’s distaste at her touch in this moment and she swallowed thickly, gaze steadfast on the timbre flooring. Astraea’s actions had been enough to inform Amara of the situation, let alone the words that had followed, spoke gently of her plans. “That. . . That’s it then, huh? You. . . You’ll just leave, not even tell me the reason behind this, not even respect me enough to truly break up with me?” How her heart ached, begun to grieve the loss that was inevitable and a stream of tears begun to fall as the woman battled with distaste towards herself and her inability to keep even a single positive thing alive in her life. “Right. I see.” She whispered quietly, abandoning the room in need of space as her body trembles with sobs that were choked back and her shawl was painfully tugged from her shoulders, thrown to the ground carefully as the buttons to her dress were popped open to give herself the ability to truly breathe, to try and calm herself.

[exsecratuss]

How could Amara still not see it? But of course the wolf owes the Temerian that much. A full on explanation of this, the reasons, deserves to know her actual feelings. “No, you don’t see” she says, heart twisting and aching in her chest. With her heighten hearing the Redenian was able to hear those choked back sobs. “You don’t see at all how much this hurts. I don’t care if it’s a day or a few in Nilfgaard, why do we always have to change our days around, our plans for her? You don’t even realize it. It always happens, anything we have plan gets ruined or postponed. Oh she need help with Cirilla, next is Geralt, she has an issue with a spell. Everything is urgent and requires your assistance at once.”

Gods, saying it out loud just made it all that much more real and painful. “Do you even stop to think how it might make me feel? You don’t, you just say yes. You’re at her beck and call, she knows that and takes advantage of it.” She stays in her spot, feeling a lump forming in her throat. The wolf watched every movement of the opposite woman. “I can’t pretend to know what is it that its between you both, to understand it but I’m just. . . I’m so tired of coming second” she says with a choked up sob of her own. The Redenian covers her mouth as if to prevent them. The half-elf hadn’t ruined anything, outside of these repeated moments she was perfect in every way. So much so it had been so easy for the werewitch to fall so completely for her, so deeply.

The werewitch looks around their room, the one they’ve shared for months since Amara had told her to stay with her, as if it held some form of answer. Her heart twists and clenches in her chest in such a painful manner. “I’m the happiest I’ve ever been with you. . . I’ve never felt a strongly for anyone else as I do for you. I feel like I could do anything and everything for you, Amara. But even now, even after everything that’s happened, Yennefer is still your priority. Which is alright, you love her in a way that is beyond comprehension of the mind.” In the way that I love you, she thinks to herself.

“I don’t hold it against you, despite everything I’ve said. I don’t doubt that you care for me, you’ve been so wonderful, have shown me what it is like to be with someone, to truly care for them in such an intimate level. I just don’t think. . . I can continue to live in her shadow.” Her words are quiet but loud enough somehow to still be heard by Amara. “You can’t change the way you feel for her and how you are with her as much as I can’t change how I feel for you and how that makes me feel.”

[traitreespiegle]

She had fallen silent, teeth sinking unfavourably against the flesh of her inner cheek as Astraea’s words were revisited again and again within her mind and a pale palm dropped to grip lightly at her stomach, fighting of the sinking feeling that settled promptly within her gut. It couldn’t. . . Surely not? Yennefer was complicated, often found herself in many a situations but not nearly as often as Astraea was insisting. Or was she? And surely, these situations wouldn’t be purposely dropped moments away from when the women were about to depart and add another stream of memories to their shared life together. “It’s. . . It’s just bad timing.” Was it? Perhaps, there was more to it if the older woman was simply willing to open her eyes and cast a clear gaze over these last few months. Lithe fingers rested against her lips, picking harshly at her lower lip. “Yennefer only has a few that she trusts. You. . . You can’t blame her for asking help from those in such sensitive situations.” Was she trying to convince herself or the younger woman? It was not yet made clear. To hear these words was painful, each a harsher blow than the last and shimmering greys disappeared beneath pale lids. Gods. How had she made Astraea feel as if she was second and not notice? She knew that the bond was all-consuming at times but. . .

“You don’t. . . You don’t come second.” She whispered frighteningly quiet. Gods. Amara hadn’t ever felt this defeated, this broken and her heart ached with the pain, her body trembling. “I’m just. . . It’s hard for me. It isn’t my own choice that she remains a priority.” Perhaps, this could have been eased if she had simply told Astraea of the circumstances that left her painfully bonded to the younger woman. If she had simply asked for help rather than being ashamed of herself, of this situation she found herself intertwined with. “I’m bonded to her. It’s. . . I can’t help it. It’s some stupid soulbond and when Geralt cast the wish. . . You can fit the pieces of the puzzle together. While Yennefer’s part of the bond was damaged, nature tried to right the unbalanced and it landed on me.” If only Geralt and his bloody wish had simply severed the strand between her and Yennefer, this moment wouldn’t be happening and the women could be happy without incident. “You shouldn’t doubt my love for you. I would move mountains for you, to ensure that you are safe and happy. I have.” But then again, perhaps it hadn’t been enough when compared to the constant attention shown towards Yennefer. It was understandable as to why it simply faded into the cracks, seemingly worthless against her aide to Yennefer’s adventures.

There was nothing that she could do to try and change it in this very moment. She could beg, ask the woman to remain while the older woman tried to figure this out but they both knew that it simply wouldn’t happen. Astraea’s mind was already made up and rightfully so. Amara had treated her poorly, allowed her to believe that she lived in the shadow of Yennefer, was a measly second and that hadn’t been the case. “I understand.” She whispered out, throat contracting painfully as the younger woman was approached and carefully pulled into that of a bone-crushing embrace. There was nothing more in this world that the Sorceress of Gors Velen wanted in this moment other than tell Astraea that she loved her more than the air that she breathed, more than the love she held for any lute or ballad, that she was, in fact, her whole entire world and that any obstacle, however small or large, would be moved just for her. But. . . It simply wouldn’t hold the value that it would when uttered in another moment and Amara refused to cheapen their love, to have the opposing woman view it as some sort of ploy to ensure that she stays. Instead, Astraea’s jaw was cradled with such gentleness as a thumb ran along the delicate curve of a pale cheek and their lips brought together roughly in a emotional kiss that combined both passion and agony within a painful concoction.

[exsecratuss]

Astraea stays quiet, doesn’t say anything on the matter. What could she say? Nothing. Did she think Yennefer did it on purpose? No, probably not and it could in fact be horrible timing. Doesn’t change the fact that she continues to ruin their plans. The half-elf hadn’t even stopped to notice and of course, why would she?

A soul bound? Oh by gods, no wonder. They were rare, these soul bounds, thought to be myths. Something of old elven tales even. Suddenly all of it makes sense however and gods how can one stand a chance against that? She thought it unfair of destiny or fate or whatever had a say on this has dealt the Temerian sorceress a horrible hand. How unfair was if for Amara to have to feel everything while Yennefer only felt not even half of it anymore? “Oh Amara” she says softly, heart clenching even more, twisting in her chest for the woman. The werewitch begins to shake her head lightly, “I don’t doubt it, of course I don’t. This isn’t about doubting your love” and fuck, her stomach flutters and churns all at once. Because they are speaking of love, Amara has more than told her she loves her. Tears continue to flow, lip trembling.

Her entire body shakes with her silent sobs, throat constricting. I understand. Astraea watched as the sorceress from Gors Velen approaches her and takes her into a tight embrace. The act makes her sob audibly this time and she clings to the other woman, hands fisting the woman’s dress. She wishes to freeze time and keep it here so that she can remain in the woman’s arms. But even with all the magic in the continent such thing was not possible. The wolf sniffles and looks into those silver orbs with green ones glossy with tears. A choked up whimper gets caught in her throat when the half-elf kisses her. The Redenian seems to want to hold onto every part of Amara she could all while kissing her with the same passion and agony she tastes on those sweet lips.

“I—” she chokes, “I love you” the words come out in stutters between kisses due to her crying and the breathlessness from the kiss.

[traitreespiegle]

Spheres. . . How could she be so blind? It was truly devastating, the organ within her chest falling into broken shards that cried with agony, screamed with ire. How hadn’t she begun to notice? Who could live so long and remain this clueless, this blind. Had she been like this from the very start? Amara felt her lower lip begin to tremble, shuddering breath drawn past supple flesh as shimmering greys vanished beneath pale eyelids in an attempt to hide and gain control on the ocean of emotions that engulfed her. If only she could scream, grant them mercy and allow the agony, the bitterness, the ire that was swallowing her alive to escape. She knew that her loyalty to Yennefer was undying but it’s intensity had never been realised wholeheartedly until this moment and it was Astraea that brought it to life. Was it unfair of destiny, fate or whoever had rewarded her with the cards uncovered within her deck? Perhaps, it was the debt of her hard-earned karma being repaid in her tears.

 “It’s. . .” She had fallen silent. Gods. . . There was nothing more in this moment that Amara wanted to do than admit how this bond, however rare and fictious it might seem, was utterly and completely painful but how could she? It didn’t matter. Astraea’s mind was decided and any admission, even if Amara was upon her knees begging feverishly, wouldn’t change the outcome. “I’ll fix it.” Spoken with such benignity, they would find it impossible to hear if they weren’t Sorceresses and inhuman in their own right. Amara hadn’t dared to bring light to the bond she shared with Yennefer. Why would she? It had once brought her pleasure but in these last decades, it felt as if it brought her nothing but utter devastation. She shuddered as her blood turned as cold as the ice of Skellige itself, loathing the fact that it was this moment where the women’s declaration of love was admitted, shared. Suddenly, there was a sense of heightened clarity that begun to swim around Astraea’s words and the meaning within them. Could they ever simply be left alone as one while this bond struck out at her, struck out at them and slowly sucked them dry. And yet, the Sorceress of Gors Velen’s fingers do not ease on their pursuit to intertwine within Astraea’s clothing and ensuring that the woman remains painfully close, desperate just to experience for a few more moments before her departure was taken.

 Amara attempts to press as close as she physically could, caring not at the pain that it could bring them, caring little at the desperation that radiated from her as limbs tightened and sobs cascaded, body trembling and shades of grey drenched with fallen tears. She hates this moment. How could she not? It was simply impossible to find any ounce of joy within this moment and it’s outcome. This was their ending, their goodbye and once the powerful grip that the younger woman held upon her body slackened, Astraea would see her departure through and god only knows when they see each other once again. Amara was unable to silence the cries that fell from her lips as she passionately kissed the younger woman with such intensity, such vigour, such passion that the Sorceress hoped was properly portraying the love and the care that she held for Astraea. “I. . . I love you.”

[traitreespiegle]

𝖸𝖾𝗇𝗇𝖾𝖿𝖾𝗋,

𝖨 𝖿𝗂𝗇𝖽 𝗆𝗒𝗌𝖾𝗅𝖿 𝗅𝗈𝖺𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗌𝗎𝖼𝗁 𝗅𝗈𝖺𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗈𝗇𝗅𝗒 𝗌𝖾𝗋𝗏𝖾𝗌 𝗍𝗈 𝗀𝗋𝗈𝗐, 𝗌𝗍𝗋𝖾𝗇𝗀𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝖾𝖺𝖼𝗁 𝗉𝖺𝗌𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗌𝗎𝗇𝗋𝗂𝗌𝖾.

𝖨’𝗆 𝗋𝖾𝗆𝗂𝗇𝖽𝖾𝖽 𝗈𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖾𝗑𝗂𝗌𝗍𝖾𝗇𝖼𝖾 𝖺𝗍 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗒 𝗍𝗎𝗋𝗇 𝖨 𝗍𝖺𝗄𝖾. 𝖨 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝗒𝖾𝗍 𝗆𝖺𝗇𝖺𝗀𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝖾𝗌𝖼𝖺𝗉𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎, 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗇 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗁𝗂𝖽𝖽𝖾𝗇 𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖽𝖾𝗉𝗍𝗁𝗌 𝗈𝖿 𝗆𝗒 𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝗆𝗂𝗇𝖽. 𝖸𝗈𝗎’𝗏𝖾 𝖼𝗅𝖺𝗐𝖾𝖽 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗐𝖺𝗒 𝗂𝗇𝗍𝗈 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗒 𝗂𝗇𝖼𝗁 𝗈𝖿 𝗆𝗒 𝗅𝗂𝖿𝖾 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗂𝗍’𝗌 𝗂𝗆𝗉𝗈𝗌𝗌𝗂𝖻𝗅𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝖿𝗈𝗋𝗀𝖾𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎, 𝗍𝗈 𝗌𝗁𝖾𝖽 𝗆𝗒𝗌𝖾𝗅𝖿 𝗈𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗍𝗈𝗎𝖼𝗁.

𝖨 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝖨 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝖻𝖾𝖾𝗇 𝗅𝖾𝖿𝗍 𝗅𝗈𝖺𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗒𝗈𝗎.

𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘩𝘢𝘶𝘯𝘵 𝘮𝘦. 𝖸𝗈𝗎 𝗁𝖺𝗎𝗇𝗍 𝗆𝖾 𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾 𝗌𝗈𝗆𝖾 𝗍𝗋𝗈𝗎𝖻𝗅𝖾𝗌𝗈𝗆𝖾 𝗌𝗉𝗂𝗋𝗂𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗋𝖾𝖿𝗎𝗌𝖾𝗌 𝗍𝗈 𝖽𝖾𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗍 𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗋𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍𝖿𝗎𝗅 𝖼𝖾𝗅𝖾𝗌𝗍𝗂𝖺𝗅 𝗉𝗅𝖺𝗇𝖾, 𝖼𝗅𝗈𝗎𝖽𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗆𝗒 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗍, 𝗆𝗂𝗇𝖽 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖻𝗈𝖽𝗒.

𝖨 𝗅𝗂𝗏𝖾 𝗈𝗇 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝖾𝖺𝖼𝗁 𝖽𝖺𝗒, 𝖿𝖺𝖼𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗅𝗂𝗍𝗒 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝗅𝖾𝖿𝗍 𝗆𝖾 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖨’𝗆 𝗉𝗎𝗇𝗂𝗌𝗁𝖾𝖽 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗋𝖾𝗆𝗂𝗇𝖽𝖾𝗋 𝗈𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖾𝗑𝗂𝗌𝗍𝖾𝗇𝖼𝖾 𝗂𝗇 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗒𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖨 𝗌𝖾𝖾. 𝖠𝗇𝖽 𝖨 𝗁𝖺𝗍𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖿𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗂𝗌𝗁𝗅𝗒 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗂𝗍 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝖨 𝗋𝖾𝗆𝖺𝗂𝗇 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖺𝗌 𝗂𝖿 𝗇𝗈𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗁𝖺𝗌 𝖼𝗁𝖺𝗇𝗀𝖾𝖽.

𝖧𝗈𝗐 𝖼𝖺𝗇 𝖨 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎?

𝖨’𝗆 𝗎𝗍𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗅𝗒 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖼𝗈𝗆𝗉𝗅𝖾𝗍𝖾𝗅𝗒 𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘵, 𝗍𝗋𝖺𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗇𝖾𝗇𝗍 𝖺𝗌 𝗂𝖿 𝖨’𝗆 𝗅𝗂𝖿𝖾𝗅𝖾𝗌𝗌 𝗆𝖺𝖼𝗁𝗂𝗇𝖾 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗆𝗂𝗌𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺 𝖼𝗋𝗂𝗍𝗂𝖼𝖺𝗅 𝗉𝗂𝖾𝖼𝖾, 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗓𝖾𝗇 𝖺𝗍 𝖺 𝖼𝗋𝗈𝗌𝗌𝗋𝗈𝖺𝖽𝗌 𝗂𝗇 𝖺 𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗅𝖾𝗆𝖺𝗍𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝖨’𝗆 𝗎𝗇𝖺𝖻𝗅𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝖾𝗌𝖼𝖺𝗉𝖾. 𝖨 𝖽𝖾𝗍𝖾𝗌𝗍 𝗁𝗈𝗐 𝗏𝗎𝗅𝗇𝖾𝗋𝖺𝖻𝗅𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝗆𝖺𝖽𝖾 𝗆𝖾, 𝗁𝗈𝗐 𝗂𝗍 𝗋𝖾𝗆𝖺𝗂𝗇𝗌 𝖾𝖿𝖿𝖾𝖼𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗆𝖾 𝗌𝗈 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗇 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝗀𝗈𝗇𝖾, 𝗌𝗈 𝗉𝖺𝗂𝗇𝖿𝗎𝗅𝗅𝗒 𝖺𝖻𝗌𝖾𝗇𝗍 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝗆𝗒 𝗅𝗂𝖿𝖾.

𝖠𝗇𝖽 𝗉𝖾𝗋𝗁𝖺𝗉𝗌, 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗆𝗈𝗌𝗍 𝗉𝖺𝗂𝗇𝖿𝗎𝗅 𝗉𝗂𝖾𝖼𝖾 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝗂𝗌. . . 𝖨 𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝖿𝗂𝗇𝖽 𝗆𝗒𝗌𝖾𝗅𝖿 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖺𝗌 𝗂𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗋𝖾𝗆𝖺𝗂𝗇 𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾, 𝖺𝗌 𝗂𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗇𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝗅𝖾𝖿𝗍.

𝖨 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖼𝗁 𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗂𝗇 𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖻𝖾𝖽 𝗈𝗇𝗅𝗒 𝗍𝗈 𝖻𝖾 𝗉𝖺𝗂𝗇𝖿𝗎𝗅𝗅𝗒 𝗋𝖾𝗆𝗂𝗇𝖽𝖾𝖽 𝗈𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖺𝖻𝗌𝖾𝗇𝖼𝖾 𝖻𝗒 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗈𝖿 𝖼𝗈𝗅𝖽 𝗌𝗁𝖾𝖾𝗍𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗅𝖺𝖼𝗄 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗌𝗈𝗈𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗐𝖺𝗋𝗆𝗍𝗁. 𝖨 𝗍𝗎𝗋𝗇 𝗂𝗇 𝗌𝖾𝖺𝗋𝖼𝗁 𝗈𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖾𝗎𝗉𝗁𝗈𝗇𝗂𝗈𝗎𝗌 𝗏𝗈𝗂𝖼𝖾 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖿𝗂𝗇𝖽 𝖺𝗇 𝖾𝗆𝗉𝗍𝗒 𝗌𝗉𝖺𝖼𝖾, 𝗏𝖺𝖼𝖺𝗇𝗍 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗉𝗂𝖾𝗋𝖼𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗀𝖺𝗓𝖾 𝗈𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖻𝖾𝖺𝗎𝗍𝖾𝗈𝗎𝗌 𝗁𝗎𝖾𝗌 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝗂𝗅𝗒 𝗉𝖾𝖾𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖻𝖺𝖼𝗄 𝖺𝗍 𝗆𝖾. 𝖨 𝖿𝖾𝖾𝗅 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗋𝖺𝗉𝗍𝗎𝗋𝗈𝗎𝗌 𝗍𝗈𝗎𝖼𝗁 𝗈𝗇𝗅𝗒 𝗍𝗈 𝖻𝖾 𝖽𝗂𝗌𝖺𝗉𝗉𝗈𝗂𝗇𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝖻𝗒 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗀𝗁𝗈𝗌𝗍𝗌 𝗈𝖿 𝗆𝖾𝗆𝗈𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗌 𝗒𝗈𝗎’𝗏𝖾 𝗅𝖾𝖿𝗍 𝗆𝖾 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁, 𝗅𝖾𝖿𝗍 𝗆𝗈𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍𝖺𝗋𝗂𝗅𝗒 𝗁𝗈𝗉𝖾𝖿𝗎𝗅 𝖻𝖾𝖿𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝖻𝖾𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗋𝖾𝗆𝗂𝗇𝖽𝖾𝖽 𝗈𝖿 𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗌𝗂𝗍𝗎𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇.

𝖨’𝗆 𝖿𝗋𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍𝖾𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗅𝗒 𝗅𝗈𝗌𝗍.

𝖨𝗍 𝗂𝗌 𝖺𝗅𝗆𝗈𝗌𝗍 𝖺𝗌 𝗂𝖿 𝗆𝗒 𝖻𝗈𝖽𝗒 𝗋𝖾𝖿𝗎𝗌𝖾𝗌 𝗍𝗈 𝖻𝖾𝗅𝗂𝖾𝗏𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝗇𝗈 𝗅𝗈𝗇𝗀𝖾𝗋 𝗉𝗋𝖾𝗌𝖾𝗇𝗍 𝗂𝗇 𝗆𝗒 𝗅𝗂𝖿𝖾, 𝗂𝗇 𝗌𝗉𝗂𝗍𝖾 𝗈𝖿 𝗆𝗒 𝗆𝗂𝗇𝖽 𝗄𝗇𝗈𝗐𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗉𝖺𝗂𝗇𝖿𝗎𝗅 𝗍𝗋𝗎𝗍𝗁, 𝗄𝗇𝗈𝗐𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝖾𝗑𝗂𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗌𝗈𝗆𝖾𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝖿𝖺𝗋 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝗆𝗒 𝗌𝗂𝖽𝖾.

𝖠𝗇𝖽 𝗂𝗍 𝗉𝖺𝗂𝗇𝗌 𝗆𝖾.

𝖡𝗎𝗍 𝖨 𝗋𝖾𝗆𝖺𝗂𝗇 𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾, 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖺𝗌 𝖿𝗂𝖾𝗋𝖼𝖾𝗅𝗒 𝖺𝗌 𝖨 𝖽𝗂𝖽 𝗂𝗇 𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖿𝗂𝗋𝗌𝗍 𝗆𝗈𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗌 𝗍𝗈𝗀𝖾𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋.

𝖥𝗈𝗋𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋𝗌,

- 𝖠

[traitreespiegle]

just how wild is our love, @lilacdulcis

One simply couldn’t deny that the 1800s truly was the time for a life of invention, opportunity and freedom. There was an array of lifestyles ripe for the taking, suiting the array of souls that walked across the country and tailored to their preferences to the type of life that they wanted to live. Granted that the safety of others were not gravely endangered and well, that those with power and influence were not bothered. Previously, such lives had been denied beneath the prejudice of gender, class and education. Inventions were birthed constantly, creating another path for an adventurous soul to follow and create a life that previously never been experienced. You see, the creation of the telegraph instantly connected humans across thousands of miles; the construction of railroads had been the death of some towns while it had been the birth of others and the invention of the gun promptly established settlers’ dominance among each other. It had created the possibility for money, authority and adventure to be achieved in an array of ways. Soon, an array of criminals, both silent and boisterous, had been birthed and alongside them, bounty hunters. And were all criminals, criminals? Or did they simply fight back those who had taken from them? Those who were in such positions that couldn’t be fought?

It was no secret that a lawman, whether they were a magistrate, sheriff or revenue collector, could be corrupt. In fact, there was little surprise when members of the law were discovered hidden among the ranks of gangs to earn that of a pretty penny amongst their already generous pay. You see, conversation amongst the people spread like a wildfire amongst the thick undergrowth and couldn’t be stopped, well, unless fear was ignited in their hearts. And it was no surprise when those involved in the law used their position to silence those that dared to talk, framing them for a sickening crime or simply making them disappear without a trace among an array of other colourful options. Jessep Hixon was, perhaps, the worst of the worst and was one of those corrupt men of the law and was not only thick as a thief within the likes of a barbarous gang but was the cruel and ever so calculated leader of it. He was responsible for countless of cruel and careless deaths of men, women and children all in the name of deepening his pockets. His crimes were nothing but savage, crueler than the demons that hide in the bottom of a whiskey bottle.

