𝓨ennefer

How unforgiving the forecast appeared, cloud cover serving as an idle threat and wind speed delivering it’s victims unforgiving windburn. There was a storm upon the horizon, threatening to spill over and feed the land beneath with nurturing rain and low rumbles, grumbling echos rolled over the hills, creating a song that was, truly, gripping and accompanied by a feast for the eyes as the sky danced with light.

Signs of life were minuscule, only the odd vehicle and it’s gleaming headlights passing along a stretch of road not yet awoken at the most unsuspecting times, telling a tale to the unfortunate who had to work while their loved ones slumbered. Said vehicles were seen pausing, stopping in on the only shop that dared to be awake at such an early hour and receiving their fuel for the day given joyously by a courteous woman who simply shouldn’t be so chipper at hours as early as this. Small the establishment was but the bakery held an endearing charm, an ode to the old world as sandstone brick and polished wood remained steadfast beneath the ticking arm of time. One couldn’t help but fall in love, unable to pass by without peering in at least once and discovering not only tasteful food, beautiful flowers and handmade items but an comfortable, jovial atmosphere that radiated warmth.

Triss Merigold had arrived at the challenging decision to move from her home in Maribor to the City of Vengerberg that laid in the neighbouring state of Aedirn only two years prior to this tempestuous morning and feverishly moved a few months later in an hopeful attempt at starting over. She had opened this quaint, picturesque store on a whim, blithely abandoning her work as a Public Affairs Consultant and acting out in favour of herself and her newly discovered freedom, finally allowing herself to use her hard-earned savings and knowledge towards something that the woman had always wanted instead of following what those around her thought she should do. Flowers & Flour combined the wonderful scent and beauty of pulchritudinous flowers at the very peak of their bloom with warm, buttery pastries of both savoury and sweet. There was the odds and ends sold in the store, organic items that fed the body and soul and ranged from organic shampoos and soaps to slaves and tender-smelling creams. It had become tastefully popular, a small hole in the wall where customers repeatedly returned and the working man or woman had found immense satisfaction as there was always a warm meal and a hot coffee to be offered when most shops were closed, uninterested in the faithful customers on offer if they dared to open a few hours earlier.

The sun’s rays had not begun to peak through and the weather served only to worsen, rain colliding against the windows of the establishment and earning an curious gaze from the Temerian as her attention was, momentarily, turned from her determined but gentle kneading to the loud crackle of thunder. Stalwart hands were wiped upon that of a stray cloth, an attempt to save the woman’s colourful sundress and equally vibrant sweater from spots of flour as the sound of a bell pulled her from the depths of her mind and signalled the arrival of a new customer. A beguiling smile leaped upon ample lips with natural-born ease as the woman turned merrily, completely and utterly prepared to serve her customer with joy that came to Triss naturally only for orbs of shimmering blue to arrive upon a truly beautiful woman that appeared to be a whirlwind of passionate and sheer determination, dressed only in shades of white and black with skin so delicately pale as if it was pure porcelain itself and lavish, obsidian tresses that blended in effortlessly with the shadows of the night. Suddenly, Triss felt unprepared and lacking the correct outfit, underdressed for an moment unexpected and that should have be paid little attention instead of this utter and complete concentration. There was this agonising desperation to please this woman, to impress her in any way, shape or form possible. This woman was, to be frank, painfully prepossessing, haunting and beguiling all at once tastefully enveloped in a power suit that hugged indulgently at succulent curves in a prideful display and smelling wondrously of such potent, sweet-smelling alpha pheromones that left her inner omega quivering and unable to ignore. Gods. Control of her fingers was non-existent as they grew a mind of their own and begun to mindlessly fix pieces of her display, burying herself and her mind in an attempt to try and play blissful ignorance to this angelic beauty that walked into her midst.

Spherules were wild, chaotic and tresses disheveled by the harsh swipes of the rain and wind, tender timbre resonating with passion as the both the weather and her car were brutally destroyed by a stream of unforgiving words, a sight that truly left the Omega breathless in an instant and utterly struck with wonderment. Triss silently reminded herself of the virtues, of one’s control and that she was far better than that of a typical, stereotypical Omega, far better than her inner workings. This woman was simply another customer and was in no way, shape or form any different to her and should be treated with respect, no ogled upon as if she was some poor, hopeless animal captured in a zoo for the amusement of others.

“Fuck” she growls.

No matter, she’ll put it to charge in the car. Stepping out, the sky seemed darker than usual, starless. The pale woman could tell it was going to rain, and heavily at that. How lovely. Slipping into her car, off she goes driving down the nearly deserted streets of Vengerberg. It begins to pour, suddenly, making it rather difficult for the woman to see. Her headlights are long and her wipers at full speed. With no cars in the road, the pale woman feels safe enough to rummage around for her charger. She pulls lilac eyes away from the road for a singular moment, just a moment and the next thing she knows, she is taking a hole on the road at full speed, popping her wheel. She swerves some, hands shooting to the steering wheel and heeled foot slamming on the breaks. Her car settles on a curb.

