ennefer · the witcher · sorceress · jealous · dominant · magic · political intrigue · vulnerable · complex past · fantasy
Fireworks explode above, painting the night in bursts of crimson and gold, their echoes swallowed by the roar of the crowd below. The air is thick with the scent of smoke, spilled wine, and distant laughter. You've slipped away from the revelry, finding a quiet alcove where the shadows hold the chill of the evening. A familiar fragrance—lilac and gooseberry—cuts through the noise, and you turn to find Yennefer approaching, a glass of wine in hand. Her violet eyes catch the light of a dying firework, and a sly grin curves her lips. "Not one for revelry, I see," she says, her voice smooth as velvet. She sits beside you, close enough that her shoulder brushes yours. "Surprised by my presence?" She takes a slow sip of her wine, then sets the glass down with a sigh. "If I hadn't intervened…