To be wanted in such times as the rough and tumble Wild West was no easy feat, especially when the offered bounty was truly deserved. Amara Isolda led a life of crime and had earned each of her charges proudly, earning her spot as a most wanted outlaw with ease. There was no reason to try and deny such a fact. Her list of crimes ranged from the simple misdemeanours to minor and major felonies to frightening hanging offences but none of them had been birthed from malice or pure darkness and instead, arose from revenge. She was the fierce rival to Jessep Hixon, the corrupt man of the law that had murdered her entire family over her father’s refusal to trade. And Amara had, sadly, been the sole survivor of the massacre, sent off by her oldest brother to a secret basement where she had listened to the brutal murders that had taken place. It had been an frightening experience, the memories haunting her across her childhood and even to this very day and leaving her in a stalemate, unable to move on with her life until Hixon saw his empire shattered, broken and then buried six feet beneath the dirt and until that guilt of being a survivor had long left. She had become a Good Samaritan of sorts among Hixon’s victims, taking in those that were struck by his unforgiving hand and giving them somewhere safe to live, to hide and begin to get back on their feet, grant them an education, money, a carriage and a powerful steed so that they could disappear into a far away city and start a new life.

She had a strict set of rules that acted as her moral compass, kept her upon a road that she believe that could be returned from.

1. There was, by no means, killing of women or children.

2. Stealing from the poor was simply out of the question and such acts of thievery were kept only ever for the rich and the deserving.

3. Those that were the unfortunate victims of Hixon and his unforgiving violence were given a home and safety far from his reach.

4. Hixon and his beloved empire were nothing more than free, deserving game that could easily fend for themselves and could be struck wherever and whenever was possible.

5. Those who worked for Hixon, those that supported him were just as worthy to her wrath as he was.

Bounty hunters, revenue agents and those alike all inevitably came to collect the array of prices that lingered over her head but most hoped to collect the 10,000 bounty that was ordered by Jessop Hixon himself. And just as they came, they were dispatched in a manner of ways. Whether it was a bribe, death or simple survival was their choice. There had been a heavy stream of the greedy bastards these last few weeks, the 5,000 addition to her price making her the highest paying bounty currently on offer. Who didn’t want to try and collect such a wage? It was more than enough to purchase a home and settle into a easy life with retirement coming early. But, an easy feat it was not. Today was that of a simple day. Amara had little plans other than divulge in some hard-earned pleasure and well, this saw her comfortable in a saloon that was, in fact, owned by one of her more esteemed alias, with a glass of whiskey cradled in her hand and the brim of her hat cast across the brim of her brows. She was well aware of those that surrounded her and the movement of someone slipping inside of the establishment but paid little attention to them and instead, listened idly to the stream of music that echoed throughout the establishment by an older woman with a talent for playing the piano.

[lilacdulcis]

Yennefer was a woman of principal, one could say. She isn’t by any means no Virgin Mary, no Saint. She is not free of sin herself but she can say that she lives by the code. She earns her money earnestly. The lilac eyed woman, known as the horsewoman of war in the Wild West for her outstanding track with her bounties, had fled from home at a young age. Her father had been abusive and her mother had simply allowed it because she felt like she couldn’t live without him. And perhaps she was right, her mother had no skills outside of being the dutiful wife to a cunt. That didn’t mean she had to endure any of it. One day she stole a large coin purse from her father as well as he best steed and took off in the middle of the night.

She never looked back. Of course to survive out in the world she had to know how to defend herself, how to haggle. She had stumbled about a woman called Tissaia and to this day Yen wonders how she had been fortunate enough for that. Tissaia had taught her everything she knew, from shooting to lassoing and forming great knots, everything which she now used to her advantage as a bounty Hunter.

In her line she has seen all sorts of criminals. They seem to grow as she does, their crimes becoming worse and worse but that also meant higher pay. But none, none have ever reached the heights that a particular one has; Amara Isolda. She seems to be in ever wanted board and each time the lilac eyed bounty Hunter set her eyes upon the parchment the prize seems higher. It left the raven haired woman questioning exactly what such a woman could’ve done to earn such a price on her head. Whatever it is must be atrocious and unspeakable. How shameful it was because if the image upon said paper was anything to go by, she was lovely. She looked like an angel, incapable of harming a soul.

But she supposed that those were the most dangerous ones, weren’t they?

Finally, after months of seeing her all over the state and seeing now how much money they offered, well she decided to take her go at it. It was good money, she could settle down with this, buy a home. Perhaps she wouldn’t stop hunting, there’s always something so accelerating about it but to know she’ll have a home of her own where she could retire to once she does grow tired of it? Sounded nice. Grabbing the paper, she folds it neatly and slips it into her satchel. Time to hunt.

Yennefer tracks her down for weeks, searching in last known locations of the woman until all of it leads her to a saloon. Nice music is playing, the atmosphere feels nice even before the bounty Hunter sets foot inside the establishment. The spurs of her boots make noise with each sure step she takes upon the wooden floors of the establishment. Her entire outfit is black, the sun wrecks havoc at times on her wardrobe but somehow she managed. Perhaps it was the white laces within the black here and there on the seams. The woman arrives at the bar, taking off her black hat and shaking wild curls slightly. Setting the hat down, a gloved hand signals for a drinks.

“Whiskey” she says in a low timbre. Casually lilac eyes scan the place, takes it in while all too aware that her target was just a few places down the bar. So comfortably and calm as if she didn’t have a large price on her head. The bartender sets the drink down and Yennefer takes out a ten, slamming it gently on the counter and sliding it over. “Keep the change as a tip” she says simply before grabbing the whiskey and tossing it back. A mild hiss of pleasure escapes her at the burn before setting the empty tumbler down. Picking her hat, Yennefer slips it onto her head again and finally she makes her way down the bar.

“So tell me” she says as a conversation opener, “how crazy must one be to sit at a saloon so calmly while having such a price on one’s head?” Turning, her violet eyes settle on the bounty. Gods she was even more beautiful in person, how utterly unfair that was.

[traitreespiegle]

Bounty hunters were nothing more than an invasive species that left devastation in their wake. One could easily come to the conclusion that they were the clean-up crew, paid to fix the messes that others dared not to touch in fear of having their name ruined, scorned by such outrageous acts. They came in guns blazing, bestowed their damage and left, receiving their paycheque if they had been successful and waited for their next meal to repeat the process all over again. Amara had seen her fair share of them and they, as anything else, came in all shapes and sizes, bestowing her, at times, utter and complete amusement as they scurried hazardously about the Wild West like a pack of pesky, wild boars that had no sense of direction. To her, they were simply field mice in a game of cat and mouse, ready and ripe for the picking as they walked into a situation they were clueless towards.

Confident, the outlaw was. Why wouldn’t she be? Amara was unstoppable thus far and truly had nothing to live for, making her by far the most dangerous type of criminal that could traverse the open plains. And this slice of dusty, humid paradise so far from the pristine walls of the closet city was hers and only hers and you’d find that there was more support behind her than there was behind the local and state law. Not to mention, to bring her in alive was the assignment demanded by the law and if one dared to turn her body cold, well, that 10,000 paycheque would vanish into nothing and instead would be rewarded a measly 100 pounds.

This nameless visitor had captured the outlaw’s attention from the moment that she had spoken. Now someone that was blessed with a voice so fine simply had to be a wondrous work of art and disappoint, she did not. By the gods. How someone could be as beautiful as this was simply unbelievable. Perhaps, this woman was an angel that fell from heaven? But, judging by the expensive duelling pistols that was strapped to her hips and the reinforced lasso that accompanied her weapons, this woman was a demon sent right from the pits of hell. By no means were demons any lesser to angels in the eyes of the outlaw, they were just as enjoyable, if not more, as a sweet, little angel but demons were by far more fun.

“I’m not quite sure, little one.” She paused with purpose, the contents of her glass downed with effortless ease and the small droplet that escaped captured by the ends of her thumb and the pale flesh slipped between roseate brims as the liquid was sucked away in a playful yet crude display. “Another, if you will, Roger.” The glass was pushed down the polished wood of the bars’ counter and the tip of Amara’s hat was tilted to expose a pale visage that was a sight within itself. “Perhaps, just as crazy for a bounty hunter to walk into a saloon filled with outlaws.” Her simper was every bit devilish as it was playful as it settled upon supple, soft brims and orbs of shimmering silver ascended to boldly collide with violent hues. “They must be growing awfully desperate if they sent a pretty thing like you. Tell me, are they hoping your beauty will distract or that I’ll have so much pity for them I’ll walk right into the Sheriff’s office?” Amara would shamelessly admit that her mind most definitely did wonder to the gifts that were hidden beneath all those layers of black and just how breathtaking this woman would look while being taken feverishly from behind.

[lilacdulcis]

Little one, she could scoff but then again that would show that her words affect her in any way. Yennefer instead cocks her head to the side, observing the rather crude act the woman does. Briefly, just ever so briefly the bounty Hunter allows herself to think how that mouth would look sucking something else. What a pity it is that this was her target. “Ah” she says at the words, violet orbs taking in the sharp jawline, the slight hollow of the cheeks and high cheekbones. “Well I do love causing scenes — and I like showing off my skills on multiple targets. See I don’t need the rest of these outlaws alive, just you and I have a quick trigger finger.” She’s that confident in her abilities to take the rest of them out, she’s done it before.

Yennefer leans forward, hats slightly making contact as their faces come inches closer than before. “How insulting” she says, “ to be reduced to a pretty face.” This was a home to the woman, the comfort in which she carries herself, the ease she holds upon her shoulders lets the bounty hunter know that the woman feels untouchable here. Perhaps there’s a spect of truth to it. The raven haired woman wasn’t careless enough to walk into this establishment without knowing where exactly she was setting foot on. The hunter takes out a premium cigarette pack from her pocket, taking one out and setting between her lips. She did not smoke, she did things with reason. “If things are to go down between you and I do tell your men to stand down” she begins, lighting the match with the counter before shielding the flame with her hand and bringing it to the cigarette. She lights it, lilac eyes lazily upon it and when it lights up, the woman extinguishes it with a shake of her hand. She tilts her head back, blowing the smoke out slowly towards the feeling. “Or I’ll light this whole damn place on fire and kill us all.” Before entering she had poured some gasoline around the place and even if she’s on her dying breath, she’ll flick that cigarette and make sure it catches fire.

[traitreespiegle]

Visage remained emotionless, obsidian brow suspended as the opposing woman was observed in silence and that of a cavernous chuckle burst forth in full, unadulterated effect. How amusing this woman was. Her passion was potent, easily discovered as was the fact that this nameless woman was young and barely off of the presses but held an aura that spoke that this was not her first rodeo. Gods. It had been a while since a bounty hunter had left her so thoroughly and completely entertained. “You think the idle threat of a talented trigger finger is enough to strike the fear of god into their hearts, my heart?” Her words were spoke slowly, dripping from her lips and accompanied by a smile that spoke of mischief and the weight of her body perched against the counter as fingers moved with surprising speed, wrapping around the stock of her Colt Single Action Army Revolver and pulling it from it’s holster, roughed palm easily meeting the hammer and causing four rapid shots to echo throughout the room, the sound of a gentle thump following suit. “Here, a repayment for your lovely décor and a tip on top.” She slipped a twenty dollar bill onto the table, offering the younger woman a impish wink and that of a smile that was ever so charming. Amara had shot down a whittled figurine that had been hung from the wall with a simple rope and sunk three bullets down it’s torso in a single second and without a true glance. “You see, Little Bull, I’m not the type that’ll be easily frightened.”

She had simply grinned as hats collided, shimmering greys pouring into bottomless lilacs while the woman spoke. “Now, now. . . You didn’t let me finish.” It was a mere whisper as the outlaw dared to lean closer, shameless as her gaze dropped to focus fleetingly on lips that appeared sweeter than a honey gum-ball. “Haven’t you ever heard? It’s the prettiest of faces are always the most devious.” Yennefer’s threat was, once more, nothing but amusing to the older woman and had earned the outlaw’s complete and utter attention but not for the desired effect. “And darling, by the looks of such a pretty, little face. I’m sure you’d be able to take me for a ride around the block in more ways than one.” The insinuation simply couldn’t be missed even if one was deaf, blind and dumb and served as nothing more than a display to her careless attitude when faced with a threat. Once Yennefer had finished her spill in regards to her plans within that of another idle threat, the older woman simply rolled her eyes in a lazy display and kicked her feet out to perch upon the foot rest. “Death does not frighten me, not when you‘ve met his cold embrace and held his stare more times than you can count.” She had, although, watched each of the bounty hunter’s motions with that of a tilted head and her visage had suddenly morphed, expressing mischief as the cigarette was plucked with ease from lips that Amara wanted nothing more than to kiss, to see if they truly were so soft. “And why hurt folks of good nature when a pretty, little thing could simply ask for my presence, hmm? Are we compensating for something?” Yennefer’s cigarette was slipped between her own lips and that of a deep inhale was taken from it as the woman rose, slowly making her way to the entrance and ensured that her hips swayed with purpose, putting on a delightful show. Amara was in no way, shape or form a smoker but that didn’t mean that she was unwilling to have one here and there. “You coming, little one?”

[traitreespiegle]

just how wild is our love, @lilacdulcis

One simply couldn’t deny that the 1800s truly was the time for a life of invention, opportunity and freedom. There was an array of lifestyles ripe for the taking, suiting the array of souls that walked across the country and tailored to their preferences to the type of life that they wanted to live. Granted that the safety of others were not gravely endangered and well, that those with power and influence were not bothered. Previously, such lives had been denied beneath the prejudice of gender, class and education. Inventions were birthed constantly, creating another path for an adventurous soul to follow and create a life that previously never been experienced. You see, the creation of the telegraph instantly connected humans across thousands of miles; the construction of railroads had been the death of some towns while it had been the birth of others and the invention of the gun promptly established settlers’ dominance among each other. It had created the possibility for money, authority and adventure to be achieved in an array of ways. Soon, an array of criminals, both silent and boisterous, had been birthed and alongside them, bounty hunters. And were all criminals, criminals? Or did they simply fight back those who had taken from them? Those who were in such positions that couldn’t be fought?

It was no secret that a lawman, whether they were a magistrate, sheriff or revenue collector, could be corrupt. In fact, there was little surprise when members of the law were discovered hidden among the ranks of gangs to earn that of a pretty penny amongst their already generous pay. You see, conversation amongst the people spread like a wildfire amongst the thick undergrowth and couldn’t be stopped, well, unless fear was ignited in their hearts. And it was no surprise when those involved in the law used their position to silence those that dared to talk, framing them for a sickening crime or simply making them disappear without a trace among an array of other colourful options. Jessep Hixon was, perhaps, the worst of the worst and was one of those corrupt men of the law and was not only thick as a thief within the likes of a barbarous gang but was the cruel and ever so calculated leader of it. He was responsible for countless of cruel and careless deaths of men, women and children all in the name of deepening his pockets. His crimes were nothing but savage, crueler than the demons that hide in the bottom of a whiskey bottle.

To be wanted in such times as the rough and tumble Wild West was no easy feat, especially when the offered bounty was truly deserved. Amara Isolda led a life of crime and had earned each of her charges proudly, earning her spot as a most wanted outlaw with ease. There was no reason to try and deny such a fact. Her list of crimes ranged from the simple misdemeanours to minor and major felonies to frightening hanging offences but none of them had been birthed from malice or pure darkness and instead, arose from revenge. She was the fierce rival to Jessep Hixon, the corrupt man of the law that had murdered her entire family over her father’s refusal to trade. And Amara had, sadly, been the sole survivor of the massacre, sent off by her oldest brother to a secret basement where she had listened to the brutal murders that had taken place. It had been an frightening experience, the memories haunting her across her childhood and even to this very day and leaving her in a stalemate, unable to move on with her life until Hixon saw his empire shattered, broken and then buried six feet beneath the dirt and until that guilt of being a survivor had long left. She had become a Good Samaritan of sorts among Hixon’s victims, taking in those that were struck by his unforgiving hand and giving them somewhere safe to live, to hide and begin to get back on their feet, grant them an education, money, a carriage and a powerful steed so that they could disappear into a far away city and start a new life.

She had a strict set of rules that acted as her moral compass, kept her upon a road that she believe that could be returned from.

1. There was, by no means, killing of women or children.

2. Stealing from the poor was simply out of the question and such acts of thievery were kept only ever for the rich and the deserving.

3. Those that were the unfortunate victims of Hixon and his unforgiving violence were given a home and safety far from his reach.

4. Hixon and his beloved empire were nothing more than free, deserving game that could easily fend for themselves and could be struck wherever and whenever was possible.

5. Those who worked for Hixon, those that supported him were just as worthy to her wrath as he was.

Bounty hunters, revenue agents and those alike all inevitably came to collect the array of prices that lingered over her head but most hoped to collect the 10,000 bounty that was ordered by Jessop Hixon himself. And just as they came, they were dispatched in a manner of ways. Whether it was a bribe, death or simple survival was their choice. There had been a heavy stream of the greedy bastards these last few weeks, the 5,000 addition to her price making her the highest paying bounty currently on offer. Who didn’t want to try and collect such a wage? It was more than enough to purchase a home and settle into a easy life with retirement coming early. But, an easy feat it was not. Today was that of a simple day. Amara had little plans other than divulge in some hard-earned pleasure and well, this saw her comfortable in a saloon that was, in fact, owned by one of her more esteemed alias, with a glass of whiskey cradled in her hand and the brim of her hat cast across the brim of her brows. She was well aware of those that surrounded her and the movement of someone slipping inside of the establishment but paid little attention to them and instead, listened idly to the stream of music that echoed throughout the establishment by an older woman with a talent for playing the piano.

[lilacdulcis]

Yennefer was a woman of principal, one could say. She isn’t by any means no Virgin Mary, no Saint. She is not free of sin herself but she can say that she lives by the code. She earns her money earnestly. The lilac eyed woman, known as the horsewoman of war in the Wild West for her outstanding track with her bounties, had fled from home at a young age. Her father had been abusive and her mother had simply allowed it because she felt like she couldn’t live without him. And perhaps she was right, her mother had no skills outside of being the dutiful wife to a cunt. That didn’t mean she had to endure any of it. One day she stole a large coin purse from her father as well as he best steed and took off in the middle of the night.

She never looked back. Of course to survive out in the world she had to know how to defend herself, how to haggle. She had stumbled about a woman called Tissaia and to this day Yen wonders how she had been fortunate enough for that. Tissaia had taught her everything she knew, from shooting to lassoing and forming great knots, everything which she now used to her advantage as a bounty Hunter.

In her line she has seen all sorts of criminals. They seem to grow as she does, their crimes becoming worse and worse but that also meant higher pay. But none, none have ever reached the heights that a particular one has; Amara Isolda. She seems to be in ever wanted board and each time the lilac eyed bounty Hunter set her eyes upon the parchment the prize seems higher. It left the raven haired woman questioning exactly what such a woman could’ve done to earn such a price on her head. Whatever it is must be atrocious and unspeakable. How shameful it was because if the image upon said paper was anything to go by, she was lovely. She looked like an angel, incapable of harming a soul.

But she supposed that those were the most dangerous ones, weren’t they?

Finally, after months of seeing her all over the state and seeing now how much money they offered, well she decided to take her go at it. It was good money, she could settle down with this, buy a home. Perhaps she wouldn’t stop hunting, there’s always something so accelerating about it but to know she’ll have a home of her own where she could retire to once she does grow tired of it? Sounded nice. Grabbing the paper, she folds it neatly and slips it into her satchel. Time to hunt.

Yennefer tracks her down for weeks, searching in last known locations of the woman until all of it leads her to a saloon. Nice music is playing, the atmosphere feels nice even before the bounty Hunter sets foot inside the establishment. The spurs of her boots make noise with each sure step she takes upon the wooden floors of the establishment. Her entire outfit is black, the sun wrecks havoc at times on her wardrobe but somehow she managed. Perhaps it was the white laces within the black here and there on the seams. The woman arrives at the bar, taking off her black hat and shaking wild curls slightly. Setting the hat down, a gloved hand signals for a drinks.

“Whiskey” she says in a low timbre. Casually lilac eyes scan the place, takes it in while all too aware that her target was just a few places down the bar. So comfortably and calm as if she didn’t have a large price on her head. The bartender sets the drink down and Yennefer takes out a ten, slamming it gently on the counter and sliding it over. “Keep the change as a tip” she says simply before grabbing the whiskey and tossing it back. A mild hiss of pleasure escapes her at the burn before setting the empty tumbler down. Picking her hat, Yennefer slips it onto her head again and finally she makes her way down the bar.

“So tell me” she says as a conversation opener, “how crazy must one be to sit at a saloon so calmly while having such a price on one’s head?” Turning, her violet eyes settle on the bounty. Gods she was even more beautiful in person, how utterly unfair that was.

[traitreespiegle]

Bounty hunters were nothing more than an invasive species that left devastation in their wake. One could easily come to the conclusion that they were the clean-up crew, paid to fix the messes that others dared not to touch in fear of having their name ruined, scorned by such outrageous acts. They came in guns blazing, bestowed their damage and left, receiving their paycheque if they had been successful and waited for their next meal to repeat the process all over again. Amara had seen her fair share of them and they, as anything else, came in all shapes and sizes, bestowing her, at times, utter and complete amusement as they scurried hazardously about the Wild West like a pack of pesky, wild boars that had no sense of direction. To her, they were simply field mice in a game of cat and mouse, ready and ripe for the picking as they walked into a situation they were clueless towards.

Confident, the outlaw was. Why wouldn’t she be? Amara was unstoppable thus far and truly had nothing to live for, making her by far the most dangerous type of criminal that could traverse the open plains. And this slice of dusty, humid paradise so far from the pristine walls of the closet city was hers and only hers and you’d find that there was more support behind her than there was behind the local and state law. Not to mention, to bring her in alive was the assignment demanded by the law and if one dared to turn her body cold, well, that 10,000 paycheque would vanish into nothing and instead would be rewarded a measly 100 pounds.

This nameless visitor had captured the outlaw’s attention from the moment that she had spoken. Now someone that was blessed with a voice so fine simply had to be a wondrous work of art and disappoint, she did not. By the gods. How someone could be as beautiful as this was simply unbelievable. Perhaps, this woman was an angel that fell from heaven? But, judging by the expensive duelling pistols that was strapped to her hips and the reinforced lasso that accompanied her weapons, this woman was a demon sent right from the pits of hell. By no means were demons any lesser to angels in the eyes of the outlaw, they were just as enjoyable, if not more, as a sweet, little angel but demons were by far more fun.