There’s a moment of silence, her breathing is ragged, hands gripping the wheel tightly. The rain continues to pour, the wipers continue to move side to side quickly. “FUUUUUUCK” she screams in aggravation. Never mind that she could’ve nearly died, why the fuck was there a hole on the road? Why wasn’t it fixed? She knew the mayor was trash, but fucks sake. What the hell was she supposed to do now? She could charger her phone but she realizes she only had enough gas to get to work. She needs coffee asap and gods she wanted out of this damn rain! The woman looks around, trying to gather her bearings and honestly she expected nothing to be open at this hour. Most shops opened at six am at the earliest but there was one, just across from her. Lights on and well maybe they can let her burrow a phone.

The Aerdinian sighs and begins to look around for an umbrella but of fucking course she doesn’t have it here. She’ll have to use her blazer for cover. Perhaps she can get closer with the car. In a slow drive, Yennefer manages to park in front of the store which will make her walk less and in turn will make her become less wet. Turning the car off and taking her wallet from her purse, the raven haired woman maneuvers herself so that she can get out with her blazer over her head and briskly walks into the shop. Warmth instantly surrounds her and she shivers violently as the wet parts of her body from briefly being out in such weather are hit by the change in temperature.

“Fuck, shit, stupid car” she mutter to herself. “Stupid phone, stupid street.”

𝙃𝙞 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙚.

Yennefer gets startle and turns, as if having completely forgotten the reason she even came here. Forgotten that obviously somehow will be running this shop. A bakery and a flower shop all in one? How peculiar. Lilac eyes as stormy as the weather outside settles on the redhead behind the counter. The alpha finds herself captivated by the woman and now that she seems aware of her presence, she was also very away of the spicy of her pheromones. An omega. A rather sweet smelling okie which makes her stomach twist into a knot and heart flutter. She was lovely, skin kissed by freckles and lose strands of hair falling to frame her face. She looked soft, gentle and warm. And she was chirper, who the hell is this chirper in the mornings. Her studying of the woman is so intense she nearly misses the next words the omega utters.

“You chose the worst of days to have mechanical problems, haven’t you?” She had chosen to jest with that of a light chuckle, the base of her throat fluttering laboriously around the lump that settled in the depths of her throat and supple brims carved a path for delicate dimples and crows feet to form within porcelain flesh as cornflower blue orbs fluttered nervously over the pale-skinned alpha that seemed to call feverishly, persistently to the omega.

It was — odd, being so intensely looked upon in a not so menacing way. She was used to studied, yes, observed as a means to find some form of weakness. She’s never been looked at like this, as if this stranger was trying to capture every singular detail about her. Not even her ex-mate and husband, Geralt, looked at her like this. At least he hadn’t after years of being together. The alpha was already struck by how the simple smell of the omega seemed to call viciously to her, she couldn’t allow herself to fall under that gaze either. A dark brown arches up at the words, “combative, really?” She couldn’t picture it, bakers or florists going tooth and nail for the success of their business. But then again, if it’s a business, isn’t there always competition? Actually everything in life is. “That shouldn’t surprise me, really, everything in life is. I suppose perhaps the idea of you being competitive is what surprises me. I’ve only just met you, not properly I may add, but you don’t seem like that sort of person. . . You’re too sweet” she says thoughtfully, head cocking to the side.

“Help thy neighbor” the CEO repeated and released a light almost inaudible snort. “That’s. . . Not many have that mindset” she tells the stranger. The human hums quietly and nods, “yes, do stay indoors, hm?” She says, offering the woman with a wink. “Ah, milk and two spoons of brown sugar” she says before stepping through the door and taking the direction the redhead had told her. The raven haired woman felt some form of relief at being away from the baker’s enticing smell. Except that it is that much more potent in the office. “Fuck” she mumbles and sighs, closing her eyes so center herself. The lilac eyed woman makes the call to triple A but it isn’t much help.

It had take a moment for the Temerian to return to her usual routine, the realm of her mind distracted by the presence of the opposing woman and the few moments that they had shared. The brief interaction had left her with an array of conflicting emotions, ones that stung and others that soothed. It reminded her of just how lonely her life now was and how terribly it lacked genuine, satisfying interactions but proved that there was something on the other side, that something could be made after heartache.

Her life outside of her beloved, little business was utterly and completely dull apart from the adventures in gardening and sowing. There was nothing to mention. Why would there be? There was no romance, nothing since the tragic and bitter end of her relationship with Philippa. She hadn’t felt as if it was the right moment to try and move on, to try and find someone else more deserving of her love and dedication.

