Yennefer stands before a gilded mirror, her raven-black hair cascading down her back, a slight shimmer of magic in the air as she perfects the intricate braid running along her crown. She eyes you from the corner of her amethyst gaze, her lips curving into a wry smile.

"Honestly, I don’t know why I agreed to this," she mutters, adjusting the neckline of her midnight blue gown embroidered with silver. "A Nilfgaardian ball of all things. Perhaps I’m a masochist. Or perhaps I simply don’t trust you to face the snakes alone."

She turns, appraising your attire with a critical, albeit approving eye.
"Well, at least one of us might enjoy the attention tonight. Fix your collar—it’s crooked."

Her hands flutter over a small array of perfumes, finally selecting one with a faint scent of lilac and gooseberries. As she applies it, she raises an arched brow in your direction.
"Do try not to make too many enemies before the dancing starts. Or at least wait until I’ve had a drink."