“I’m not quite sure, little one.” She paused with purpose, the contents of her glass downed with effortless ease and the small droplet that escaped captured by the ends of her thumb and the pale flesh slipped between roseate brims as the liquid was sucked away in a playful yet crude display. “Another, if you will, Roger.” The glass was pushed down the polished wood of the bars’ counter and the tip of Amara’s hat was tilted to expose a pale visage that was a sight within itself. “Perhaps, just as crazy for a bounty hunter to walk into a saloon filled with outlaws.” Her simper was every bit devilish as it was playful as it settled upon supple, soft brims and orbs of shimmering silver ascended to boldly collide with violent hues. “They must be growing awfully desperate if they sent a pretty thing like you. Tell me, are they hoping your beauty will distract or that I’ll have so much pity for them I’ll walk right into the Sheriff’s office?” Amara would shamelessly admit that her mind most definitely did wonder to the gifts that were hidden beneath all those layers of black and just how breathtaking this woman would look while being taken feverishly from behind.

[traitreespiegle]

ties that bind, @exsecratuss

There was unmistakable excitement radiating, echoing throughout the domicile as the members of the household rose from the comforts of their slumber and begun the necessary preparation for the events that would soon be seen consuming their day, fulfilling it with joyous energy that would promptly be forgotten, vanishing to dust as rightful anger and bitterness swarmed over the loving couple. Only a few short weeks prior had seen the women feverishly and spontaneously plan an fruitful escapade to the snowy, wintry lands of Skellige in means of purposely eluding the unforgiving heat that currently showered over the lands of Gors Velen for a few days, if not a month and attend the heart-warming festivals during the duration of their stay. And today was, in fact, the day that the women had planned to leave but unbeknownst to them, such plans would be interrupted, prevented beneath interfering hands of a past lover as a favour that simply couldn’t be ignored was called upon the Sorceress of Gors Velen.

Haste regarding their departure was decelerated as the Temerian’s presence was required in the marketplace in means of picking up an array of items for their travels, which, a small collection had purposely remained that of a secret. Amara had instantly found immense enjoyment in showering her lover with thoughtful gifts and tasteful sweets from the first moment that they met, truly wanting nothing more than to ensure that bashful responses and soft blushes were coaxed out and that the younger woman felt loved, seen and appreciated as she truly deserved. There was a soft kiss that was gently applied to Astraea’s rounded cheek and that of a charming simper easily danced along the edge of Amara’s ample lips as the half-elf pulled a loose, lace shawl over her pale shoulders to hide her porcelain skin from the blistering sun. “I’ll be back in a few.” She murmured ever so softly before the older woman took her departed, exiting her adobe and heading to the marketplace. It had, for the majority, gone swimmingly and without an issue but just as the Enchantress was moments from departing and returning to her home and the woman that she had left within it, her path had been surprisingly obscured by a raven that was simply all-too familiar and a sickeningly sweet voice rung through the depths of her mind. Yennefer.

Promptly, Yennefer had informed the Sorceress of Gors Velen of her latest challenge that, so far, served to provide her unforgivingly with issue upon issue and requested Amara’s aide at the younger woman’s behest. And just as usual, the older woman had agreed without a single moment of hesitation and with little thought to her own life or those around her to help the Sorceress of Vengerberg and had, in turn, cancelled the trip that she and Astraea had planned without truly taking in the opposing woman or her reaction in regard to such a change. It was customary for Yennefer to request help from the Temerian and for Amara to give it without thought, often ruining plans that the older woman shared with Astraea without little consideration or thought. She had returned home, bags from the market in tow and discarded them by the edge of the door with loving care, flowing through the house in search for her beloved and silver orbs flickered hazardously. “Astraea? Where are you?” Once the younger woman had been discovered, Amara offered a smile of utter and complete warmth as she stepped close, embracing a tender waist and applying a soft kiss to the curve of her shoulder. “Hi, Darling. . . I’m afraid we might have to push plans back for a few days.”

[exsecratuss]

Loving Amara was like learning how to use magic. It is exciting, invigorating and awe inducing. However it also came with it challenges. It hates to even think of it as such because there was nothing hard about loving Amara, nothing draining about her love itself for the woman. The challenge of it, the draining came from the half-elf’s history with another sorceress. The wolf was not naive to believe that even if the history and years spent apart, the Temerian’s love for Yennefer of Vengerberg would simply vanish. Quite honestly, she did not care. She did not hold it against the sorceress from Gors Velen, she knows very well that if she ever were to end up with another, that if she and Amara were no longer together she will still love her as fiercely, as deeply. So you see, that is also not even the problem, she prides herself in being quite understanding of it all and knows one cannot compete much with history but — why must she compete to begin with?

The presence of the Vengerberg woman, even when she was not physically there constantly loomed over them. Amara is in no way, shape or form a horrible partner. She showed the werewitch affection, always made sure Astraea was aware of her lover and bathed her constantly in gifts and no matter how simple or extravagant they were, she felt that love in each one of them. Regardless of all of that, she still did not feel like the Temerian’s first choice and in there laid the problem. Amara had a nag of dropping whatever she was doing, with whomever she was with of Yennefer so much as utters her name.

More often than not the wolf finds herself alone, with plans ruined all because Yennefer had an urgent matter which required the help from the Temerian. As if the infamous sorceress of Vengerberg did not have other sorceress friends she could probably turn for help to. Perhaps it is because she was very much aware of the fact that Amara would never deny her, just as Astraea was very much aware of that. However the Redenian never spoke up on the matter, she would simply put up an understanding smile and nod or lately she’d taken to not responding at all and would simply find something to do herself to keep busy and keep her feelings buried.

Today was the day they left for Skellige for a little vacation they had planned. A way to get away from the merciless heat and humidity that seemed to have overtaken this side of the sea. An excuse to lock themselves away and bury themselves under furs by a fire and leave the bed only when hunger and the need for other necessities arose. They had planned it for weeks, speaking of it through the days which served to build up the excitement. If this came to be, if they truly managed to get away just for a bit, she’d be able to forgive and forget all the times Amara has had to change their plans. All she needed was one moment in time where it was just them, them far away from everything and everyone — specially Yennefer of Vengerberg.

She had waited, these last few days,waited for the raven haired woman to pop up with an emergency that would require Amara’s help for days but it never came. Perhaps she had celebrated too early, has sung in victory too soon. The wolf had shared a lovely morning with her beloved, shared sweet kisses while they prepared to leave. The half-elf had taken off towards the market to buy some final things they would need before they departed and in the meantime Astraea busied herself with finishing the trunk they would take. It is just as she finishes it that she hears the sorceress pf Gors Velen call for her. “Chambers, darling” she calls back, closing the truck and sighing. The Redenian hums and smiles at the kiss, closing her eyes which briefly pop open when those next words come out.

Astraea grows slightly rigid at that and there’s a deafening silence which envelopes them both. “If I were to ask why that is” the wolf begins, ever so slowly stepping away from Amara, “would your answer be relation to Yennefer?” The Redanian keeps her back to the half-elf, looking out of the bedroom window.

[traitreespiegle]

Yennefer of Vengerberg had been her first love, in spite of the Sorceress of Gors Velen effortlessly being a century older, if not more and with that, came an array of memories that mounted into history that couldn’t simply be forgotten. Yennefer had managed to slip past Amara’s defences as if they simply hadn’t existed, were not towered feverishly high in means of protecting herself from further possibilities of pain. There had been an instant connection between the women, a soul-bond buried beneath flesh and branded into their very bones that was, well, partly responsible for the connection that had formed, the love that had blossomed. It had been given without their permission, a ‘gift’ as some would call it decided and handed over by fate, herself, before the women’s life was even in consideration. History, a soul-bond and the first love. . . It was already pretty heavy stuff but it was not the only contributing factor to this already sensitive situation. If you breathed in this world, you would have heard the story of the White Wolf and his wish regarding the Lady Yennefer, how it intertwined his life with the Sorceress of Vengerberg. Well. . . Such a wish that twirled with the likes of destiny had damaged the soul-bond that the women shared, had seen it crack and grow fragile beneath the weight and most of the damage received had mostly been on Yennefer’s side. For Yennefer, the bond previously shared with the older sorceress was felt on a smaller scale, if at all, whereas, Amara still felt everything as it had been and possibly if not more as fate tried to even the unbalance. She remained bonded to the pale-skinned beauty and painfully so. For Amara, her heart still sang at even the simplest idea of the woman, the simplest of mentions and her body feverish, warm and bouncing with excitement whenever Yennefer graced her with her presence and the woman remained the definition of perfection in her eyes, had not moved that of an inch from the pedestal Amara placed her on so very long ago.

At first, Amara had given Yennefer everything that she wished for, that she wanted in hopes that perhaps, Geralt would be left and they would return to their lives but after time, after the moments they would be brought together and torn apart, answering to Yennefer’s beck and call simply became customary as there was no-one else in the older woman’s life and the younger woman remained the apple in her eye, in spite of the constant heartache their relationship brought to Amara. It was tradition that was buried deep and had been the knife that sliced slowly away at the relationship Amara had formed with Astraea. You see, Amara had not been without lovers, simply none of them had caught her attention to the point that they’d be more than a simply fling or a dirty one-night stand. Until Astraea, that is. Astraea was the first woman that had managers to steal her attention other than Yennefer. She was the absolute opposite. Astraea had been this bashful, silent Sorceress who came into the older woman’s town and their paths had crossed out of nowhere but Amara had instantly been taken, bewitched by her beauty and the bashfulness that was truly breathtaking in every form that it had been expressed and well, nothing had stopped the older woman from slowly carving her way into Astraea’s life. Time had seen them grow, soft and delicate until they became an item and all of those sickeningly sweet firsts were shared and Astraea was shyly invited to live with Amara rather than living in one of the local taverns. Everything that the younger woman wanted was given, well, where Yennefer was not concerned. A relationship with Amara came with the painful side of Yennefer and her interruptions that were more often than not demands and expectations for help, seeing the women’s plans ruined or postponed. Astraea had remained quiet and Amara had seen that as nothing more than that she had no issue and felt no way in regards to the constant interference.

Until now.

“I. . . It would, yes.” Confusion had swarmed a pale visage as Astraea grew frigid and stepped from her embrace. Had she said something wrong? Her fingers had reached out, settling at the base of the woman’s elbow. “It won’t take long, I promise. . . Geralt’s found himself in a bit of a pickle and Yennefer’s concern for his safety is growing. She requires my influence in the Nilfgaardian realms to free him. We could go, head to Skellige the moment we finish.” Supple brims curled upwards, forming slowly into that of a gentle smile towards the younger woman as a finger prodded gently against her side. “I’ll make it up to you with sweet pies and something that’ll leave you screaming. And maybe we can finally try out that idea you have wanted to do with cream.”

[exsecratuss]

She had in fact claimed victory too soon. Seems that Yennefer of Vengerberg had managed to catch them and ruin this plan after all. The wolf remains quiet as the woman speaks, tells about Geralt, Nilfgaard and how they’ll be in Skellige in no time after that. Her eyes flutter close and she feels just more of that hurt gripping at her heart even as Amara speaks of how she’ll make it up to her. “Don’t, Amara” she says softly, stepping further away from the sorceress of Gors Velen. “I knew this would happened, I was an idiot to think we’d actually manage to do as planned this time around” she laughs hollowly.

She could feel the tears slowly building in her eyes. A tongue peaks out to lick her lips, feeling an array of emoticons she couldn’t quite contain anymore. She doesn’t know why this is exactly the tipping point. Perhaps it was because she was looking forward to it the most. Perhaps it was because it meant something big for them, their first vacation while being officially together. Something serious for them, something that could mark the next step for them. She doesn’t really know, but it seems this is what finally breaks the dam. “You know lucky of her to catch you here rather than in Skellige and have you travel all the way back.” The words hold an edge of bitterness to them.

Her throat feels raw and gods, how could she ever think she ever stood a chance? And the thing is? She doesn’t blame Amara, whatever it was that kept her so devoted, so grounded in Yennefer’s orbit was — beyond either of their hands. It was the kind of love that the wolf knew deep within her she felt for the half-elf. The kind of love that would make you burn the world down, change it even. The kind of love that exists beyond your self being, so grand it was everything. And that was devastating, painfully tragic. The werewitch runs her fingers gently over her cheek and she realizes then that it is wet. A tear had slipped out unbeknownst to her.

“You won’t have to make it up to me” she says, looking around as if for some sort of answer. “Not now or the next time it happens or the next” a hand runs through her hair. “You go help Yennefer but I don’t think I’ll be here when you return.”

[traitreespiegle]

“I. . .” She was unable to find words, her mouth dry and mind swimming with an array of questions that all fought to be answered. Astraea’s refusal had felt like that of a fierce hollow, shadowed painfully by the distance she ensured was kept between the women and had ignited the Sorceress of Gors Velen’s with an ache that refused to ease. “You. . . You knew what would happen?” Gods. What. . . What had brought this on? Had she said something and not noticed? Was it regarding Yennefer and another one of her favours? Astraea had previously been careless to the favours that the Sorceress of Vengerberg asked of Amara and the aide that the older woman had gifted to the Lady Yennefer and often, encouraged it. “We can still do as we planned, Astraea. . . It’ll only be a few days in Nilfgaard. See it as a small holiday before our adventure.” She knew it wasn’t easy for Astraea to be around Yennefer but the younger woman had never uttered a word and made the ill emotions she felt towards the bond shared between Amara and her past-lover known.

It felt like a weight had shifted and not for the better. This felt as if something was coming to an end. Amara refused to accept that this heavy weight that settled on her chest was in relation to Astraea and the life they shared. Astraea was rightfully hers and she was Astraea’s. Why was it changing? How had she, too, messed this up? No. It couldn’t be, not when she had only just found happiness and created a life for herself. This couldn’t end. She couldn’t ruin the only treasure that existed in her life. Her actions had seen Yennefer run for the hills in disgust, frightened by an careless act and falling into the arms of Geralt and his ridiculous wish. “Astraea. . .” She whispered out emotionally, her timbre thick with utter and complete concern as the younger woman turned and her pale visage was tinged with tears. Amara had taken a step forth, hand extending only to pull back as she remembered the woman’s distaste at her touch in this moment and she swallowed thickly, gaze steadfast on the timbre flooring. Astraea’s actions had been enough to inform Amara of the situation, let alone the words that had followed, spoke gently of her plans. “That. . . That’s it then, huh? You. . . You’ll just leave, not even tell me the reason behind this, not even respect me enough to truly break up with me?” How her heart ached, begun to grieve the loss that was inevitable and a stream of tears begun to fall as the woman battled with distaste towards herself and her inability to keep even a single positive thing alive in her life. “Right. I see.” She whispered quietly, abandoning the room in need of space as her body trembles with sobs that were choked back and her shawl was painfully tugged from her shoulders, thrown to the ground carefully as the buttons to her dress were popped open to give herself the ability to truly breathe, to try and calm herself.

[exsecratuss]

How could Amara still not see it? But of course the wolf owes the Temerian that much. A full on explanation of this, the reasons, deserves to know her actual feelings. “No, you don’t see” she says, heart twisting and aching in her chest. With her heighten hearing the Redenian was able to hear those choked back sobs. “You don’t see at all how much this hurts. I don’t care if it’s a day or a few in Nilfgaard, why do we always have to change our days around, our plans for her? You don’t even realize it. It always happens, anything we have plan gets ruined or postponed. Oh she need help with Cirilla, next is Geralt, she has an issue with a spell. Everything is urgent and requires your assistance at once.”

Gods, saying it out loud just made it all that much more real and painful. “Do you even stop to think how it might make me feel? You don’t, you just say yes. You’re at her beck and call, she knows that and takes advantage of it.” She stays in her spot, feeling a lump forming in her throat. The wolf watched every movement of the opposite woman. “I can’t pretend to know what is it that its between you both, to understand it but I’m just. . . I’m so tired of coming second” she says with a choked up sob of her own. The Redenian covers her mouth as if to prevent them. The half-elf hadn’t ruined anything, outside of these repeated moments she was perfect in every way. So much so it had been so easy for the werewitch to fall so completely for her, so deeply.

The werewitch looks around their room, the one they’ve shared for months since Amara had told her to stay with her, as if it held some form of answer. Her heart twists and clenches in her chest in such a painful manner. “I’m the happiest I’ve ever been with you. . . I’ve never felt a strongly for anyone else as I do for you. I feel like I could do anything and everything for you, Amara. But even now, even after everything that’s happened, Yennefer is still your priority. Which is alright, you love her in a way that is beyond comprehension of the mind.” In the way that I love you, she thinks to herself.

“I don’t hold it against you, despite everything I’ve said. I don’t doubt that you care for me, you’ve been so wonderful, have shown me what it is like to be with someone, to truly care for them in such an intimate level. I just don’t think. . . I can continue to live in her shadow.” Her words are quiet but loud enough somehow to still be heard by Amara. “You can’t change the way you feel for her and how you are with her as much as I can’t change how I feel for you and how that makes me feel.”

[traitreespiegle]

She had fallen silent, teeth sinking unfavourably against the flesh of her inner cheek as Astraea’s words were revisited again and again within her mind and a pale palm dropped to grip lightly at her stomach, fighting of the sinking feeling that settled promptly within her gut. It couldn’t. . . Surely not? Yennefer was complicated, often found herself in many a situations but not nearly as often as Astraea was insisting. Or was she? And surely, these situations wouldn’t be purposely dropped moments away from when the women were about to depart and add another stream of memories to their shared life together. “It’s. . . It’s just bad timing.” Was it? Perhaps, there was more to it if the older woman was simply willing to open her eyes and cast a clear gaze over these last few months. Lithe fingers rested against her lips, picking harshly at her lower lip. “Yennefer only has a few that she trusts. You. . . You can’t blame her for asking help from those in such sensitive situations.” Was she trying to convince herself or the younger woman? It was not yet made clear. To hear these words was painful, each a harsher blow than the last and shimmering greys disappeared beneath pale lids. Gods. How had she made Astraea feel as if she was second and not notice? She knew that the bond was all-consuming at times but. . .

“You don’t. . . You don’t come second.” She whispered frighteningly quiet. Gods. Amara hadn’t ever felt this defeated, this broken and her heart ached with the pain, her body trembling. “I’m just. . . It’s hard for me. It isn’t my own choice that she remains a priority.” Perhaps, this could have been eased if she had simply told Astraea of the circumstances that left her painfully bonded to the younger woman. If she had simply asked for help rather than being ashamed of herself, of this situation she found herself intertwined with. “I’m bonded to her. It’s. . . I can’t help it. It’s some stupid soulbond and when Geralt cast the wish. . . You can fit the pieces of the puzzle together. While Yennefer’s part of the bond was damaged, nature tried to right the unbalanced and it landed on me.” If only Geralt and his bloody wish had simply severed the strand between her and Yennefer, this moment wouldn’t be happening and the women could be happy without incident. “You shouldn’t doubt my love for you. I would move mountains for you, to ensure that you are safe and happy. I have.” But then again, perhaps it hadn’t been enough when compared to the constant attention shown towards Yennefer. It was understandable as to why it simply faded into the cracks, seemingly worthless against her aide to Yennefer’s adventures.

There was nothing that she could do to try and change it in this very moment. She could beg, ask the woman to remain while the older woman tried to figure this out but they both knew that it simply wouldn’t happen. Astraea’s mind was already made up and rightfully so. Amara had treated her poorly, allowed her to believe that she lived in the shadow of Yennefer, was a measly second and that hadn’t been the case. “I understand.” She whispered out, throat contracting painfully as the younger woman was approached and carefully pulled into that of a bone-crushing embrace. There was nothing more in this world that the Sorceress of Gors Velen wanted in this moment other than tell Astraea that she loved her more than the air that she breathed, more than the love she held for any lute or ballad, that she was, in fact, her whole entire world and that any obstacle, however small or large, would be moved just for her. But. . . It simply wouldn’t hold the value that it would when uttered in another moment and Amara refused to cheapen their love, to have the opposing woman view it as some sort of ploy to ensure that she stays. Instead, Astraea’s jaw was cradled with such gentleness as a thumb ran along the delicate curve of a pale cheek and their lips brought together roughly in a emotional kiss that combined both passion and agony within a painful concoction.

[traitreespiegle]

oh to speak of the aches and pains, @lilacdulcis

Motherhood… How was it something that women craved? And with such intense desperation? Why would someone sign themselves up for such a role, desire to be the world of something so pure and delicate? Put themselves in such a violate position? It was nothing more than an aspect of life that the Sorceress of Gors Velen had purposely fled from, remaining tenaciously out of reach to any and all situations that could, even in the slightest, led the pale-skinned woman into a position that saw her caring for a child, existing as a mother-figure to an innocent soul that could so easily be broken, disappointed. And such desperate avoidance, such a distasteful outlook was carved from a childhood that had been painful, horrific and lonely, spent trapped beneath a cruel caretaker in a dilapidated orphanage. Perhaps, Amara was selfish. Perhaps, Amara was weak. Perhaps, Amara still held scars, thus, was scared, frightened. And such scars had not healed, forever reopening beneath invisible strain as toxic ignorance was paid towards mental and physical wounds that had refused to leave, to ease when the victim denied facing them. Simply, to be a mother was a role she loathed the thought of, actively avoided in every sense of the word. She had been walking, existing across this Continent for over three centuries and had yet to truly keep herself together, to act in a manner that was safe and wholeheartedly mature instead of chasing a youthful, careless lifestyle that had seen her split from her loved ones, captured in moments that gifted her scars that would never fade even with the aide of magic. Pregnancy was nothing more than a fragment of life that the Sorceress had been wholeheartedly uninterested in as the belief of being a terrible, uncaring mother whispered in the back of her mind and frightening off any thoughts that dared to arise.

Yennefer of Vengerberg was her first love and had been an important, unwavering presence in the Temerian’s life from the moment that their paths crossed in the Courts of Aedirn and that soaring, passionate bond was created, forged by the likes of destiny and was unbreaking beneath the pressure of time and a whirlwind romance that was as chaotic as an untamed stallion galloping through lush fields. It was truly nothing for the women to be together one moment and apart the next, days, weeks, months or even years spent together. Now, this did not mean in any way, shape or form that their love was untrue or impure as a couple that spent their lives together, remaining attached at the hip. It simply meant that their love, however chaotic and unpredictable, was passionate, burning and unable to be mellowed, the women brought back together repeatedly by the unusual workings of fate. Violate they could be, loving in the first moment, thoroughly frustrated in the second and dripping with lust in the last. It was that very sequence that had led the Sorceress of Gors Velen into this … undesired situation, the very situation that she had never expected, envisioned herself to be in. She and Yennefer had parted ways but not without a night of passion that had left her ever so pleasurably bruised and unable to walk without limping after the Sorceress of Vengerberg experimented with a new spell that had seen her equipped with a very real, very responsive phallus.

