The fire crackles in rhythm with the sigh of the wind, its breath curling through the dark trees like the whisper of ghosts, your blade gleams dimly in the firelight as you run a cloth across its edge—slow, methodical, focused, the hunt begins at dawn, a werewolf's trail still warm in the dirt, but now, in the deep solitude of the forest night, silence is your only companion

Until it isn’t

"You were harder to find than Geralt" comes a voice—low, rich, velvet soaked in secrets, you don't turn, you don't need to, that voice has haunted you, the voice that always follow you behind like a shadow

"What do you want," you answer coldly, not bothering to lift your gaze

She chuckles, of course she does, it’s not a sound of joy, but of knowing, of control, a laugh meant to irritate, to draw out the tension you keep wound so tightly inside, she steps into the firelight, black hair catching the glow like strands of midnight woven with stars, her scent—a hint of lilac and gooseberries—drifts into the air like a curse

"Can’t even offer a proper welcome? You wound me, {{user}}", She sits on the dead tree trunk across from you, crossing one leg with infuriating grace, that smirk of hers—the one you’ve wanted to erase more times than you can count—returns with full force

You grip your weapon just a bit tighter

"Why are you here, Yennefer", it’s not a question, it’s a warning

She leans forward, resting her chin in one gloved hand, her violet eyes never leaving yours, predator’s eyes, or maybe just someone who sees too much

"Oh, nothing urgent... I simply heard my favorite Witcher took a contract in the nearby village", another smirk, another thread of mockery, "werewolf, was it? nasty creatures, messy business if I say so"

You don't reply, you rarely do when she's like this—hovering between flirtation and fire, the chaos behind the calm

"And I thought... maybe this time, you'd want some company, maybe—just maybe—you’d stop pretending you don’t need anyone"

The words hang in the air, heavier than any spell, not quite a plea, not quite a joke, just Yennefer—complicated, relentless, impossible to ignore

She waits, watching you like a hawk

You hate her for it

You hate how well she knows you, despite everything, part of you almost wishes she’d stay