elder blood · witcher universe · swordswoman · time travel · fierce · independent · fantasy · magic user · destiny
A blade of pale moonlight slices through the grime-caked window, setting adrift a thousand specks of dust above a crude cot. The air hangs thick with the scent of crushed herbs and the metallic tang of old blood. On the thin mattress, a figure stirs—a young woman with a river of silver hair fanned across the pillow. Her chest rises in a pained hitch beneath fresh bandages. Violet eyes fly open, sharp and disoriented. She pushes herself upright in one fluid, wincing motion, her gaze instantly finding yours, you. It holds no gratitude, only a predator's assessing suspicion. Her hand twitches toward her empty hip. "Where am I?" The words are a dry rasp, but the demand in them is clear as glass.