Unforeseen, the Scholar of Rissberg had brusquely awoken one morning with the unyielding desire to empty the contents of her stomach as the organ rocked, trembled viciously, riotously and promptly lost the previous night’s meal in a bucket that had been hastily received. She hadn’t expected to have the light of life to be growing, forming within her stomach in an act of chance that was truly magical, a blessing. And why would such a thought arise? Akin to all Aretuza Sorceresses, Yennefer’s ascension had come at a painful cost that had seen her purposely left sterile and unable to have children in an act that the Brotherhood of Sorcerers had hoped pledge loyalty. Who could possibly have thought that playing around with a crude spell could create a loophole? One that ended in pregnancy, the gift of life? It had not ever been heard of, unspoken and hidden if such a discovery had been founded previously by another couple. No. Pregnancy had not been the thought that had entered Amara’s mind, in fact, the pale-skinned Temerian had simply believed that she had fallen ill. Sorceresses, after all, could still fall sick as they were wholeheartedly immune to the ways of life and had treated herself as such, believing after that of a truly agonising week of morning sickness that it was an unusual case of hay fever and was responding painfully to a new crop that her community was using, waving it off as an allergy of sorts. In fact, even the increase in the Sorceress’s eating habits had been simply shouldered off as her body trying to naturally heal itself and required the nutrition to fight the effects of the ailment that acted out upon her body.

Outrageously, the Sorceress of Gors Velen had been painfully unaware of the situation she had unknowingly found herself in as days turned into weeks and edged onto the first few months. You see, her appetite had always been that of a healthy one and ate, for the majority, to her pleasure. It wasn’t until the desire for a spontaneous bath had seen her uncovered and unprotected, argenteous orbs uncovering the startling discovery of a previously undetected bump that had seemed to have formed without her knowledge. And suddenly, the last few weeks and all those strange, unusual variations had all come crashing down upon her in unrelenting waves of emotions, finally making sense in a daunting discovery that was frightening and life-altering all in the very same second, provoking a strangled sob to tear forth from her lips as the woman fell to the ground as pale hands grasped and not at her stomach, as one would think, but the floor. One could not discover a response that could truly describe the situation the Sorceress had found herself in, the emotions and conflict which lashed out at her body. It was frightening to think of just how much was being unpacked in her mind. On one hand, she was pregnant and that was a feat she had never foreseen and she was pregnant with Yennefer’s child and that was a feat that should have been impossible given Yennefer’s inability to have children. Without a doubt, it was Yennefer’s. Amara only enjoyed the company of the same-sex and such devious acts of using chaos to conjure a magical cock on her lover’s body had only ever been done with Yennefer.

Gods… It opened a whole new pot of worms. Could she tell Yennefer? Should she tell Yennefer? Could or should she keep this life that was living inside of her? Given the violent response of both her body and mind, Amara was aware there and then that she was unable to purposely rid herself of the gift that had been created out of the love that shimmered and burned between herself and the woman she loved in a feat that was, without a doubt, a true creation of fate. And yet, she was unable to bring herself to informing Yennefer of this discovery, of the fact that the Sorceress of Gors Velen was pregnant with their child in an unbelievable outcome. Surely, the pale-skinned woman would sound insane, had finally lost the last screw as so many joked with such an admittance and had imagined an array of Yennefer’s responses that , of such that she did not want to battle with and their last communication had read that Yennefer was content, happy in her current life with Geralt, the Infamous Witcher and their child surprise, Ciri. Who was she to play god in their relationships by dropping such an emotional bomb? If Yennefer believed her that is. She had only ever wanted Yennefer to be happy in her life, to find that meaning the Aedirnian wanted and such was found as the mother to Geralt’s child surprise. Perhaps, her choice of keeping their child secret was ever so wrong, one that would see the women damaged, hurt and confused. Amara Isolda was someone who often, in the opinion of those that surrounded her, chose the wrong choice, even if it was chosen for the right reason and for the health of those she cared for. Was another wrong choice truly going to be so bad? When she had so many already trailing behind her? It was one that she regretted with each passing day, with each letter received from Yennefer and had forced herself to live with.

Amara had, surprisingly, eased into the aspect of having a child ever so swiftly, with such effortlessness that had left her debating on her previous beliefs of her ability in the world of motherhood and was truly loving, attentive to the unborn child that grew in her stomach, showering it in constant acts of affection and love throughout the day, ensuring that she only ever digested the best quality of foods and ensured that it was family with her voice, talking, singing and reading to the bundle of joy as the days passed on and her belly grew larger, signalling that her child was healthy and nurtured, blossoming beneath her love. In fact, the Sorceress had even departed from her birth town of Gors Velen, leaving behind a life that she had loved living for one far slower and settled down in a tasteful Manor discovered not far from the smaller settlement of Oxenfurt, a piece of the continent that was quieter, without conflict and was absent of the hustle and bustle that came with the likes of an overpopulated city that was brimming with factions, businesses and opportunities.

When the birth came, it was a challenge as any childbirth was but after hours of intense labour guided by a close friend and confidant, the Continent was made brighter, better by the birth of a beautiful baby girl. And a beauty she was, blessed with skin that was as delicate as porcelain and a gentle button nose, generous little eyebrows and tresses as dark as the night, chaotic and wild as Yennefer’s and features that paired Amara and Yennefer together tastefully but most important of all, little orbs which danced vividly with an array of amethyst shades that was identical to her mother. And such an emotional discovery that was, a stream of tears staining alabaster cheeks as the woman she loved more than life itself was so very present in the gift they had created. Yennefer was, without a single doubt, lovingly present in their daughter as her demanding yet gentle natured personality was more akin to her Mother’s rather than Amara’s. And just as the Sorceress of Gors Velen had been whilst their baby grew, blossomed in her stomach, Amara was ever so loving and affectionate towards her bundle of joy, passionately proud and ardently protective of the gift fate had given her.

It was a simple day, her beloved daughter just a few days shy of turning two months and was currently cradled in a linen cloth against Amara’s chest, fast asleep in the world of dreams and ever so content snuggled up against her mother’s ample breasts as the Emissary worked silently, dutifully in one of her gardens, knees pressed into the damp, fertile soil as pale flesh vanished within brown particles, returning stained by the soil as small holes were made for the series of vegetables that would be soon planted and a stream of low hums would rumble away in the depths of her chest as she worked with gentle devotion. If only Amara had the slightest of inklings, a warning of the whirlwind that would soon fall upon her doorstep bestow a life-altering swirl of emotions for herself, her child and her unexpected visitor. The Rissberg Sorceress was ever so painfully unaware of Yennefer’s discovery, of the tale that the troublesome bard, Dandelion, had told to Geralt in ear shot of the Sorceress of Vengerberg in regards of seeing the pale-skinned woman heavily pregnant at the Oxenfurt markets on more than one occasion and carried forth with gossip in regards to whom the father could be. How painfully unaware of the situation that would soon be unfolding she was, of the life-changing visit that was going to rain down upon her.

[lilacdulcis]

Motherhood, Yennefer of Vengerberg has craved for it for as long as she could remember. She cannot say it’s been something she craved for her entire life but certainly for long enough. It had been one of those things she did not know she wanted until she could no longer have it. So vulnerable and desperate she was in her youth, in that moment to be beautiful, to be powerful that she did not stop to think on what she was giving up. Her choice in turn had her seeking for years a cure for her infertility. The sorceress from Vengerberg only just recently gave up on the notion as an unexpected bond between herself and the child surprise of Geralt. Cirilla, bratty little thing but the raven haired woman loves her so.

The months spent training the little ugly one had seen them grow closer. Sharing a room at some point and having the girl curled up at her side in her protective, motherly hold had a love blossoming within her chest for the young girl. It was only solidified and made stronger when the girl referred to her as mother. And from then on, Yennefer swore that no matter what, she will always be Ciri’s mother.

Her path with Geralt obviously was further intertwined now and it was no surprise when they got back together. Traveling across the continent, keeping the ashen haired girl safe and hidden from all those who wished to harm her or use her for power. It was on their travels, at a tavern where they run into Dandelion — whom they always seem to run into at some point and really how is this bard still living? — that she learns about Amara and apparently the state she was last in when the bard saw her. Pregnant? Amara had always been against motherhood. The lilac eyed sorceress couldn’t quite explain the array of emotions that coursed through her chest.

“I wonder who the father is” he says with a light snort.

“You best keep your mouth shut, Dandelion” the raven haired woman snapped lightly. “It is none of your concern.”

He knew, they all knew of her history with the Temerian sorceress. But no one said a thing and if the bard said anything at all afterwards, it wasn’t in front of her. Yen had gone to her room which she shared with Geralt and of course had been unable to think of anything else but Amara. She was with child? Whose? Since when? Why hadn’t she said anything in her letters? Was she perhaps afraid Yen would resent her for her ability to have children? Surely she knows that the raven haired woman would never.

She lasted all of a day before she had told Geralt she needed to make a detour and that she will meet them at their destination within a week tops. If there happens to be any delays, she will let him know. He knew where she was going and perhaps that was the reason he did not asked and she, being Yen, did not give any further details. The lilac eyed sorceress heads on then towards the city of Oxenfurt, locating the sorceress from Rissberg with an easy locating spell. She could not believe her eyes when she sets her gaze upon the house the woman resided within. It isn’t that Amara has never had the best of the when it came to her homes and the way they looked — it was more on the fact the woman was… gardening.

And suddenly it made sense as to why streets had been quiet regarding the sorceress. How no new news had travelled to her about anything the Temerian had ‘recently’ done. She halts the horse by the gate and hopes off, tying it to a post and making her way up the path. “When they told me, you were off living a quiet life… I couldn’t believe it. And yet here you are…”

[traitreespiegle]

Amara knew that Yennefer would not resent her for her ability to have children and would, instead, be supporting, elated for such a gift and perhaps, question her intentions, her dedication to take on such a serious journey that could not be backtracked. She had wanted nothing more than to write to Yennefer during the duration of her pregnancy, to inform her of the situation she had found herself in, describe the blissful experiences that their child bestowed upon her and that saw the Sorceress of Gors Velen overwhelmed with compelling emotions and weep in relief at the idiosyncrasies that were so undeniably her lover. In fact, Amara had written letters with such experiences to Yennefer in an attempt to ease the weight that settled within her chest, to ease the emotions that arose in regards to the woman but each of those had remained unsent, tucked away in a drawer alongside the rest of the words that had been written but never sent to the woman in mention. Gods. It had taken the utmost restraint, the constant and ever so bitter reminder that such actions could see the secret revealed and put everyone involved beneath unneeded strain. There had been so very many experiences, events that saw the Sorceress wanting to share with the younger woman and ensured that the growing life in her belly being irrefutably Yennefer’s, unable to be refuted. Amara’s insatiable craving for apple juice and the baby’s easing of it’s chaotic movements in a hot bath were examples of many.

If the half-elf had caught wind of Dandelion’s movements in Oxenfurt and his newly earned duty as a Lecturer at Oxenfurt’s Acadamy, Amara would have ensured that she had moved elsewhere. She knew him more than enough to be painfully aware of his mouth and it’s inability to remain silenced, the aspect of gossip and being paid attention for even the smallest of seconds causing his thoughts to simply vanish and his mouth to open and pour with rumours and stories similar to that of a waterfall. And if Amara was to hear of his admittance and that it was his running mouth that informed Yennefer of her situation, the Bard would find himself cursed.

She had heard the sounds of steps waltzing across the path that guided one into the garden and paid little attention towards who owned them as few now paid spontaneous visits upon her, simply expecting it to be the beloved Astraea or one of her friends from her years spent at Rissberg. Expect, when the visitor dared to speak, the Sorceress’s body reacted almost violently in an concoction of emotions, hairs rising to attention at the excitement, the utter joy that was always present whenever Yennefer of Vengerberg was near and blood was ran cold, her heart immediately beginning to pound away desperately within it’s cage. “When they told me you were off living a quiet life… I couldn’t believe it. And yet here you are…” There was only one person across the entire continent with a voice that was so heavenly, that could send her on a blissful journey with a single word. What… What on Earth was she doing here? How had she managed to track her down? She was practically a worlds away from Gors Velen, from anything that linked to the Temerian. Amara thought back to their last letters, to the mention of a visit that she could have missed and came up with, well, nothing. Yennefer hadn’t mentioned visiting. And that only caused worry to burn in the back of her mind, creating a path for questions to arise upon her tongue.

“Yennefer.” Gods. Why did she sound so breathless? Was there nothing that this woman couldn’t cast upon her? The base of her throat was suddenly overwhelmed, battling beneath the obstruction that had descended as the Sorceress forced herself to reign in those emotions as she rose in preparation to face the love of her life and the grip upon her pride and joy was tightened, almost protectively. “I suppose one can now say that leopards can change their spots, can’t they?” Grey hues settled upon the woman, the mere sight gripping painfully at her chest and rendering her breathless once more. Yennefer was breathtaking, utterly stunning as she only ever was and enveloped in a tasteful array of white and back that struck an emotional note within the older woman alongside the haunting scent of Lilac and Gooseberries. Her lips curled, forming into that of a gentle simper as her gaze tore across the opposing woman’s complexion in search of anything, something that spoke as to why the Sorceress of Vengerberg was here. “You’ve left me surprised, Yennefer… Is there something wrong? Is Ciri in good health?” Somehow, the Sorceress had thought if she paid no attention to her child, brought none upon her child it would not be mentioned.

[lilacdulcis]

Yennefer was very in-tune with Amara. They always seem to be, so in sync no matter how long it has been. It is as though they were hyper aware of each other and their bodies. So she found it rather — odd when the woman seems to tense at the sound of her voice. Such a reaction has not been received since after the ordeal about Geralt so many years ago. The lilac eyed mage cannot think of anything she has done recently to warrant such a reaction and she is nearly tempted to slither into the woman’s mind and read her thoughts for an answer. Except that the raven haired Temerian will know, sense it and who knows who she may react.

There’s a breathiness to her voice as she says her name, not that Yennefer minds. It is a testimony to the effects she has upon the sorceress of Gors Velen. It takes her a second to rise, the Aerdinian notices this as well but when she does, she turns to look at her and gods, she is lovely as ever. Sharp features, silver hues, absolutely breathtaking in all of her motherly glory. Speaking of which, lilac hues flicker to the little bundle all wrapped around against Amara’s chest. It is true, what Dandelion said. Amara had been with child. She couldn’t explain the feelings which coursed through her being at the sight.

When the half-elf speaks, the lilac eyed mage flickers her gaze back towards her. A well defined brow quirks at the words and her head tilts. “No, nothing is the matter, Cirilla is in perfect health, thank the gods. Need there to be something wrong for me to visit you?” She asks, stepping forth just so and halting a few inches. She doesn’t think she has ever seen Amara this cautious or standoffish around her ever, it made her curious. Why was the woman behaving in such manner? Well, it could be because she had kept such huge news a secret? And now here Yen was, seeing this new picture in person.

“You can relax, my rook” she murmurs, cupping her cheek gently. “I am not wroth with you for keeping this a secret” she says and looks down at the baby. A pale complexion, button nose. Her hand moves to gently trace said nose. “Why did you not tell me?” She asks, looking up at Amara once more, “she’s beautiful.”

[traitreespiegle]

Such a potent bond that gifted the women a hyperawareness of the opposite that was simply unnatural. It served to be the downfall for the Sorceress of Gors Velen as the younger woman immediately noticed the tension, the caution that orbited around the Temerian. She had only ever been cautious around Yennefer once and that had risen from ruinous heartache, the desire not be feel such devastation for a second time but that was in the past and had long since been forgotten, a piece of their time-consuming and eventful story. Obstacles had been effortless to hurtle for the women, the connection that they shared unable to be truly broken and always rising beneath the weight of strain and pain, winning over in time. If Yennefer had dared to try and cross that dimension into Amara’s mind as she previously had more times than they could count, she would find herself at a standoff, refused by the towering barrier that was built out of utter fear and who knew how Amara would react given the secret she was harbouring.

In spite of how her questions arose out of curiosity, of worry as to why Yennefer was here and how it might have seemed to the opposing woman as they fell from pale lips, Amara’s query in regards to Cirilla’s health was genuine. Geralt might have been someone who lacked favour with the Sorceress of Gors Velen, in fact, he was someone she utterly distasted for an array of reasons but there was a soft spot for his child surprise. After her own childhood, the horrific experiences she had been brutally bestowed there was a softness, a kindred with children and young adults who had also experienced similar horrors that had been created. Not to mention, Ciri was Yennefer’s child in every sense of the word and that came with it’s own meaning to the older woman. “You are always welcome, Yennefer. I suppose I’m simply taken by surprise. You randomly visit me without sending a letter to signal your arrival. I suspect more for the fresh apple juice.” Playfully spoken, that breathlessness remained as the younger woman closed the distant and served to increase the heavy beat of her heart as teeth worried at the inside of her cheek. It had been just under a year since Yennefer was seen and being in her presence once more brought an array of emotions to the woman and her body, unable to be resisted as Yennefer was one of the only people that caused her to react so purely, without the ability to be restrained and left her painfully exposed beneath lilac hues.

Gods. She had craved the woman’s touch throughout her pregnancy and to be bestowed such a simple touch brought such relief to her, momentarily earning pale eyelids to flutter closed and a cheek to fall within the warmth of a palm that brought her such incomparable comfort. “I told no-one of this… It was a difficult process and I’ve required time to myself.” It started out as a lie but ended in truth. It had been a difficult process from the very start and to the end. Silently, she watched on as Yennefer spent little time before bestowing her first touch upon their child, a sight that turned her chest into ruins and effortlessly left her emotional and their child, perhaps beneath the belief of it being her mother’s touch, had leaned into the gentle tracing of it’s nose with that of a lowly, happy coo and blindly reached out to grip at Yennefer’s finger. “She is, indeed.”

[lilacdulcis]

She did not think that the woman’s concern for Cirilla was not genuine. There was a certain bond there, a level of understanding and the sorceress knew it was because of Amara’s past. It meant a lot to her to see two of the most important people in her life getting along. It was quite important to her for them to at the very least get along and it was far better than she could’ve hoped for. That aside, Amara is as acting a bit strange. Yennefer laughs softly at the teasing words of the Temerian regarding the apple juice. The Aerdinian can hear the breathless in the woman’s voice, the rate of her heart. “Your heart is beating quite fast” she murmurs.

The violet eyed mage loves the way the woman always reacts to her touch. The way she leans into the touch to her cheek. She ached to pull her into her arms, to kiss her a she always ached to do but she couldn’t. Not now. Yennefer understood the need to for Amara to just take a step back and process this, the woman had always had certain views on motherhood. She knows it because of how the way the Gors Velen sorceress had been orphaned so unexpectedly and brutally.

All train of thoughts cease however when her finger is taken. Her gaze lands on the little bundle in Amara’s arms. There were a handful of times where Yennefer of Vengerberg has been stunt, unable to form much of a thought. Her breath hitched slightly and she stares at the baby in absolute awe, in wonder. She couldn’t explain it, the warmth that coursed through her body at such a simple gesture from an innocent little baby. It gave her this strong feeling, like she needed to release it in tears. Could it be because the baby was Amara’s? She certainly has never reacted to any other tiny human. The pale woman wiggles her finger lightly, not enough to disturb the baby and make her release her finger but enough to make her little fist wiggle.

A gloved thumb joins to stroke along the little knuckles, her clenching in her chest. She was so pale and hair as dark as a raven’s wing. She looked like her mother. “What’s her name?”

[traitreespiegle]

Strange was nothing more than a polite understatement from Yennefer’s behalf. How long had these women known each other? It had to be more than a few decades, if not more and with the string of memories they held together, such peculiar acts had previously never rose despite the tense situations they discovered themselves in. Given the circumstances, the Sorceress of Gors Velen’s odd motions were to be expected as the secret that was desperately hiddeb lingered above her head with little ease, serving as a constant reminder to the delicate house of cards that surrounded the relationship she shared with the younger woman. Who could act perfectly with such a secret weighing upon them? Especially when the very woman who was unknowingly intertwined was in her presence, bestowing affection upon the child that was, in fact, her own? Someone who held a heart that was as cold as ice but that was not her, not truly, at least when it came to those she truly cared for. Her aloofness, her dissociation and detachment was nothing more than a simple charade used in means of protection, prevent further acts of agony from an world which was already unforgiving. Amara Isolda was a woman that held an array of secrets, there truly was no point in denying that but never had one of her harboured secrets held such knowledge, had the ability to create agony to someone she loved, had the ability to be so damaging to someone that was the very light to her life. It was a secret that could irreparably damage the bond that she and Yennefer shared, whatever strength and importance it may or may not hold in their lives. “So very Witch of the Woods of you, Yennefer. Opening a shack in the woods, are we? I do hope you give Kiera a run for her money.” She murmured drily, barely withholding the desire to roll her gaze in an act that spoke of the lack of amusement at the offered statement. “You speak as if my heart does not ever act like this in your presence. You should pay closer attention, Raven.” Rarely did she referred to the emotions that Yennefer coaxed from their body, just as she rarely referred to them. It was ridiculous, really, given both her age and the complex history they shared. She acted as if speaking of them, their unusual relationship could cause it to simply vanish from her hands.

There was a passing shadow of disappointment, gone as quickly as it came. She wanted to kiss the younger woman, to surrender to the ache that constantly pestered at her body. If this had been any other moment, Amara would have eagerly pulled Yennefer into a bone-crushing embrace and bestowed tender lips with a breathtaking kiss and inform the Sorceress of the feelings she could never openly admit. But… Such a series of motions could not be taken, Yennefer was with Geralt in a relationship that brought her happiness and satisfaction. Amara couldn’t be the one to destroy the joy that the Sorceress of Vengerberg had finally found. She only ever wanted the best for Yennefer, even if it left her saddened, dissatisfied that such happiness wasn’t found with her. It was the price that the wish demanded and a price that Amara paid in silence since it had fallen from Geralt’s lips all those decades ago. And after all, it wasn’t Yennefer’s fault that she had been Amara’s first love.

Spherules watched on in utter and complete silent at the gripping of Yennefer’s finger. Gods. Would she be able to keep up this secret if Yennefer and her daughter repeated such purity? Concern lashed out at the back of her mind, repetitive reminders setting off in an attempt to try and silence the emotions that welled up, threatening to tip the pale-skinned woman over. The whirlwind of emotions had left her wanting to scream, cry and laugh all in the same moment. Was this the price she was forced to pay for her choice of harbouring this secret? She was forced to see these acts and remain silent, not daring to react even as her body begged. How her lungs screamed, begged for the Temerian to breathe.

