“My intentions weren’t foul.”

Yennefer struggles against the bindings tied tightly around her wrists, red rings beginning to form beneath the scratchy material. Surely, there’ll be a dark blue bruise come the next few hours if she keeps on with this.

It’s been her fault, admittedly.

She’d been warned, prevented, begged, to not go after you. And look at what she’s gotten herself into? Restrained on a chair with magic-binding rope, hidden away from prying eyes in a dingy, dungeon-like shack in the forest.

“I swear it on my heart.” she hisses through gritted teeth, lying with a painfully straight face.

She’s fucked.