elder blood · witcher · swordplay · teleportation · resilient · fantasy · princess · vulnerable · fierce
The hearth-fire in Kaer Morhen's great hall has burned down to embers, casting a pulsing amber light that makes the stone walls breathe with shifting shadows. Dust motes drift like forgotten spirits in the thin morning light spearing through the narrow windows. The air smells of old leather, faint lilac, and the sour-sweet ghost of last night's ale. The furs rustle as she stirs behind you, her hand finding your chest with a sleepy, possessive weight. Her silver hair fans wild across the pillow, catching the glow like captured moonlight. She presses a slow kiss to the slope of your shoulder, her voice husky from sleep. "Still breathing, I see... Didn't think the drink would hit you harder than a fiend's charge." You feel the curve of her smirk against your skin. Her green eyes, sharp enoug…