Yennefer was stunned, a feat not achieved easily. Gods. If Yennefer found out her role in this situation, she would surely be stunned for a second time in a single day, a record not yet achieved. Amara felt such warmth, such jubilation at seeing the younger woman in awe of their child. How it made her doubt her choices, resulted in the older woman debating if she should simply come clean and admit that she was theirs. It had taken little time for the child to tighten it’s grip around Yennefer’s finger, a slight fuss displayed in a bout of protesting coos as the mentioned finger is brought closer to it’s body in the same moment as it buried itself further into Amara’s ample chest. “It’s… It’s Faye.” Amara had wanted Yennefer to be included in the name, somehow, and given the fact that the women had always affectionately used the moniker’s of Raven and Rook to refer to each other across their relationship, Faye was the perfect discovery as it’s translation in Zerrikanian came out to be Raven, the very name Amara often used towards Yennefer.

[lilacdulcis]

The sorceress from Vengerberg pretends to be absolutely offended by the teasing words. “I would rather lose my sight for a year once more than do that” she says in turn, equally teasing. Though perhaps there was some truth to it. She’s already dealt with such an outcome once, she can do it a second time. But living in the woods and downplaying her powers? Living amongst pests, possible bedbugs? By the gods, she could not handle such a thing. Of course, she knows that the sorceress from Gors Velen reacts in such a way to her presence and her nearness but Yennefer was also not clueless and she’s acutely aware that something is off. The woman is behaving differently and it leaves her to question if the beating of her heart is out of sorts for her presences or something else entirely. “That is true” she says softly, studying the woman silently for a second before looking away. “You just seem slightly off, my Rook, that’s all.”

The wish, what had changed everything and turned each of their lives upside down. She knows that Amara is affected as much as she and Geralt were. It couldn’t be and was not easy to have someone you love bonded to another by magic, linked together by destiny. More often than not the lilac eyed sorceress wishes it was not so, that she could just give the Temerian everything she craved. Because Yen craved it too. But with immortality came separation from time to time and taking different paths before coming together once more. Nothing was ever easy and even less so for them.

The baby tightens her grip on her finger and coos unhappily at the motion. It makes the raven haired woman smile ever so, nearly laugh actually as she watched the scene before her. Pristine teeth sink into her bottom lip as she stares solemnly at the little bundle that snuggles closer to the sorceress’ chest. Yes, she too knew how heavenly such a place was. Yennefer stills her finger but the stroking of tiny knuckles with her thumb does not cease. The name is spoken and the Aerdinian sorceress stops then. Faye, if all those lessons in Aretuza serve her right, which they did, she’s positive the name means Raven. She feels a lump form in her throat, heart clenching in her chest. Had it been deliberate, the choosing of the name? Has Amara picked the name for the baby after her in some way? The mere idea has her sentimental which knowing Yennefer es also a feat in itself.

“Faye Isolda, such a lovely name for a lovely girl” she murmurs, beginning the stroking of knuckles once more.

[traitreespiegle]

She had simply snorted. Yennefer was playing along to the jest but her words dripped with undeniable truth. If one couldn’t yet tell, the Sorceress wasn’t built for roughing it amongst nature, detesting the very thought of having to spend time somewhere that could very well be hiding skittering bugs and biting insects. Whereas the Sorceress of Gors Velen was indifferent, able to withstand such standards after the ruinous Orphanage that had seen her childhood spent trapped inside. But of course, any and all skittering creatures were annihilated, the location of her stay cleaned with purpose. Standards could be maintained, even in that of a shack. “Yennefer of Vengerberg, uninterested in such a promising business proposition? By gods, how the times have changed.” Amara felt uneasiness dance across her body, settling in the pit of her belly and causing waves of nausea to topple forth, threatening to tumble. She had managed that of a smile to grace her supple lips as the weight of the younger woman’s gaze remained, remaining steadfast beneath it and exhaling in relief as Yennefer chose to move onwards and away from the topic, for how, at the very least. Why was Yennefer watching her so closely? Taking such an interest within her presence and just how odd it was in peculiar moments? Wasn’t Amara someone who had her fair share of odd moments, after all? Yennefer had seen the difference within her, the breathless tentativeness that the Sorceress was presenting and it ignited the dangerous flame of curiosity, of questions in the younger woman who had never been able to let a bone go once it was gained. Orbs of silver had fallen, landing upon the life captured within her arms as Yennefer’s gaze moved, earning the slight chew of the inside of her cheek and the pad of her thumb drags slowly across a worry-free brow, smiling down in clear fascination, absolute adoration at their daughter. “Stop worrying over something that doesn’t exist, Raven. It’ll simply tire you out and lead you down a path to nowhere.”

She held bitterness towards the wish and in turn, the man that had cast it. Only a few select words and it forever altered her most precious possession. And her love was little match for the powers of a Djinn, the most powerful air elemental that could change destiny itself as if it was the smallest feat known to man. Fate had often intervened, bringing them together only for destiny to laugh and pull them apart once more, setting them on different paths that brought a new wave of heartache. How long she had spent wishing to forget the emotions Yennefer stirred inside of her? Had feverishly searched for the one that could surpass and cause her pain to subside, to prevent it from haunting her as it did? Sadly, such endeavours had brought nothing to the woman expect momentarily satisfaction after a tumble in bed. This didn’t include Astraea, of course, who had been the closest but the women had been unable to let that love blossom into it’s true complexity as even she had been ripped from Amara’s grasp and thrown into the arms of another lover. Perhaps, her destiny was not to spend her life loving someone other then herself and now her child. And all she had ever wanted was to spent this prolonged life with someone she loved and that returned that very love. It was better off, she supposes. Her touch, after time, never brought success and only ever granted poison.

Amara’s hold upon the bundle in her arms tightened slightly, offering her daughter more comfort against her chest as she sought for it and her gaze, once more, fell upon their child. It was clear, ever so obvious that she loved this child with all of her might and adored it so with each glance that was shared towards Faye. She was the Sorceress’s world, her everything and nothing would dare to stand between herself and her child. It was her only true piece of Yennefer that was left, a piece of art they created and by the gods, she was unwilling to damage it. “I had to give her something that held meaning, something that was becoming of her, don’t you agree? I could not dare to try and name her one of these god-awful new age names people seem to love so much. I’m not that much of a savage.” Her pale nose crinkled, relieved that she had put Faye down only an hour before Yennefer’s spontaneous arrival had been graced upon them. Gods. How she, for the first time, hoped that this visit was short and Yennefer’s departure was taken before Faye dared to wake and exposed their secret by the amethyst orbs her pale, soft eyelids were hiding as she slept.

[lilacdulcis]

The woman lets her lips curl slightly at the sound of the delicate snort that Amara released. Such little things as that the lilac eyed mage found absolutely beautiful, fascinating even. The woman hums lightly, rolling her eyes affectionately at the words. “And do tell what is so promising about it?” She ask with a quirk brow. To be quite fair, Yennefer always watches her quite closely, that is how she learned the little things about Amara, the liste gestures she did whenever she thought about something too hard or whenever she was frustrated — in little words, watching her closely is how she learned to read the woman so perfectly, so well. It is an art, a craft she has perfected over the decades. Which is quite funny when you think about it because it is because of such intense observations of a young woman in love that now has her in this particular day knowing that there was something that the woman was not saying. There was something going on. “Hmm” she hums softly, a drawn out hum in response to the words offered by her former lover.

The sorceress from Vengerberg watches as the woman looks at Faye with so much love, holds her so protectively. She looks every bit a protective mother and it warms the woman’s heart, feels the organ often described as like the obsidian rock on her necklace, growing in her chest with all this love begging to be poured out. But the raven haired woman keeps a tight lid upon it, is content for the time being on simply watching on. Her head tilts to the side and she released a soft laugh at the explaining behind the name, every bit an Amara reason and truth be told? Yen would’ve done the same. Her child would be every bit extraordinary and so would her name be. However now her own heart is pounding in her chest as she takes the words in. The Temerian wanted for her name to have meaning and — well, what did that mean? Why call her by a name which meant raven? The very nickname the woman has called her for decades?

“I expected no less from you” she says with a light smirk, stroking little knuckles still. “So why Faye, what’s the meaning?” She need to hear Amara’s reason.

[traitreespiegle]

She remained silent as the tips of her fingers followed the mindless pursuit of stroking the chaos of obsidian tresses perched proudly upon her child’s head. It was fortunate that her pregnancy had not seen the Sorceress of Gors Velen suffering from unforgiving bouts of heartburn with locks so plentiful, so lavish. Faye was the light in her darkness, finally leading her out of the hole she had been trapped within and giving Amara that of a fresh view on life and everything that came with it. Her child had given her back the hope she had lost, that had barely smouldered in the pit of her heart as each year saw it dying further.

Surprisingly, Yennefer hadn’t yet dared to ask who else had aided in the creation of the bundle of joy that was snuggled up with such contentment, still gripping at her gloved finger and not granting the younger woman the ability to create distance, tightening whenever she sensed movement that she did not approve of. Oh, yes, Yennefer’s she was or the world would hear about her dislike at life going the way she desires. It was such an relief to have a moment to breathe, to think of how to answer such a question and bring satisfaction to her once lover with an answer that would inevitably given.

Why not choose to call her something that held some sort of meaning? Wasn’t that the point of life? To create moments that were beautiful, memorable and respect them? Humans were sentimental creatures, Amara had followed suit and bestowed such a tradition upon their child. “I’m aware your years are ticking on, Yennefer, but surely your knowledge of languages have not yet begun to fade?” She was simply teasing, an attempt to deliver a prodding jest to lighten the mood that Yennefer was convinced Amara was remaining strange, distant. “Faye has many meanings. Belief and Fate are more commonly known given the continent as a whole only focuses on a few languages. Raven is a popular translation in Zerrikania.” Strangely, it served as something with double meaning as Amara chose the translation from Zerrikanian and not elsewhere, given the fact that it translated to Raven but also had been the women’s place together, the first of many holidays Amara had brought them on but the most meaningful, where they had first blossomed.

[lilacdulcis]

She did not ask because she did not wish to know. See even if all the years that could pass between them, with all the lovers they each could and do have when apart, Yennefer liked to remain oblivious to the subject. As oblivious as she could be anyways. This moment was tender and unsoiled so long as the paternal history remained a mystery. Little did she know —. It isn’t to say she wasn’t curious, whose child would Amara even contemplate about keeping, let alone actually having? Which man had managed to make enough of a good impression? The mere though had her nearly curling her lip in disgust. See Yennefer was possessive, even if Amara and herself were not together, there will always be that possessiveness. With Astraea it had been a bit different, she was much too sweet and innocent — up until the point both sorceress had something but that’s a take for another day.

The baby seems adamant in letting her go. Her grip tightening on her finger the moment she felt even the slightest of movements from the Aerdinian sorceress. She was tempted so ask if she could hold the girl but refrained from it. The teasing words had her rolling her eyes lightly as she smiles ever so. “No knowledges whatsoever has begun to fade, I’m insulted you’ve even jumped to such a conclusion” she says with a mild, playful huff. However it turns serious, the mood, the atmosphere — at the very least for her it does. “I know the many meanings, I simply need you to tell me the meaning it holds for you.” The words are soft spoken, “see I knew one of them was Raven and it stopped my heart at the thought of you possibly naming her that because of me.”

She looks up at the Temerian, lilac irises connecting with silver ones. She stares, intensely so at those lovely orbs which she could always, always get lost within. Minutes tuck by and then the baby stirs, releases a soft little whine and it makes Yennefer look down. Was she awakening or was she simply not pleased with the dreams currently being had? Eyes don’t flutter open but she simply remains blissfully within her mother’s secured embrace. She cannot help but monetarily wonder how their child might look if they could’ve ever had one. If they were capable of creating life. If Yennefer was capable. The thought still makes a dull ache appear in her chest, she buries the thought once more.

[traitreespiegle]

She was utterly and completely relieved, comforted that Yennefer had chosen not to ask and instead, played the game of blissful ignorance in favour of ensuring that this moment was not soiled, prolonging it for as long as destiny granted and nurtured the instant bond shared between Faye and herself. It was almost as if the bundle of joy knew the role that Yennefer played and was taking this moment to her advantage, finding happiness and safety when gripping upon that gloved finger, the smallest of goofy simpers setting across pale brims.

Yennefer had always been possessive, something that the older woman had truly enjoyed for the most part of their relationship. Perhaps, the enjoyment came from a twisted sense of wanting to feel wanted, as if she belonged and that possessiveness answered to it in some way, shape or form. Perhaps, she had enjoyed that in spite of being possessive, Amara had never felt owned by Yennefer and that her moments of possession arose from love. It was something that the women shared, the possessiveness and it had never seemed to fade in spite of the way that destiny constantly interviewed, the decades that had passed between them and the momentarily lovers they knew of but had chosen to simply ignore.

Faye expressed little consideration in loosening her grip upon the younger woman, preventing the family from parting even the slightest. Gods. Such proximity to Yennefer was hard as the woman, knowingly or unknowingly, invaded all of her senses as the Sorceress of Gors Velen was, as she had always been, painfully aware of the woman and everything that came with her. She inhaled slowly, trying to silence the slight shake that threatened as silver orbs took Yennefer’s concentration upon their child to her advantage and granted herself the ability to watch, observe each of those breathtaking features. Yennefer hadn’t changed, remained as she had when they first met and by the gods, how it left her breathless and weakened as her beauty swept her utterly and completely from her feet as it always had. Amara was torn from the emotions, the fantasies that arose in her mind and returned to life as it was, her attention purposely turned from the quarter-elf in favour of anything else. “Someone has to keep you on your toes.” And the jest had soon crumbled away, giving way beneath the seriousness that Yennefer bestowed upon them in the name of her need to understand the meaning that was behind Amara’s child and just what significance it held to the Temerian.

Gods. How her jaw threatened to shatter beneath the sheer force that was knowingly applied to it as the older woman’s strength was called upon. Was Yennefer truly so clueless? Did she not realise the importance she held within the half-elf’s life? “I chose it for it’s translation of Raven, Yennefer. I think the rest of the answer has already fallen into place.” Three centuries old and the concept of talking of emotions, confessing them from her own lips in an admittance of spoken word was still one that had her at a loss and especially with Yennefer. She hated how vulnerable, how easily broken she was in Yennefer’s presence and how it only took one word from the woman to be shattered. The gaze was not broken, fingers trembling as the Sorceress of Gors Velen kept steady and dared not to glance elsewhere but tried not to get hopelessly lost in a sea of amethyst. Yennefer had ruined her from the moment the younger woman dared to strike conversation, answering to fate’s call.

It was obvious that Faye had discovered discomfort as she begins to stir, moving as she tries to find comfort in her mother’s arms once more but had not yet found it and instead, fussed while remaining asleep. Amara had switched arms, hoping that it would be a source of settling and her heart rate increased painfully as Faye refused and left the older woman to worry terribly at the possibility of the child awakening, giving Yennefer even the smallest of glances of spherules that were irrefutably hers. “Come inside… We’ve been outside for a while. Perhaps she was grown warmer than she desires.”

[lilacdulcis]

The baby had no intentions of release Yennefer soon it seemed. And the sorceress from Vengerberg does not mind that at all. She felt content in simply being like this, on letting the little bundle of joy hold onto her. She was aware of the effects she had on the other woman and the effects it had being this close to her because Amara also had those same effects on the lilac eyed mage. She reckons that the only thing aside from Yennefer’s somewhat strong will to remain faithful to Geralt that was keeping them from acting upon any longings was the baby quite literally between them. “I suppose you are right, not many are able to do such a thing” the pale woman replies with a brief smile before the seriousness of the moment settles between them.

She was not clueless to the importance she held in Amara’s life, her heart. She just needed to hear confirmation rather than making speculations. She needed to know, needed to understand — well perhaps not the why. As she said, she knew the importance she held in Amara’s life. However if she had a child with another, why name her after her? Does the father know about it? The meaning behind it? The person that inspired it and what they are to each other? But before any of those question can be thought about deeper, perhaps even be voice and demand a response the baby fusses and Amara suggest stepping inside.

The Aerdinian sorceress nods and then looks at the baby, at the finger still in her grasp. Shifting, she comes to stand beside Amara in a way she doesn’t have to pull the finger away and walks with the half-elf towards her hole. With little maneuvering, both step through the doors of the Temerian’s home and Yennefer allows her eyes to take the space in. It was much Amara, lovely and stylish and warm. The raven haired woman looks back at her former lover and then at the baby, stroking the little knuckles once more. “Would it be alright — could I hold her?” She finally dares to ask.

[traitreespiegle]

There was no solution for the questions that danced within Yennefer’s mind regarding the name that was chosen for the bundle of joy lovingly nurtured in the Temerian’s tender arms. How could there be? Faye was that of a miracle, unknowingly created when the women knew that Yennefer was sterile, unable to have children in the traditional and their experiment with chaos in means of pleasure had come with little consideration that it could end in pregnancy. Who would have thought of such an outcome? It was unheard of, achieved never before unless it was closely hidden amongst those that had also stumbled across the unexpecting loophole. Her child was missing the input of a father as the Aerdinian was the true and final piece to the puzzle that was the sleeping baby’s parentage. It simply didn’t feel right calling Yennefer the father when the pale-skinned beauty was not a man and their creation of this life had been, well, unexpected. Nonetheless, even if there was a father, such a name still would have been chosen. The Sorceress of Gors Velen had only ever considered the aspect of motherhood since her path had collided with the younger woman’s, the thought bringing her peace and gratification instead of the usual discomfort and worry. Not to mention, Yennefer was someone that had always held importance in her life not only as a love interest but as a valued friend, was someone who Amara deeply respected and revered. It would make sense to name your child after someone you looked up to, no? Perhaps, if Yennefer had time to process those questions that danced in her mind, realisation would have soon awoken within the woman in regards to the bundle that seemed determined to hold her finger until she decided otherwise.

“Excuse the messes.” Not that there was one. Amara was the type of woman that was painfully clean, constantly ensuring that her home was spotless and without even the slightest of messes. It came from her line of work, one could say. If your home was clean and in proper order, even the slightest of modifications could be noticed and in turn, acts of intrusions could be easily spotted, not that documents and other valuable or sensitive items were ever left outside of the safety of her workrooms. She had easily fallen into the role of a mother, the role simply radiating from her naturally and now that they were inside her home, her body had begun careful rocking as the baby remained in her arms and those chaotic locks continued to stroked in such a soothing manner, lulling the baby into the deepest of slumbers while silver orbs watched on as if the child was the only object near and dear.

Would it be alright — could I hold her? How could Amara deny such a request? If she dared, Yennefer would sniff out that there was, indeed, something wrong and nothing could throw her off of the scent. “I don’t see why not. Just try and be careful, hmm? I’m afraid going through birth for a second time is an act I am simply uninterested in.” Gods. How she felt lightheaded, as if she was moments from falling into unconsciousness. She was painfully aware of how fear grasped at her body, forced her heart to rise and dance within her throat as Faye was carefully, almost tentatively transferred from her arms and into Yennefer’s. Not that she did not trust Yennefer, she was just utterly and completely fearful that her secret would be exposed and that Yennefer would vacate her life once and for all.

[lilacdulcis]

She supposed that if she were to sit down and think a bit it all, if she were to truly put her mind into this she will figure out quite quickly whose baby this was. If she were to do the math between their last encounter and how how many months this baby was added with the meaning behind the name, yes it was all spelled out. But see, Yennefer wasn’t even truly thinking of it, both deeply enough at least.

They step into the house and Amara apologizes for the mess. It makes the sorceress from Vengerberg roll her eyes, quite typical of her it was. There was never a single thing out of place in the Temerian’s home. If there was ever any mess, it was quickly cleaned up. If it wasn’t, well it was simply because it was the fun kind of mess. The lilac eyed mage watched as her beloved rocks the little bundle of joy in her arms and well Yennefer sort of had to follow it up because her finger is still very much still being held by the baby. “There is never any mess in your house, Amara.”

The woman then laughs ever so quietly about the Gors Velen sorceress not wishing to push another kid from her vagina. But see she quite likes the idea of another kid just so she is able to see the half-elf pregnant. She bets that was quite the sight, beautiful with a round belly. The silver eyed beauty hands her the child tentatively and wraps her arms around her securely, protectively. With the arm whose hand doesn’t belong to the finger which is currently being held. She was so light, so small. “By the gods” she murmurs, gently rocking the baby, her heart squeezing in her chest.

[traitreespiegle]

Perhaps, it served as nothing more than a blessing, did it not? The Sorceress of Vengerberg’s lack of concentration regarding the painfully bare and available evidence that surrounded this sensitive and potentially detrimental subject prevented the solution from being deciphered and in turn, was that of an unspoken gift to the women and their connection, granting sanctuary, unknowingly, for a few moments longer. Amara’s chosen stance to remain silent concerning Faye and the role that Yennefer played was one selected out of concern for the younger woman’s happiness and her own selfishness. It was impossible to return from such a choice, the damaged already created and unable to be backtracked despite the desperation felt. She had to admit, her steadfast choices had risen in the name of concern, of worry that the Temerian would create unnecessary tension, possible ruins within Yennefer’s life and the happiness that she had finally reached, that Yennefer could be disinterested in their child now that she had returned to her life with Geralt, an unlikely possibility but anxiety never conjured sane thoughts, did it? And if such a possibility was unreachable, the worry that she would fall unneeded, worthless beneath their parental teachings.

“There is always a mess.” She murmured with a slight roll of her silver orbs almost as if the Half-Elf was silently, gently informing Yennefer of her miscalculation and the ability to use her arms once more was used to her advantage now that Faye was safety buried within the warmth of Yennefer’s arms and seemingly invisible fluff was wiped away with a distasteful swipe of her hand. “Shall I get you a fresh pitcher of apple juice, Yen?” It had become that of a staple in her life since her pregnancy and the cravings that came with it, the women’s child bestowing constant cravings upon the Temerian throughout the entirety of those long yet blissful nine-months and even now, loved nothing more than having the golden liquid applied to the end of her pacifiers or upon her gums almost as much as Yennefer herself enjoyed drinking it by the gallon. Amara removed the cotton wrap from her body, beginning to fold it neatly but had ended up placing it carelessly on the dining table as her concentration was captured, the Temerian enthralled by the sight of her child and the woman she loved, that of a emotionally-gripped simper curling at the edge of supple brims as her heart pounded, fluttered with potent emotions and energised love.

Gods… It was truly the beautiful sight to behold, the sight of her beloved daughter content and ever so happy in her ex-partner’s arms as if this was not the first meeting and they had done this a thousand times, healthy little hands gripping, holding at Yennefer’s dress as Faye’s body turned to settle against the warmth that radiated from her mother and tiny, roseate lips danced with happiness. If only she was able to capture this moment, to be able to relive it once Yennefer leaves and returns to her life with Geralt. Faye was a bundle of joy that was small and light but that certainly did not mean the newborn was delicate and without sturdiness, her appetite healthy and bestowing her chunky little thighs, chubby cheeks and a tiny tummy that was often the topic of amusement during a playful game of raspberry with her mother. Amara felt her heart clench painfully the longer that she stared, teeth worrying at flesh of her inner cheek as the sight unravelled so many hidden emotions at a pace that was truly daunting and a sharp inhale was taken, forced down as tears threatened to fall and they were willed away. “You… You look beautiful with a child, Yennefer.” With our child. Words unable to be spoken, that burned at her very soul. She had yet to see Yennefer holding a child and this very moment had granted her the beauty and forced her to relive so many of her decisions, filling her with regrets and wishes that the potentional of a family was brought up in their youth and that her tentative proposal of marriage had repeatedly fallen from her lips until Yennefer’s refusal morphed into acceptance.

Amara had forced herself to turn from the sight, unable to withstand Yennefer’s direct gaze on her in this moment that effortlessly left the Sorceress of Gors Velen utterly and completely exposed, nerves painfully bare and vulnerable and tears swelling once more. Gods. Must she be so emotional? She could explain them off as leftover hormones from the baby, yes?

[lilacdulcis]

“Hm, if you say so” is the only response the lilac eyed sorceress says in regards to the comment on the mess. Perhaps she would’ve been able to come up with something witty was her attention not entirely on the baby now. The baby that’s within her arms, seemingly content. Small hands fists at her dress and pink lips seek to dance with a delicate smile. By the gods, it made her heart clench in her chest. There was just something about this child that called to the quarter-elf. Perhaps it was because it was Amara’s child and already she seems to have a soft spot for Faye because of it. Wouldn’t be the first time she forms a bond with a child not meant to be hers at first. Ciri had been a blessing, their time together aiding in forming a relationship that no time or space could ever break. She felt something similar to this child, perhaps destiny had plans for them.

Yennefer gently rocks the baby, fingers lightly tracing soft features. She finds herself smiling, eyes as violent as a storm completely soft and tender when gazing upon this gentle creature. This small thing. The words from Amara causes her to look up at her and her breath quietly hitches at the sight. It seems that the half-elf was close to tears and well, the sorceress of Vengerberg felt something similar because — how long has she craved this? To hold a child, her child, her legacy, what she leaves behind in this cruel world. Someone she would be important to because nothing is as important as a mother, a good mother. She gives the Temerian a tender and loving smile but when the gaze is broken, when Amara looks away she sets her gaze upon the baby.

The Aerdinian leans down, gently burrowing her nose in the little patch of wild, raven hair and she gently inhaled. Such sweet scent, delicate and tender. Yennefer bestows a kiss upon the baby’s forehead and rocks her gently, gloved finger gently scratching, caressing the chubby cheek. “Oh and yes, I would love a glass of apple juice. I would never say no to such an offer” she says as she remembers how the woman had offered her some. She had been so enthralled by this little bundle and the moment, she had completely forgotten to reply.

[traitreespiegle]

Yennefer’s life path was, indeed, touched by the newborn and unknowingly intricately intertwined with the innocent bundle of energy in such a manner that the younger woman was, for now, clueless towards. The Aerdinian was currently cradling Faye with such utter and complete tenderness that managed to bestow a series of emotional strikes across the Temerian’s already overly sensitive heart. Gods. She wished that Yennefer had sent some sort of warning regarding her arrival, to have given Amara the chance to conjure the strength, the ability to bridle her emotions and be aware to the emotions that could arise. Whether destiny had been the architect of this situation and the gift of life they had been unexpectedly granted or merely an active assistant to the motions that played out by the women’s own actions, taking advantage of the gift that the women were given and using it to their advantage. It was a twisted game of fate, was it not? One could almost say it was a battle between the powers of fate and destiny themselves. And how painful it was for the women, to be bestowed this crippling weight of the gods in the sake of their entertainment. Gods. Did they not have enough souls on these lands to torture? Was the continent not filled with enough victims? Had they grown tired of their battles over souls painfully gifted more than one mate and was now paying attention to random gifts given by the universe only to twist them?

She had fallen into silence, giving Yennefer this moment that she truly deserved with their daughter and focused on retrieving a glass and filling it with freshly squeezed apple juice that was chilled to the Sorceress of Vengerberg’s preference. There were just somethings that couldn’t be changed, not after one had spent years living with the woman in mention, having her visit for weeks, months at a time and her preferences remaining steadfast. The shawl that had been previously draped across her shoulders was removed in means of cooling herself down and in hand, inadvertently exposing enlarged breasts that were emphasised by a low cut dress and carefully hung the silk article on a clothing hook found beside the entrance of her home before delivering Yennefer the chilled glass of juice. “Here.” Gentle was the smile that curled at the edge of her lips, orbs of silver flicking to her child almost nervously before perching herself in one of the chairs and fingers danced, toying with the fabric of her dress. “Was it a long journey? Do I need to make you a plate? You must be starved.”

[lilacdulcis]

She could feel the woman’s gaze upon them, burning bright and Yennefer wonders if it was in any way difficult for Amara to see her daughter in the arms of her lover. This had been discussed between them, the potential of a child because Yen so desperately wanted one and actively sought out a remedy for her infertility. The question of whether or not the Temerian sorceress would be around still if the lilac eyed woman manages such a feat. If she would remain by her side, lover her still as well as her child. The silver eyed mage hadn’t been too eager of course, again do to her history, her view on motherhood but she also had told Yennefer that for her she would do anything. And that if the child was Yen’s how could she not love it? Those words along had made the youngest of the two kiss the woman fiercely and they ended up making love passionately for hours as they always did. So conversations of having a family had been had and now here they are, not truly together but still very much in love and a child amidst it all. Was Amara too, picturing what life would be if they raised this little girl together? If it had turned out to be theirs?

Silence envelopes them and it isn’t exactly uncomfortable. Not to her at the very least. She’s still quite enthralled by the baby, gently cooing and lightly rocking the babe. When she glanced up once the glass was offered to her, she could’ve choked on her own breath at the eyeful of breasts she got. She knows that pregnancy could change a woman’s body, breasts enlarging duo to the milk that is produced for the baby but by the gods —. She swallows thickly and moves her gaze to the goblet which she grabs. “Thank you” she says and takes a sip, humming in delight. Exactly how she likes it. “No darling, I’m alright for the time being.” She cradles the baby in one arm and the juice on her other hand. It was still so surreal to her that this child was Amara’s. “How is motherhood treating you so far?” She asks and moves to sit on the table, placing the cup on it so now both hands are holding the baby.

Her eyes however are upon the half-elf. She looks radiant, absolutely stunning. Motherhood suits her, another role that the raven haired woman seems to have slipped into easily.

[traitreespiegle]

She had adapted to the silence that had fallen throughout the house, grown comfortable with the shortage of conversation which was escaping the women as Yennefer’s concentration was stolen by their child and was seemingly indulgent in the newborn’s beauty. And due to this, such a question as the one that was heard tumble from Yennefer’s lips without previous warning had caught her by surprise as it had, for the majority, been unforeseen. “I suppose it has treated me like any other mother.” Shoulders rise in an elegant wave, her body perched within the comforts of her chosen seat as fingers remain enthralled in their dance and continued with mindless ease to twist the fabric of the dress around their lithe tips. “I’ve had late nights, moments where I felt like I could just break down and cry from the tension of a crying baby and others that had seen me cry in relief.” Pregnancy hormones were that of an utter and complete bitch, the natural body thrown into utter chaos after being disrupted and hormone levels being painfully multiple across the duration of the pregnancy, sticking around stubbornly for weeks after and making the woman sensitive. “But other than that, I feel like it’s come to me surprisingly well…” She had admitted quietly. Her transition into motherhood had been dauntingly easy but perhaps, much of that had risen more from the fact that this bundle of joy came from the love the women possessed for each other. “Faye is content and only becomes restless if her way is not achieved and does not back down until it’s achieved. Even now, as young as she is, my daughter has a particular, selective nature and enjoys things the way she is fond of and up until you discover her preference, she is painfully vocal.” In another words, Faye was a child that was excruciatingly picky, fussy. Gods. Each moment that saw the Sorceress’ attention brought to such knowledge, Amara was unable to not think of the future when Faye is half-grown, moments always from blossoming into a young woman and has a painful comprehension in her gut that such a trait would only be intensified. She truly dreaded the thought of the fights that would be seen shared.

With frightening ease, time had seemed to slip away from the Sorceress of Gors Velen with effortless simplicity and minutes had morphed into hours, precious time ticking by without her knowledge as the bundle of joy snuggled up contently within the comforts of Yennefer and was due to awaken at any given moment and that had left the Temerian harrowingly nervous, distressed and fretting insufferably. It had seen Amara rise, tentatively approach the younger woman as silver orbs flicker hazardously between Yennefer and Faye as panic rose, attacking at her throat and making it difficult to speak clearly. “I… I should probably take her, Yennefer. She. . . She is probably beginning to smell and I should change her before it begins to grow noticeable. I wouldn’t want you to get such a smell on your clothes and she’ll be waking for her food soon.” Her fingers dance at her sides, the weight of the older woman’s body swapped between her feet with surprisingly persistence and she swallows thickly, painfully as her hands extend outwards from her body in preparation to retrieve her dearly loved daughter and orbs of silver look upon Yennefer expectedly.

[lilacdulcis]

The sorceress from Vengerberg listens carefully as the Temerian reveals the joys of motherhood. Note there is some sarcasm in that. There is ups and downs, of course and Yennefer thinks about how she would be there for the Gors Velen sorceress were thy together. That she would’ve and would still, try and make it as easy as possible. The lilac eyed sorceress smiles gently when the woman informs her however that outside of those little ups and downs, she feels like the role has come to her surprisingly well. “Well, you do always know how to take on any role, darling” she says softly, looking down at the bundle of joy. The woman cannot help the gentle laugh at falls from her lips as the mention of how — well fussy the child could be. “Hm, that somehow does not surprise me” she says with a light smirk grazing her lips.

Now, as stated before, she had felt like Amara was behaving weirdly. She had passed it off as many things at first but now it felt sort of ridiculous. She had the strangest sensation that Amara was trying to keep Faye away from her. Why? “By the gods, Amara, are you afraid I’ll steal her?” She says with a quirk of her brow as she looks upon the woman and how nervous she is. How she shifts from foot to foot and her gaze flickers between herself and the baby. What was going on with her? “Why are you so nervous?” Perhaps the baby felt the tension or the mild aggravation that Yennefer was exuding at this behavior from her usually calm, confident and mischievous ex-lover. But there’s a wail, a sound of protest which makes the Vengerberg sorceress shift her gaze down to the baby. Little fists rub tiny eyes and she watched as if it were the most interesting thing on the Continent. Sees the way the baby stretches and then opens her eyes.

Time stills when eyes are revealed and she sees reflected back at her violet eyes.

𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐮𝐜𝐤?

There was only one known, living being with such eyes. In all the bloody centuries upon this damned earth, Yennefer had never seen another with such color. Her color of eyes. Eyes she’s known for across the continent for their rarity along with everything else that was signature Yennefer of Vengerberg. This baby has her eyes. This baby — suddenly the damn equation is solving itself out. Faye, which means raven in Zerrikanian, a place which holds meaning to them both. The silence now is deafening as the Aerdiniand stares intensely at the baby.

[traitreespiegle]

“You shouldn’t be so impractical, Yennefer… Why would I conjure such a thought?” Amara had cast the younger woman an expression of confusion that was shadowed by disbelief and the sensitive flesh of her cheek was gnawed upon unforgivingly, the coppery taste of blood flooding her tastebuds. Obsidian brows furrowed and her throat felt like it was being clawed at by the likes a wild animal that had descended upon it’s rightful prey and had left the Sorceress’s breathing laboured, swallowing air down with such unforgiving desperation as the house of cards she had constructed begun to falter. Gods. She needed to find get a hold of herself, discover some sort of control and calm herself from the emotions that were perilously throwing themselves around within her body, coaxing these unusual acts from her body. Oh. How Yennefer was painfully correct. Amara was trying to place distance between Yennefer and Faye in means of burying that of a secret that should remain buried. “I… I just… I get few visits from friends and I’d rather my clothes getting spoiled then yours.” Great. How completely original that was, how utterly creative from a mind that could and should surely conjure better. Gods. She was known for her ability to lie with practised ease, her ability to talk herself out of any situation and yet, here she was, unable to string a single sentence together.

Her gaze had fallen as little, delicate fists rose to rub at tiny eyes and her chest seized, every last inch of breath stolen from her lungs as little eyes open and the bundle of joy cooed happily at Yennefer, tiny little hands rising to grip at a fallen lock as the item was observed with interest before the woman herself fell beneath Faye’s interest and that of a goofy smile soon passed across small lips, fingers gripping with the utmost gentleness at the Sorceress’s cheeks as the newborn spoke eagerly, cooing happily up at her mother. Christ. Had the tension that radiated from Amara awoken the bundle of joy? Or had it been the aggravation that Yennefer was surely expressing at this unusual situation, at Amara’s unusual persona. Oh good gods. Why had this had to happen? Why had it had to happen like this? Poured upon the younger woman without warning. Was… Was Amara going to be sick? The Sorceress of Gors Velen felt as if her stomach was moments from being empty, that she could simply pass out from the stress that had overwhelmed her body and begun to savagely beat it. How the silence was deafening, how each moment that passed left Amara’s heart to beat harder and with growing fear.

[lilacdulcis]

The words were clearly meant in some form of jest. She didn’t think that Amara would conjure up such a thought but by the gods why was she so damn nervous? Funnily enough moments later she realizes exactly why. She sees exactly why the woman was on edge, why she was in such a hurry to take Faye out of her hands. She didn’t want Yen figuring out that this child, this beautiful baby girl is also hers. The hows are still in question but that was the last thing she was even going to try and figure out.

The baby is coping, reaching for her, smiling at her. She is monetarily torn between feeling utter happiness and joy and feeling like she could conjure up a storm with the anger and hurt she feels in regards to and towards Amara. She had kept this a secret from her and form the looks of it had planned to do so for quite some time. The minutes stretch on and she doesn’t move her gaze away from the baby, not yet. She smiles back and leans into the little chubby hands which grip her cheeks.

“You and I” she says tersely, “have a lot to talk about.” That was directed at the Temerian. Of course she wasn’t about to have a full on discussion, a fight in front of the baby. She also didn’t want to ruin this moment where daughter and mother officially meet — with full knowledge of her role in this. Yennefer kisses Faye’s cheek lightly, “hello my daughter” she whispers, closing her eyes and feeling her heart clench tightly in her chest. Minutes tick by and Yen walks around the house, talking to the baby. She tells her sole about her older sister of course and how perhaps one day she’ll bring Cirilla so they can meet. At some point Faye starts to get fussy and that’s when Yennefer, who has ignored the Temerian so far comes to her and gently hands her the baby. “I believe she might be hungry” she says evenly.

[traitreespiegle]

It was an utterly and completely breathtaking sight to observe as the women’s bundle of joy fell effortlessly into comfort with Yennefer, that the Sorceress of Vengerberg was so easily the source of her fascination and joy as the newborn vocalised her enjoyment, her happiness without concern in regards to being met with a face that was not that of her mother’s. How beautiful it was to see her child awoken and immediately shower the woman she loves with affection, to see that they shared such a fierce connection. Gods. Amara’s heart was aching with love, singing with happiness at the sight that left her ever so emotional but at the very same moment it was painfully frozen in fear and trepidation, petrified for the conversation that was to come and the possible outcome. She knew that Yennefer’s reaction, the punishments that would find it’s way to the Sorceress of Gors Velen were ones that were rightfully deserved but that didn’t prevent the older woman from hoping, praying that Yennefer would hear and understand her difficult choices. How impossible and horrendously out of reach it was for the women. Amara knew Yennefer down to her very fibres, had known her long enough to be painfully aware of each and every possible reaction that would fall from the woman in just about every situation. She knew just how difficult it was for the younger woman to understand the bigger picture in situations that weren’t nearly as serious, as significant as this and Amara could only imagine Yennefer’s mindset to this.

“I…” Words constantly seemed to be escaping the Sorceress, unable to be grasped properly and turned into coherent sentences. “Yes.” Good gods. Amara could see just how truly pleasant this day was going to turn for the older woman. She had fallen into silence, giving Yennefer the space and time the Sorceress deserved with her child and especially now, when the younger woman was aware of the role she played and that Faye more than just her namesake. When Yennefer returned, mentioning evenly of their newborn’s fussiness and that she might be hungry, the Temerian had chosen to remain silent other than a polite nod of her head as she was unable to trust her words and bundle of joy is grasped with the utmost tenderness when she is returned to her arms. She had truly paid little attention to the fact that Yennefer was here, in her presence as Faye was nestled against her ample cleavage and begun to be fed, care falling away and crumbling. Once Faye had been fed, the older woman had carefully extended the bundle of joy to Yennefer. “You can put her down, if you’d like. . . Upstairs, the last room on the left.”

[lilacdulcis]

Yennefer of Vengerberg is a fierce and passionate woman. Things often, and by often we mean all of the time must go her way. She often had quite the reactions when placed in spots she did not wish to be put upon. It was quite often a difficulty for her to view the bigger picture, yes and she is quite aware that she is not a pleasant person to be dealt with if she holds any sort of emotion around you that does not involve tender affections or a deep respect — depending on who you are. Of course the deep affection and respect she holds for Amara hasn’t simply vanished but the Temerian sorceress has earned her anger and it wasn’t pretty being in the way of her wrath.

The raven haired half-elf allows her time with Faye, which she thinks is the least she can do. She maintain her distance for the time being and deep down the Vengerberg sorceress appreciates that. When she hands the baby back to her, the lilac eyed mage observed at the woman lower dress to expose her breast and for a brief second she looks at them as a woman who, well finds deep enjoyment in them. Regaledlesss of her anger but then the baby is being fed and all sexual thoughts disappear and she’s struck by the sight. It was so — she couldn’t explain it, really. But it was beautiful, in her opinion. At some point the Aerdinian takes a seat and plays with her previous cup of juice which was still mostly full and only looks over when the Temerian speaks.

Yennefer stands and nods in the same manner that Amara had previously. She takes the baby gently into her arms once more and follows the directions the half-elf had given her. Upon arrival, she takes the room in, instantly notices tho little details, little trinkets that are hers. She was so involved in her life and yet not really. It made her ache further and she feels mildly lucky that she has discovered this now rather than years later and having missed all of the firsts. Yen looks down at the drowsy baby and smiles, humming and gently caressing her features. She watched as Faye slowly begun to drift into sleep and once the sorceress knew she was off in dreamland, she placed her down on the crib. She makes sure she is comfy before making her way out and down the stairs. Here it goes.

“So when exactly were you going to tell me that ese my daughter too?”

[traitreespiegle]

“I’m…” The Sorceress of Gors Velen had stopped as soon as she begun, fingers dancing around each other in that of a nervous rhythm and silver orbs vanished beneath pale eyelids that clenched shut painfully as the Temerian tried her hardest to ignore both the pain and fear that struck out at her heart. She couldn’t not say her feelings, the emotions behind her choice in a situation that held such significance and prevented herself from allowing this to be another letter written but not sent. “Truthfully… I’m-. I’m not sure. One day in the future, I suppose.” Her words had fallen frighteningly quiet but had been spoken clearly in spite of the slight sway that had begun to ease it’s way into her timbre, the depths of her chest fluttering with nervous energy as her gaze flickered hazardously across Yennefer. “You’re happy in your new life.” She sunk her teeth against the inside of her cheek once more, bitterness flooding across the surface of her tongue at those very words and the Sorceress forced it from her mind in favour of focusing on this situation regarding their child. “I didn’t want to be a burden on you.” It was the truth, as twisted and confusing as it might have appeared to the opposing woman. You have to understand, Amara was not nearly as confident as she so often appeared when in the midst of others, especially when it came to Yennefer of Vengerberg and their relationship, not only after Geralt’s wish had been created but after certain vocal matches had created the paths for some painful admittances that had stayed with her even after all these years, these decades. “I wanted to tell you but… I’d get your letters and you spoke of your happiness. I didn’t want to get in the way of that again. I… It’s all I ever do and it isn’t like you would’ve believed me if I had written such words, anyway.”

Gods. How sick Amara felt as the regret, as the grief swarmed upon her body and left her entire body to ache beneath the tension, the strain. There was that of a slight throb that had already begun to set into her temples and palms came to settle against the kitchen counter as the older woman peered out the window, feeling utter sadness pass over her body as her shoulders rose and fell in a defeated shrug. “I couldn’t bring myself to lose the only piece of you that I’ll ever have. I just… I simply couldn’t and I couldn’t bring myself to ruin the happiness you’ve searched so long for… It was the best choice I had arrived at and it was wrong, I know, but the damage was already done, I couldn’t backtrack.”

[lilacdulcis]

The sorceress from Vengerberg released a scoffing laugh that was in the border of disbelief. Somewhere near the future, how fucking specific. Her jaw is slightly set and she has absolutely no idea what to do with her hands so she crosses them at the chest.

𝗬𝗼𝘂’𝗿𝗲 𝗵𝗮𝗽𝗽𝘆 𝗶𝗻 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝗻𝗲𝘄 𝗹𝗶𝗳𝗲.

And she can hear the bitterness. That was not surprising, really and she has always known this was a sensitive subject. The Vengerberg sorceress even understood it, really but what did that have to do with this? How could she think she wouldn’t be happy at such news? “How could you ever think you’d be a burden to me? Are you fucking—” she needs a second, a moment of deep breath and she pinches the bridge of her nose as she does. She starts a gentle pace before her head snaps up to look at Amara, “I wouldn’t believe you?! Why the hell wouldn’t I believe you? You have never lie to me, I have absolutely no reason to believe you would lie about or even joke about such a thing!”

This all felt like excuses. Which in some level also hurt the sorceress from Vengerberg. Did the half-elf truly thought all that? Felt all of that?

“Why would you think you’d lose her? Did you think I would 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞 her from you? And yes, it was the wrong choice, Amara. You had no right making such decisions for me. Even if you were doing it in what you thought was the best for me, I should’ve been made aware. This is my child as much as it is yours.”

[traitreespiegle]

“How could I? How could I not?” Amara hissed out feverishly, with such raw and intense emotions that rarely saw the light of day as they were more often than not hidden ever so tightly beneath unforgiving bindings. “You have made it painfully clear that I’ve been a burden on your life more than once.” She had simply fallen into silence, the tips of her fingers sinking against the edge of her temple in an attempt to ease the pain that had begun to settle in callously and left the older woman feeling thoroughly sour. “You could have, Yennefer. Please, do not stand there and say that when we both know your reactions can be unpredicted, even by yourself.” She was made feel heartless, misunderstood when she was trying to explain and in such a manner that prevented more pain from being created, from descending upon the younger woman. It might not be the clearest of explanations, but the Sorceress was trying and was exposing herself in ways that she rarely, if ever, did. “Christ, Yennefer! I did not mean that I would lose her as in you would take her! I was referring to it was either trying to lose the child or having it and not telling you!” But losing the child was one choice she simply couldn’t bring herself to truly consider. “Gods, Yennefer.” The Sorceress felt as if at any given moment she could begin to cry out of utter and complete frustration but also just simply announce defeat, that all of these emotions that begged, ached to be the centre of attention first could simply consume her in a manner that could not be resolved. It was evident that the younger woman simply looked at her words as nothing more than half-hearted excuses. “You just… You just don’t understand, do you?” She whispered quietly as her pale visage simply lost all sense of life, shoulders descending defeatedly before that rehearsed mask returned to it’s rightful place and all poise returned to her body. “Well, you know now and you are welcomed to be involved in her life.” It was just easier to play the role of the Rissberg Sorceress that cared for few and felt even less. “There’s plenty of bedrooms here or a tavern at the small settlement due east for you to stay in if you need it for the night.”

[lilacdulcis]

Yennefer looks as if the words physically strike her. The woman takes a few steps back and her lilac eyes which hold a storm within them stare at the half-elf. And just like the whirlwind of emotions within them, her face is seen going through them as well. But surprisingly enough the Aerdinian sorceress remains absolutely quiet, utters not a single word. Not to that nor the mention of being unpredictable even to herself nor what she meant by loosing the child. Which quite truthfully with the context of the conversation, it had been quite hard to take that as the meaning. It felt volatile and Yennefer had absolutely no idea what to expect anymore.

𝗬𝗼𝘂 𝗷𝘂𝘀𝘁 𝗱𝗼𝗻’𝘁 𝘂𝗻𝗱𝗲𝗿𝘀𝘁𝗮𝗻𝗱, 𝗱𝗼 𝘆𝗼𝘂?

Then the woman slips on that mask she is quite familiar. She’s seen it before, sometimes with her but mostly to other people she did not like or did not feel like dealing or simply did not wish to give them even the slightest inkling as to what she was feeling. “Right” she says in a tersely manner, “seems like I don’t.” She stands straighter, shoulders squared and she gazes at Amara in a manner that even though she’s rather short compared to the rest of the damn continent, still made you feel like she was looking down at you, towering over with her presence. “Kind of you to extend that offer and I’ll take a room at the inn. I’ll be back early in the morning.”

Yen awaits no further for any response, turning and swinging the door open before letting it slam shut behind her. The raven haired sorceress felt her heart, often described at an obsidian rock, crack in her ribcage. Mounting her horse, the raven woman takes off towards the inn.

[traitreespiegle]

The Sorceress of Gors Velen was utterly and completely silent, painfully absent of even the slightest sign of life and held the appearance to be thoroughly defeated to the fullest extent. How was that possible for someone that had always been filled with such life? Such willingness to live on and find the advantage, the joy in every situation, however bad or good? She felt like she could scream and nothing would come forth, that silence would simply answer as her body was left barren and drained.

It was that of a truly striking difference between the women, was it not? Yennefer appeared similar to that of a chaotic storm that was moments from touching the ground and wreaking utter havoc across the lands and those that dared to lay in her wake, whereas, Amara was the opposite and appeared to be barely clinging on, without even the smallest inch of life, defeated and prepared to simply give up. Defeat was something that Amara had never considered, in any way, shape or form and actively fought against but now… Gods. Defeat appeared to be an old pal, welcomed with open arms.

“Perhaps that is best.” In spite of hearing the younger woman words that were shadowed ever so promptly by her movements, steps that were taken towards the door of the Temerian’s home in means of departure, of escaping this situation, Amara had, for the first time, dared not to move, not to call out and chase after Yennefer, simply allowing the Sorceress of Vengerberg to depart as she pleased.

[lilacdulcis]

Yennefer of Vengerberg as only felt this lost and perhaps even distraught a handful of times and this was not the first time the feeling was connected to Amara. See, destiny had a funny way of always causing this sort of pain between them women. Somehow always ripping them apart and making it seem as though there was no coming back from it. But this was different, different in so many ways and perhaps they would be unable to come back from it. The lilac eyed sorceress did not know if she could, to be honest. The Temerian had done something she could not take back and could not just be forgotten. This was their child and she knew, she knew how much Yen wanted to he a mother. Yes, she had found Ciri and that had become a reality for her bit it was different. This was her child, blood of her blood and she should’ve been informed.

That piled up with the words that had been said just — it seemed like this was what would break them. Yennefer rents a room for a couple of nights, unsure of how long she’ll be staying now that she knew this. Taking paper and quill, she writes a letter to Geralt, gives little explanation as to why as per usual but tells him she will be staying a couple of days as something important has come up. The sorceress then gets ready for bed, doing her usual routine after a bath. The night seems longer than usual and sleep doesn’t come until quite late. In the morning she’s getting ready once more, making herself look impeccable before stepping out and deciding on no breakfast at the tavern.

She just wanted to see Faye again and without further do makes her way to Amara’s home. When she is at Amara’s home, the raven haired sorceress is tempted to simply walk in without knocking but she should keep it civil and so she knocks.

[traitreespiegle]

She had already risen, the comforts of her bed abandoned when the sun had begun to rise and dutifully completes her morning chores while also preparing herself for when her daughter begins to awaken and the bundle of joy demands that attention be shone upon her and only her. Faye was, surprisingly, also that of an early riser and was astonishingly active from the moment she wakes, babbling persistently and demanding constant recognition that leaves the Sorceress of Gors Velen thoroughly preoccupied. Sunrise had seen the newborn fed, swaddled and held within the loving arms of her mother, soothed as they go about their day.

Yennefer had been in the back of the Sorceress’ mind, painfully tugging at her head and leaving Amara utterly and completely deflated as their friendship, their unique bond created by fate was, once more, at risk and this time, well, this time it seemed irreparable and finally broken, shattered by destiny. She thoroughly regretted the path she had taken, the choices that she had purposely chosen, without a single doubt, and yet, Amara stood by them as this entire situation and the outcome thus far had done nothing but proved the points that had been listed and the ones that remained silent, proved that her presence only ever caused pain to the opposing woman as time went on.

Obsidian tresses were captured tastefully in a leather band, loosely held in a bun and exposing pointed ears, toned frame enveloped in loose, white lace. Faye remained cradled in the crook of her arm as Amara’s gripped gently at a small piece of fabric that, on occasion, was dipped into watered-down apple juice and placed into the newborn’s mouth, allowing her to suckle at the sweet liquid at a pace that wouldn’t leave her in discomfort and slowly gave the bundle of joy a taste. She had heard the knock, approaching the entrance to her home and opening the door, feeling the painful ache in her heart as she comes face to face with Yennefer and the woman swallowed thickly, ignoring the pain that danced feverishly across her body in favour for her child and preventing Faye from feeling discomfort of any sort in Yennefer’s presence as children were finely in tuned with their mother’s feelings. “See who’s come to visit.” She cooed gently, shouldering the bundle of nerves further up.

[lilacdulcis]

Things were never simple with them and perhaps it was because either woman was not simple on their own let alone when they came together. Often than not words are said between them in thoughtless but all of the night prior felt so different and so many ways. How has it gotten to this?

The door opens to reveal Amara with their daughter. Under normal circumstances she would’ve taken the time to take the half-elf in. How beautiful she looks even in such simple attire. How her ears are on display, Yennefer had always loved to see them but Amara kept them hidden from the rest of the world. The sorceress from Vengerberg couldn’t blame her of course, the content was not a safe place for anyone that was non-human. They both already were at risk for simply being sorceresses, thought of as the worse of people for it. Amara had been capture by witch hunters on several occasions, she didn’t need to be persecuted because she had elven blood within her. And it isn’t to say she didn’t take a second of time to appreciate it all before reminders of their circumstances crashed into her mind.

“Hello little raven” the mage says with a tender smile. Lilac eyes which mirror her own look at her. Faye releases a happy squeal at seeing her and babblers, chubby hands extending towards her. By gods how the sight and the actions warmth her entire being. “Hi” she coos, picking the little bundle up from her place in Amara’s arms.

[traitreespiegle]

Other than those few words, she remained utterly and completely silent towards Yennefer, a chaste running of her thumb passed over her daughter’s delicate cheek and a playful kiss dropped upon the the tip of her nose before passing the cloth and small jar of watered-down apple juice over to the opposing woman. Amara loved nothing more than to be in Yennefer’s presence, to feel that warm, joyous tingling that danced boldly throughout her body, the utter eagerness that enveloped her at a single glance from the woman she loved, the way that the younger woman effortlessly put the Temerian on edge in such a way that was painfully pleasurable and to feel the way that her heart pounded with such unbreakable love. And that was entirely different in this moment. Whist she felt all of those things, it was minuscule and all that Amara did was ensure that distance was between them, that in no way, shape or form were the women able to touch. There was not much to be said, as clearly stated by Yennefer and the Enchantress was not going to be seen dropping to her knees and begging, not when the very woman involved had, perhaps, the most knowledge regarding Amara and the painful history that followed her.

Her choices in regards to their daughter had been wrongly chosen, absolutely incorrect but that did not, in any way, mean that the Sorceress of Gors Velen did not mean her words or did not care for the younger woman. She had been genuine in her reasons, especially regarding Yennefer’s happiness. It was all that she wanted and it was no secret that the half-elf often made a mistake that pushed back her happiness. And well, a roll around in the hay out of anger with the younger woman while she was with another had created life and all Amara could think of was informing her of this gift would simply be another one of the woman’s mistakes that hurt Yennefer.

Amara plucked an orange from her fruit bowl, taking the stairs three at a time and set about cleaning up not only her bedroom but her child’s nursery, wanting to feel as if there was some resemblance of normalcy in herself and her home. It was easier to avoid the younger woman, to not be reminded of yet another one of her mistakes that had hurt the woman she supposedly loved more than life itself.

[traitreespiegle]

just how wild is our love, @lilacdulcis

One simply couldn’t deny that the 1800s truly was the time for a life of invention, opportunity and freedom. There was an array of lifestyles ripe for the taking, suiting the array of souls that walked across the country and tailored to their preferences to the type of life that they wanted to live. Granted that the safety of others were not gravely endangered and well, that those with power and influence were not bothered. Previously, such lives had been denied beneath the prejudice of gender, class and education. Inventions were birthed constantly, creating another path for an adventurous soul to follow and create a life that previously never been experienced. You see, the creation of the telegraph instantly connected humans across thousands of miles; the construction of railroads had been the death of some towns while it had been the birth of others and the invention of the gun promptly established settlers’ dominance among each other. It had created the possibility for money, authority and adventure to be achieved in an array of ways. Soon, an array of criminals, both silent and boisterous, had been birthed and alongside them, bounty hunters. And were all criminals, criminals? Or did they simply fight back those who had taken from them? Those who were in such positions that couldn’t be fought?

It was no secret that a lawman, whether they were a magistrate, sheriff or revenue collector, could be corrupt. In fact, there was little surprise when members of the law were discovered hidden among the ranks of gangs to earn that of a pretty penny amongst their already generous pay. You see, conversation amongst the people spread like a wildfire amongst the thick undergrowth and couldn’t be stopped, well, unless fear was ignited in their hearts. And it was no surprise when those involved in the law used their position to silence those that dared to talk, framing them for a sickening crime or simply making them disappear without a trace among an array of other colourful options. Jessep Hixon was, perhaps, the worst of the worst and was one of those corrupt men of the law and was not only thick as a thief within the likes of a barbarous gang but was the cruel and ever so calculated leader of it. He was responsible for countless of cruel and careless deaths of men, women and children all in the name of deepening his pockets. His crimes were nothing but savage, crueler than the demons that hide in the bottom of a whiskey bottle.

To be wanted in such times as the rough and tumble Wild West was no easy feat, especially when the offered bounty was truly deserved. Amara Isolda led a life of crime and had earned each of her charges proudly, earning her spot as a most wanted outlaw with ease. There was no reason to try and deny such a fact. Her list of crimes ranged from the simple misdemeanours to minor and major felonies to frightening hanging offences but none of them had been birthed from malice or pure darkness and instead, arose from revenge. She was the fierce rival to Jessep Hixon, the corrupt man of the law that had murdered her entire family over her father’s refusal to trade. And Amara had, sadly, been the sole survivor of the massacre, sent off by her oldest brother to a secret basement where she had listened to the brutal murders that had taken place. It had been an frightening experience, the memories haunting her across her childhood and even to this very day and leaving her in a stalemate, unable to move on with her life until Hixon saw his empire shattered, broken and then buried six feet beneath the dirt and until that guilt of being a survivor had long left. She had become a Good Samaritan of sorts among Hixon’s victims, taking in those that were struck by his unforgiving hand and giving them somewhere safe to live, to hide and begin to get back on their feet, grant them an education, money, a carriage and a powerful steed so that they could disappear into a far away city and start a new life.

She had a strict set of rules that acted as her moral compass, kept her upon a road that she believe that could be returned from.

1. There was, by no means, killing of women or children.

2. Stealing from the poor was simply out of the question and such acts of thievery were kept only ever for the rich and the deserving.

3. Those that were the unfortunate victims of Hixon and his unforgiving violence were given a home and safety far from his reach.

4. Hixon and his beloved empire were nothing more than free, deserving game that could easily fend for themselves and could be struck wherever and whenever was possible.

5. Those who worked for Hixon, those that supported him were just as worthy to her wrath as he was.

Bounty hunters, revenue agents and those alike all inevitably came to collect the array of prices that lingered over her head but most hoped to collect the 10,000 bounty that was ordered by Jessop Hixon himself. And just as they came, they were dispatched in a manner of ways. Whether it was a bribe, death or simple survival was their choice. There had been a heavy stream of the greedy bastards these last few weeks, the 5,000 addition to her price making her the highest paying bounty currently on offer. Who didn’t want to try and collect such a wage? It was more than enough to purchase a home and settle into a easy life with retirement coming early. But, an easy feat it was not. Today was that of a simple day. Amara had little plans other than divulge in some hard-earned pleasure and well, this saw her comfortable in a saloon that was, in fact, owned by one of her more esteemed alias, with a glass of whiskey cradled in her hand and the brim of her hat cast across the brim of her brows. She was well aware of those that surrounded her and the movement of someone slipping inside of the establishment but paid little attention to them and instead, listened idly to the stream of music that echoed throughout the establishment by an older woman with a talent for playing the piano.

[traitreespiegle]

radio silent, @lilacdulcis

Outlandish was the bond shared between herself and Yennefer of Vengerberg when falling beneath the censorious judgement of those around them. One couldn’t predict their next choice regarding a passionate adventure that they were often seen taking, the status of their relationship and where their next whim would spend them from one day to the next. For them, it was custom and unchanging, normal. And was that not the most important piece of their journey, was it not?

There was not a droplet of toxicity in sight between the woman and their relationship, only unabridged trust and respect for each other, their choices and experiences. Time had seen them play an array of roles in the opposites life, morphing from one to another with striking promptness and constantly leaving those aware of their situation confused, befuddled at the unforeseen changes. Only they knew what they were in each passing second, content to let friends wonder the current progress of their tempestuous relationship.

Who could have ever thought that a Sorceress of Aretuza would dare to kindle a friendship with a Sorceress, who, hailed from the likes of Rissberg and such an odium friendship developing soon into something that was meaningful, beautiful when one considered the unforgiving wildness and demotion of their love?

One glance had seen fascination ignited and an need to know more, to experience more of the opposite blossom to such imposing heights that it simply could not be denied. There was nothing traditional, had never been a single thing that saw them fit into such a box. Not that either of them desired such an boring, typical conquest. They had been everything to each other. A friend. A lover. An ex. A enemy, of sorts. A means to an ends. If there had been a label to have, they managed to snag it up and add it to the collection.

Yennefer of Vengerberg was the only person that the Sorceress of Gors Velen stayed in constant, consistent communication with in spite of just how promptly Amara’s life changed in a matter of moments, taking her far and wide across the continent on turbulent adventures few dared to dream of. No event, duty or situation would see Yennefer without a letter, and instead, Amara devote time at night to ensure that the pale-skinned beauty would receive one letter a week at least from the Temerian.

There had not been a single Sunday that had not seen Amara with a scribe and parchment settled determinedly in her hands, writing to the beloved pale-skinned beauty that’d stolen her heart all those decades ago, that she had spent so many years living beside as more than a simple friend. Until now. Amara’s letters had slowly ceased, steadily lessening with each week until they had stopped altogether and that was ensured, purposely warranted even as the pale-skinned Sorceress’s letters served only to continue to arrive with each passing week.

It was difficult to find words, to ignore the painful sting in her heart whenever Yennefer’s cursive writing that was a sight in itself mentioned her life with Geralt, the happiness she’d found by his side and in his arms. It had been difficult from the moment Geralt was discovered in Yennefer’s home, when the hope of finally restoring their relationship after weeks, months of shared visits with loving moments and whispers of coming together as more once again and letters filled with sweet words, requests for them to meet once more as both of the women wanted the opposite’s presence. Her faith had been lost, in fact, it hadn’t yet returned and was thoroughly doused.

Months onwards and memories of that ungodly day in Vengerberg rushed back destructively and took yet another stab at the ruins left of her heart at each reference of the man was seen written on scented parchment. Every mention of the Butcher of Blaviken had seen bitterness swarm the Temerian’s heart, regret slashing her across the cheek in an agonising blow and anger to bubble forth not only at the Yennefer and her new love but at herself.

Such a choice was one that would see Yennefer hurt, angered and foaming at the metaphorical mouth. Only those with a demented mind would dare to imagine the response, the onslaught of words that would burst forth from the woman. Yennefer would have noticed the decline in letters before they had simply stopped. She was the only person that knew Amara so thoroughly, so utterly and completely, able to notice even the smallest of changes.

Chosen with purpose, the Sorceress of Gors Velen was seen travelling in realms that did not exist in the continent for the simple reason of tedious and long travels, unable to be reached with such ease that was seen when portalling from lands that existed so closely together. She had not yet been bestowed a visit from the pale-skinned beauty but had her current settlement been closer, her doorstep would have been shadow by a petite grace doused in white and black, scented of lilac and gooseberries and he accompanied by an onslaught of demands.

The Skellige Isles and blistering lands of Zerrikania served as a perfect prevention to Yennefer’s harsh tongue, travels to reach such lands requiring just a little bit more than a simple portal here and there, especially if you were unknown to those particular lands. One could say it was an means of protection. Yennefer wasn’t kind to ignorance, especially when it arrived without context or awareness.

Amara’s morning had run swimmingly. It had been an early rise, not that it had ever been a matter to someone that enjoyed the coolness of the morning, the fog that would settle in and the array of noises that radiated from the wildlife but in this instance, an early morning and watchful eyes were positively a necessity in regards to one of her experiments that was nearing it’s finish-line.

She had heard movement, someone travelling along the road that guided to her home but rather than continuing on, had dared to slip down the lane that lead to her door. Anticipation gnawed at her flesh like rabid dogs, the unforeseen sound of a heartbeat and steps entering her advanced senses setting her on edge. Amara had made a point in learning who travelled along this path and at what times of the day. It was rare that someone would traverse this far in the Skellige wilderness. With her journal slowly shut, the Temerian put all senses on hold but her hearing, listening to those steps and if they dared to try and approach further.

[traitreespiegle]

ties that bind, @exsecratuss

There was unmistakable excitement radiating, echoing throughout the domicile as the members of the household rose from the comforts of their slumber and begun the necessary preparation for the events that would soon be seen consuming their day, fulfilling it with joyous energy that would promptly be forgotten, vanishing to dust as rightful anger and bitterness swarmed over the loving couple. Only a few short weeks prior had seen the women feverishly and spontaneously plan an fruitful escapade to the snowy, wintry lands of Skellige in means of purposely eluding the unforgiving heat that currently showered over the lands of Gors Velen for a few days, if not a month and attend the heart-warming festivals during the duration of their stay. And today was, in fact, the day that the women had planned to leave but unbeknownst to them, such plans would be interrupted, prevented beneath interfering hands of a past lover as a favour that simply couldn’t be ignored was called upon the Sorceress of Gors Velen.

Haste regarding their departure was decelerated as the Temerian’s presence was required in the marketplace in means of picking up an array of items for their travels, which, a small collection had purposely remained that of a secret. Amara had instantly found immense enjoyment in showering her lover with thoughtful gifts and tasteful sweets from the first moment that they met, truly wanting nothing more than to ensure that bashful responses and soft blushes were coaxed out and that the younger woman felt loved, seen and appreciated as she truly deserved. There was a soft kiss that was gently applied to Astraea’s rounded cheek and that of a charming simper easily danced along the edge of Amara’s ample lips as the half-elf pulled a loose, lace shawl over her pale shoulders to hide her porcelain skin from the blistering sun. “I’ll be back in a few.” She murmured ever so softly before the older woman took her departed, exiting her adobe and heading to the marketplace. It had, for the majority, gone swimmingly and without an issue but just as the Enchantress was moments from departing and returning to her home and the woman that she had left within it, her path had been surprisingly obscured by a raven that was simply all-too familiar and a sickeningly sweet voice rung through the depths of her mind. Yennefer.

Promptly, Yennefer had informed the Sorceress of Gors Velen of her latest challenge that, so far, served to provide her unforgivingly with issue upon issue and requested Amara’s aide at the younger woman’s behest. And just as usual, the older woman had agreed without a single moment of hesitation and with little thought to her own life or those around her to help the Sorceress of Vengerberg and had, in turn, cancelled the trip that she and Astraea had planned without truly taking in the opposing woman or her reaction in regard to such a change. It was customary for Yennefer to request help from the Temerian and for Amara to give it without thought, often ruining plans that the older woman shared with Astraea without little consideration or thought. She had returned home, bags from the market in tow and discarded them by the edge of the door with loving care, flowing through the house in search for her beloved and silver orbs flickered hazardously. “Astraea? Where are you?” Once the younger woman had been discovered, Amara offered a smile of utter and complete warmth as she stepped close, embracing a tender waist and applying a soft kiss to the curve of her shoulder. “Hi, Darling. . . I’m afraid we might have to push plans back for a few days.”

[exsecratuss]

Loving Amara was like learning how to use magic. It is exciting, invigorating and awe inducing. However it also came with it challenges. It hates to even think of it as such because there was nothing hard about loving Amara, nothing draining about her love itself for the woman. The challenge of it, the draining came from the half-elf’s history with another sorceress. The wolf was not naive to believe that even if the history and years spent apart, the Temerian’s love for Yennefer of Vengerberg would simply vanish. Quite honestly, she did not care. She did not hold it against the sorceress from Gors Velen, she knows very well that if she ever were to end up with another, that if she and Amara were no longer together she will still love her as fiercely, as deeply. So you see, that is also not even the problem, she prides herself in being quite understanding of it all and knows one cannot compete much with history but — why must she compete to begin with?

The presence of the Vengerberg woman, even when she was not physically there constantly loomed over them. Amara is in no way, shape or form a horrible partner. She showed the werewitch affection, always made sure Astraea was aware of her lover and bathed her constantly in gifts and no matter how simple or extravagant they were, she felt that love in each one of them. Regardless of all of that, she still did not feel like the Temerian’s first choice and in there laid the problem. Amara had a nag of dropping whatever she was doing, with whomever she was with of Yennefer so much as utters her name.

More often than not the wolf finds herself alone, with plans ruined all because Yennefer had an urgent matter which required the help from the Temerian. As if the infamous sorceress of Vengerberg did not have other sorceress friends she could probably turn for help to. Perhaps it is because she was very much aware of the fact that Amara would never deny her, just as Astraea was very much aware of that. However the Redenian never spoke up on the matter, she would simply put up an understanding smile and nod or lately she’d taken to not responding at all and would simply find something to do herself to keep busy and keep her feelings buried.

Today was the day they left for Skellige for a little vacation they had planned. A way to get away from the merciless heat and humidity that seemed to have overtaken this side of the sea. An excuse to lock themselves away and bury themselves under furs by a fire and leave the bed only when hunger and the need for other necessities arose. They had planned it for weeks, speaking of it through the days which served to build up the excitement. If this came to be, if they truly managed to get away just for a bit, she’d be able to forgive and forget all the times Amara has had to change their plans. All she needed was one moment in time where it was just them, them far away from everything and everyone — specially Yennefer of Vengerberg.

She had waited, these last few days,waited for the raven haired woman to pop up with an emergency that would require Amara’s help for days but it never came. Perhaps she had celebrated too early, has sung in victory too soon. The wolf had shared a lovely morning with her beloved, shared sweet kisses while they prepared to leave. The half-elf had taken off towards the market to buy some final things they would need before they departed and in the meantime Astraea busied herself with finishing the trunk they would take. It is just as she finishes it that she hears the sorceress pf Gors Velen call for her. “Chambers, darling” she calls back, closing the truck and sighing. The Redenian hums and smiles at the kiss, closing her eyes which briefly pop open when those next words come out.

Astraea grows slightly rigid at that and there’s a deafening silence which envelopes them both. “If I were to ask why that is” the wolf begins, ever so slowly stepping away from Amara, “would your answer be relation to Yennefer?” The Redanian keeps her back to the half-elf, looking out of the bedroom window.

[traitreespiegle]

Yennefer of Vengerberg had been her first love, in spite of the Sorceress of Gors Velen effortlessly being a century older, if not more and with that, came an array of memories that mounted into history that couldn’t simply be forgotten. Yennefer had managed to slip past Amara’s defences as if they simply hadn’t existed, were not towered feverishly high in means of protecting herself from further possibilities of pain. There had been an instant connection between the women, a soul-bond buried beneath flesh and branded into their very bones that was, well, partly responsible for the connection that had formed, the love that had blossomed. It had been given without their permission, a ‘gift’ as some would call it decided and handed over by fate, herself, before the women’s life was even in consideration. History, a soul-bond and the first love. . . It was already pretty heavy stuff but it was not the only contributing factor to this already sensitive situation. If you breathed in this world, you would have heard the story of the White Wolf and his wish regarding the Lady Yennefer, how it intertwined his life with the Sorceress of Vengerberg. Well. . . Such a wish that twirled with the likes of destiny had damaged the soul-bond that the women shared, had seen it crack and grow fragile beneath the weight and most of the damage received had mostly been on Yennefer’s side. For Yennefer, the bond previously shared with the older sorceress was felt on a smaller scale, if at all, whereas, Amara still felt everything as it had been and possibly if not more as fate tried to even the unbalance. She remained bonded to the pale-skinned beauty and painfully so. For Amara, her heart still sang at even the simplest idea of the woman, the simplest of mentions and her body feverish, warm and bouncing with excitement whenever Yennefer graced her with her presence and the woman remained the definition of perfection in her eyes, had not moved that of an inch from the pedestal Amara placed her on so very long ago.

At first, Amara had given Yennefer everything that she wished for, that she wanted in hopes that perhaps, Geralt would be left and they would return to their lives but after time, after the moments they would be brought together and torn apart, answering to Yennefer’s beck and call simply became customary as there was no-one else in the older woman’s life and the younger woman remained the apple in her eye, in spite of the constant heartache their relationship brought to Amara. It was tradition that was buried deep and had been the knife that sliced slowly away at the relationship Amara had formed with Astraea. You see, Amara had not been without lovers, simply none of them had caught her attention to the point that they’d be more than a simply fling or a dirty one-night stand. Until Astraea, that is. Astraea was the first woman that had managers to steal her attention other than Yennefer. She was the absolute opposite. Astraea had been this bashful, silent Sorceress who came into the older woman’s town and their paths had crossed out of nowhere but Amara had instantly been taken, bewitched by her beauty and the bashfulness that was truly breathtaking in every form that it had been expressed and well, nothing had stopped the older woman from slowly carving her way into Astraea’s life. Time had seen them grow, soft and delicate until they became an item and all of those sickeningly sweet firsts were shared and Astraea was shyly invited to live with Amara rather than living in one of the local taverns. Everything that the younger woman wanted was given, well, where Yennefer was not concerned. A relationship with Amara came with the painful side of Yennefer and her interruptions that were more often than not demands and expectations for help, seeing the women’s plans ruined or postponed. Astraea had remained quiet and Amara had seen that as nothing more than that she had no issue and felt no way in regards to the constant interference.

Until now.

“I. . . It would, yes.” Confusion had swarmed a pale visage as Astraea grew frigid and stepped from her embrace. Had she said something wrong? Her fingers had reached out, settling at the base of the woman’s elbow. “It won’t take long, I promise. . . Geralt’s found himself in a bit of a pickle and Yennefer’s concern for his safety is growing. She requires my influence in the Nilfgaardian realms to free him. We could go, head to Skellige the moment we finish.” Supple brims curled upwards, forming slowly into that of a gentle smile towards the younger woman as a finger prodded gently against her side. “I’ll make it up to you with sweet pies and something that’ll leave you screaming. And maybe we can finally try out that idea you have wanted to do with cream.”

[exsecratuss]

She had in fact claimed victory too soon. Seems that Yennefer of Vengerberg had managed to catch them and ruin this plan after all. The wolf remains quiet as the woman speaks, tells about Geralt, Nilfgaard and how they’ll be in Skellige in no time after that. Her eyes flutter close and she feels just more of that hurt gripping at her heart even as Amara speaks of how she’ll make it up to her. “Don’t, Amara” she says softly, stepping further away from the sorceress of Gors Velen. “I knew this would happened, I was an idiot to think we’d actually manage to do as planned this time around” she laughs hollowly.

She could feel the tears slowly building in her eyes. A tongue peaks out to lick her lips, feeling an array of emoticons she couldn’t quite contain anymore. She doesn’t know why this is exactly the tipping point. Perhaps it was because she was looking forward to it the most. Perhaps it was because it meant something big for them, their first vacation while being officially together. Something serious for them, something that could mark the next step for them. She doesn’t really know, but it seems this is what finally breaks the dam. “You know lucky of her to catch you here rather than in Skellige and have you travel all the way back.” The words hold an edge of bitterness to them.

Her throat feels raw and gods, how could she ever think she ever stood a chance? And the thing is? She doesn’t blame Amara, whatever it was that kept her so devoted, so grounded in Yennefer’s orbit was — beyond either of their hands. It was the kind of love that the wolf knew deep within her she felt for the half-elf. The kind of love that would make you burn the world down, change it even. The kind of love that exists beyond your self being, so grand it was everything. And that was devastating, painfully tragic. The werewitch runs her fingers gently over her cheek and she realizes then that it is wet. A tear had slipped out unbeknownst to her.

“You won’t have to make it up to me” she says, looking around as if for some sort of answer. “Not now or the next time it happens or the next” a hand runs through her hair. “You go help Yennefer but I don’t think I’ll be here when you return.”

[traitreespiegle]

“I. . .” She was unable to find words, her mouth dry and mind swimming with an array of questions that all fought to be answered. Astraea’s refusal had felt like that of a fierce hollow, shadowed painfully by the distance she ensured was kept between the women and had ignited the Sorceress of Gors Velen’s with an ache that refused to ease. “You. . . You knew what would happen?” Gods. What. . . What had brought this on? Had she said something and not noticed? Was it regarding Yennefer and another one of her favours? Astraea had previously been careless to the favours that the Sorceress of Vengerberg asked of Amara and the aide that the older woman had gifted to the Lady Yennefer and often, encouraged it. “We can still do as we planned, Astraea. . . It’ll only be a few days in Nilfgaard. See it as a small holiday before our adventure.” She knew it wasn’t easy for Astraea to be around Yennefer but the younger woman had never uttered a word and made the ill emotions she felt towards the bond shared between Amara and her past-lover known.

It felt like a weight had shifted and not for the better. This felt as if something was coming to an end. Amara refused to accept that this heavy weight that settled on her chest was in relation to Astraea and the life they shared. Astraea was rightfully hers and she was Astraea’s. Why was it changing? How had she, too, messed this up? No. It couldn’t be, not when she had only just found happiness and created a life for herself. This couldn’t end. She couldn’t ruin the only treasure that existed in her life. Her actions had seen Yennefer run for the hills in disgust, frightened by an careless act and falling into the arms of Geralt and his ridiculous wish. “Astraea. . .” She whispered out emotionally, her timbre thick with utter and complete concern as the younger woman turned and her pale visage was tinged with tears. Amara had taken a step forth, hand extending only to pull back as she remembered the woman’s distaste at her touch in this moment and she swallowed thickly, gaze steadfast on the timbre flooring. Astraea’s actions had been enough to inform Amara of the situation, let alone the words that had followed, spoke gently of her plans. “That. . . That’s it then, huh? You. . . You’ll just leave, not even tell me the reason behind this, not even respect me enough to truly break up with me?” How her heart ached, begun to grieve the loss that was inevitable and a stream of tears begun to fall as the woman battled with distaste towards herself and her inability to keep even a single positive thing alive in her life. “Right. I see.” She whispered quietly, abandoning the room in need of space as her body trembles with sobs that were choked back and her shawl was painfully tugged from her shoulders, thrown to the ground carefully as the buttons to her dress were popped open to give herself the ability to truly breathe, to try and calm herself.

[traitreespiegle]

ties that bind, @exsecratuss

There was unmistakable excitement radiating, echoing throughout the domicile as the members of the household rose from the comforts of their slumber and begun the necessary preparation for the events that would soon be seen consuming their day, fulfilling it with joyous energy that would promptly be forgotten, vanishing to dust as rightful anger and bitterness swarmed over the loving couple. Only a few short weeks prior had seen the women feverishly and spontaneously plan an fruitful escapade to the snowy, wintry lands of Skellige in means of purposely eluding the unforgiving heat that currently showered over the lands of Gors Velen for a few days, if not a month and attend the heart-warming festivals during the duration of their stay. And today was, in fact, the day that the women had planned to leave but unbeknownst to them, such plans would be interrupted, prevented beneath interfering hands of a past lover as a favour that simply couldn’t be ignored was called upon the Sorceress of Gors Velen.

Haste regarding their departure was decelerated as the Temerian’s presence was required in the marketplace in means of picking up an array of items for their travels, which, a small collection had purposely remained that of a secret. Amara had instantly found immense enjoyment in showering her lover with thoughtful gifts and tasteful sweets from the first moment that they met, truly wanting nothing more than to ensure that bashful responses and soft blushes were coaxed out and that the younger woman felt loved, seen and appreciated as she truly deserved. There was a soft kiss that was gently applied to Astraea’s rounded cheek and that of a charming simper easily danced along the edge of Amara’s ample lips as the half-elf pulled a loose, lace shawl over her pale shoulders to hide her porcelain skin from the blistering sun. “I’ll be back in a few.” She murmured ever so softly before the older woman took her departed, exiting her adobe and heading to the marketplace. It had, for the majority, gone swimmingly and without an issue but just as the Enchantress was moments from departing and returning to her home and the woman that she had left within it, her path had been surprisingly obscured by a raven that was simply all-too familiar and a sickeningly sweet voice rung through the depths of her mind. Yennefer.

Promptly, Yennefer had informed the Sorceress of Gors Velen of her latest challenge that, so far, served to provide her unforgivingly with issue upon issue and requested Amara’s aide at the younger woman’s behest. And just as usual, the older woman had agreed without a single moment of hesitation and with little thought to her own life or those around her to help the Sorceress of Vengerberg and had, in turn, cancelled the trip that she and Astraea had planned without truly taking in the opposing woman or her reaction in regard to such a change. It was customary for Yennefer to request help from the Temerian and for Amara to give it without thought, often ruining plans that the older woman shared with Astraea without little consideration or thought. She had returned home, bags from the market in tow and discarded them by the edge of the door with loving care, flowing through the house in search for her beloved and silver orbs flickered hazardously. “Astraea? Where are you?” Once the younger woman had been discovered, Amara offered a smile of utter and complete warmth as she stepped close, embracing a tender waist and applying a soft kiss to the curve of her shoulder. “Hi, Darling. . . I’m afraid we might have to push plans back for a few days.”

[exsecratuss]

Loving Amara was like learning how to use magic. It is exciting, invigorating and awe inducing. However it also came with it challenges. It hates to even think of it as such because there was nothing hard about loving Amara, nothing draining about her love itself for the woman. The challenge of it, the draining came from the half-elf’s history with another sorceress. The wolf was not naive to believe that even if the history and years spent apart, the Temerian’s love for Yennefer of Vengerberg would simply vanish. Quite honestly, she did not care. She did not hold it against the sorceress from Gors Velen, she knows very well that if she ever were to end up with another, that if she and Amara were no longer together she will still love her as fiercely, as deeply. So you see, that is also not even the problem, she prides herself in being quite understanding of it all and knows one cannot compete much with history but — why must she compete to begin with?

The presence of the Vengerberg woman, even when she was not physically there constantly loomed over them. Amara is in no way, shape or form a horrible partner. She showed the werewitch affection, always made sure Astraea was aware of her lover and bathed her constantly in gifts and no matter how simple or extravagant they were, she felt that love in each one of them. Regardless of all of that, she still did not feel like the Temerian’s first choice and in there laid the problem. Amara had a nag of dropping whatever she was doing, with whomever she was with of Yennefer so much as utters her name.

More often than not the wolf finds herself alone, with plans ruined all because Yennefer had an urgent matter which required the help from the Temerian. As if the infamous sorceress of Vengerberg did not have other sorceress friends she could probably turn for help to. Perhaps it is because she was very much aware of the fact that Amara would never deny her, just as Astraea was very much aware of that. However the Redenian never spoke up on the matter, she would simply put up an understanding smile and nod or lately she’d taken to not responding at all and would simply find something to do herself to keep busy and keep her feelings buried.

Today was the day they left for Skellige for a little vacation they had planned. A way to get away from the merciless heat and humidity that seemed to have overtaken this side of the sea. An excuse to lock themselves away and bury themselves under furs by a fire and leave the bed only when hunger and the need for other necessities arose. They had planned it for weeks, speaking of it through the days which served to build up the excitement. If this came to be, if they truly managed to get away just for a bit, she’d be able to forgive and forget all the times Amara has had to change their plans. All she needed was one moment in time where it was just them, them far away from everything and everyone — specially Yennefer of Vengerberg.

She had waited, these last few days,waited for the raven haired woman to pop up with an emergency that would require Amara’s help for days but it never came. Perhaps she had celebrated too early, has sung in victory too soon. The wolf had shared a lovely morning with her beloved, shared sweet kisses while they prepared to leave. The half-elf had taken off towards the market to buy some final things they would need before they departed and in the meantime Astraea busied herself with finishing the trunk they would take. It is just as she finishes it that she hears the sorceress pf Gors Velen call for her. “Chambers, darling” she calls back, closing the truck and sighing. The Redenian hums and smiles at the kiss, closing her eyes which briefly pop open when those next words come out.

Astraea grows slightly rigid at that and there’s a deafening silence which envelopes them both. “If I were to ask why that is” the wolf begins, ever so slowly stepping away from Amara, “would your answer be relation to Yennefer?” The Redanian keeps her back to the half-elf, looking out of the bedroom window.

[traitreespiegle]

Yennefer of Vengerberg had been her first love, in spite of the Sorceress of Gors Velen effortlessly being a century older, if not more and with that, came an array of memories that mounted into history that couldn’t simply be forgotten. Yennefer had managed to slip past Amara’s defences as if they simply hadn’t existed, were not towered feverishly high in means of protecting herself from further possibilities of pain. There had been an instant connection between the women, a soul-bond buried beneath flesh and branded into their very bones that was, well, partly responsible for the connection that had formed, the love that had blossomed. It had been given without their permission, a ‘gift’ as some would call it decided and handed over by fate, herself, before the women’s life was even in consideration. History, a soul-bond and the first love. . . It was already pretty heavy stuff but it was not the only contributing factor to this already sensitive situation. If you breathed in this world, you would have heard the story of the White Wolf and his wish regarding the Lady Yennefer, how it intertwined his life with the Sorceress of Vengerberg. Well. . . Such a wish that twirled with the likes of destiny had damaged the soul-bond that the women shared, had seen it crack and grow fragile beneath the weight and most of the damage received had mostly been on Yennefer’s side. For Yennefer, the bond previously shared with the older sorceress was felt on a smaller scale, if at all, whereas, Amara still felt everything as it had been and possibly if not more as fate tried to even the unbalance. She remained bonded to the pale-skinned beauty and painfully so. For Amara, her heart still sang at even the simplest idea of the woman, the simplest of mentions and her body feverish, warm and bouncing with excitement whenever Yennefer graced her with her presence and the woman remained the definition of perfection in her eyes, had not moved that of an inch from the pedestal Amara placed her on so very long ago.

At first, Amara had given Yennefer everything that she wished for, that she wanted in hopes that perhaps, Geralt would be left and they would return to their lives but after time, after the moments they would be brought together and torn apart, answering to Yennefer’s beck and call simply became customary as there was no-one else in the older woman’s life and the younger woman remained the apple in her eye, in spite of the constant heartache their relationship brought to Amara. It was tradition that was buried deep and had been the knife that sliced slowly away at the relationship Amara had formed with Astraea. You see, Amara had not been without lovers, simply none of them had caught her attention to the point that they’d be more than a simply fling or a dirty one-night stand. Until Astraea, that is. Astraea was the first woman that had managers to steal her attention other than Yennefer. She was the absolute opposite. Astraea had been this bashful, silent Sorceress who came into the older woman’s town and their paths had crossed out of nowhere but Amara had instantly been taken, bewitched by her beauty and the bashfulness that was truly breathtaking in every form that it had been expressed and well, nothing had stopped the older woman from slowly carving her way into Astraea’s life. Time had seen them grow, soft and delicate until they became an item and all of those sickeningly sweet firsts were shared and Astraea was shyly invited to live with Amara rather than living in one of the local taverns. Everything that the younger woman wanted was given, well, where Yennefer was not concerned. A relationship with Amara came with the painful side of Yennefer and her interruptions that were more often than not demands and expectations for help, seeing the women’s plans ruined or postponed. Astraea had remained quiet and Amara had seen that as nothing more than that she had no issue and felt no way in regards to the constant interference.

Until now.

“I. . . It would, yes.” Confusion had swarmed a pale visage as Astraea grew frigid and stepped from her embrace. Had she said something wrong? Her fingers had reached out, settling at the base of the woman’s elbow. “It won’t take long, I promise. . . Geralt’s found himself in a bit of a pickle and Yennefer’s concern for his safety is growing. She requires my influence in the Nilfgaardian realms to free him. We could go, head to Skellige the moment we finish.” Supple brims curled upwards, forming slowly into that of a gentle smile towards the younger woman as a finger prodded gently against her side. “I’ll make it up to you with sweet pies and something that’ll leave you screaming. And maybe we can finally try out that idea you have wanted to do with cream.”

[traitreespiegle]

ties that bind, @exsecratuss

There was unmistakable excitement radiating, echoing throughout the domicile as the members of the household rose from the comforts of their slumber and begun the necessary preparation for the events that would soon be seen consuming their day, fulfilling it with joyous energy that would promptly be forgotten, vanishing to dust as rightful anger and bitterness swarmed over the loving couple. Only a few short weeks prior had seen the women feverishly and spontaneously plan an fruitful escapade to the snowy, wintry lands of Skellige in means of purposely eluding the unforgiving heat that currently showered over the lands of Gors Velen for a few days, if not a month and attend the heart-warming festivals during the duration of their stay. And today was, in fact, the day that the women had planned to leave but unbeknownst to them, such plans would be interrupted, prevented beneath interfering hands of a past lover as a favour that simply couldn’t be ignored was called upon the Sorceress of Gors Velen.

Haste regarding their departure was decelerated as the Temerian’s presence was required in the marketplace in means of picking up an array of items for their travels, which, a small collection had purposely remained that of a secret. Amara had instantly found immense enjoyment in showering her lover with thoughtful gifts and tasteful sweets from the first moment that they met, truly wanting nothing more than to ensure that bashful responses and soft blushes were coaxed out and that the younger woman felt loved, seen and appreciated as she truly deserved. There was a soft kiss that was gently applied to Astraea’s rounded cheek and that of a charming simper easily danced along the edge of Amara’s ample lips as the half-elf pulled a loose, lace shawl over her pale shoulders to hide her porcelain skin from the blistering sun. “I’ll be back in a few.” She murmured ever so softly before the older woman took her departed, exiting her adobe and heading to the marketplace. It had, for the majority, gone swimmingly and without an issue but just as the Enchantress was moments from departing and returning to her home and the woman that she had left within it, her path had been surprisingly obscured by a raven that was simply all-too familiar and a sickeningly sweet voice rung through the depths of her mind. Yennefer.

Promptly, Yennefer had informed the Sorceress of Gors Velen of her latest challenge that, so far, served to provide her unforgivingly with issue upon issue and requested Amara’s aide at the younger woman’s behest. And just as usual, the older woman had agreed without a single moment of hesitation and with little thought to her own life or those around her to help the Sorceress of Vengerberg and had, in turn, cancelled the trip that she and Astraea had planned without truly taking in the opposing woman or her reaction in regard to such a change. It was customary for Yennefer to request help from the Temerian and for Amara to give it without thought, often ruining plans that the older woman shared with Astraea without little consideration or thought. She had returned home, bags from the market in tow and discarded them by the edge of the door with loving care, flowing through the house in search for her beloved and silver orbs flickered hazardously. “Astraea? Where are you?” Once the younger woman had been discovered, Amara offered a smile of utter and complete warmth as she stepped close, embracing a tender waist and applying a soft kiss to the curve of her shoulder. “Hi, Darling. . . I’m afraid we might have to push plans back for a few days.”