Triss felt—. Hmm. How could she properly describe it and not appear childish, easily impressed? Startled? Unnerved? Astounded? They all seemingly worked, described Triss’ array of emotions that swirled unforgivingly in her chest. It wasn’t everyday that a beautiful woman stepped forth into her shop, let alone one that had managed to capture her attention so rigorously, so thoroughly and was dripping with such confidence and charm. Alas, nothing would come of it. Or so it seemed.

But with Triss, her mere presence made her insides scramble. Her scent brought up that typical alpha behavior. She wanted her, wanted to claim her with such ferociousness that it startled her. It hadn’t been like that even with the white haired alpha she had given everything to. And how can such an omega not be claimed? How is anyone allowing such a woman to just exist and not spend every second of the day loving and wooing her? The CEO blinks back to the present and sits up as she hears the knock. When the door is being pushed, she stands at seeing what Triss is carrying. “Do you need any help?” She says quickly, walking around to take her cup from the redhead woman. Their fingers brush and it sends a pleasant tingle down her spine. The alpha has to bite back a gasp and she is pulling away gently, clearing her throat and taking a sip from the coffee.

Fuck! Ah shit shit. 

How unforgiving the forecast appeared, cloud cover serving as an idle threat and wind speed delivering it’s victims unforgiving windburn. There was a storm upon the horizon, threatening to spill over and feed the land beneath with nurturing rain and low rumbles, grumbling echos rolled over the hills, creating a song that was, truly, gripping and accompanied by a feast for the eyes as the sky danced with light.

Signs of life were minuscule, only the odd vehicle and it’s gleaming headlights passing along a stretch of road not yet awoken at the most unsuspecting times, telling a tale to the unfortunate who had to work while their loved ones slumbered. Said vehicles were seen pausing, stopping in on the only shop that dared to be awake at such an early hour and receiving their fuel for the day given joyously by a courteous woman who simply shouldn’t be so chipper at hours as early as this. Small the establishment was but the bakery held an endearing charm, an ode to the old world as sandstone brick and polished wood remained steadfast beneath the ticking arm of time. One couldn’t help but fall in love, unable to pass by without peering in at least once and discovering not only tasteful food, beautiful flowers and handmade items but an comfortable, jovial atmosphere that radiated warmth.

Triss Merigold had arrived at the challenging decision to move from her home in Maribor to the City of Vengerberg that laid in the neighbouring state of Aedirn only two years prior to this tempestuous morning and feverishly moved a few months later in an hopeful attempt at starting over. She had opened this quaint, picturesque store on a whim, blithely abandoning her work as a Public Affairs Consultant and acting out in favour of herself and her newly discovered freedom, finally allowing herself to use her hard-earned savings and knowledge towards something that the woman had always wanted instead of following what those around her thought she should do. Flowers & Flour combined the wonderful scent and beauty of pulchritudinous flowers at the very peak of their bloom with warm, buttery pastries of both savoury and sweet. There was the odds and ends sold in the store, organic items that fed the body and soul and ranged from organic shampoos and soaps to slaves and tender-smelling creams. It had become tastefully popular, a small hole in the wall where customers repeatedly returned and the working man or woman had found immense satisfaction as there was always a warm meal and a hot coffee to be offered when most shops were closed, uninterested in the faithful customers on offer if they dared to open a few hours earlier.

The sun’s rays had not begun to peak through and the weather served only to worsen, rain colliding against the windows of the establishment and earning an curious gaze from the Temerian as her attention was, momentarily, turned from her determined but gentle kneading to the loud crackle of thunder. Stalwart hands were wiped upon that of a stray cloth, an attempt to save the woman’s colourful sundress and equally vibrant sweater from spots of flour as the sound of a bell pulled her from the depths of her mind and signalled the arrival of a new customer. A beguiling smile leaped upon ample lips with natural-born ease as the woman turned merrily, completely and utterly prepared to serve her customer with joy that came to Triss naturally only for orbs of shimmering blue to arrive upon a truly beautiful woman that appeared to be a whirlwind of passionate and sheer determination, dressed only in shades of white and black with skin so delicately pale as if it was pure porcelain itself and lavish, obsidian tresses that blended in effortlessly with the shadows of the night. Suddenly, Triss felt unprepared and lacking the correct outfit, underdressed for an moment unexpected and that should have be paid little attention instead of this utter and complete concentration. There was this agonising desperation to please this woman, to impress her in any way, shape or form possible. This woman was, to be frank, painfully prepossessing, haunting and beguiling all at once tastefully enveloped in a power suit that hugged indulgently at succulent curves in a prideful display and smelling wondrously of such potent, sweet-smelling alpha pheromones that left her inner omega quivering and unable to ignore. Gods. Control of her fingers was non-existent as they grew a mind of their own and begun to mindlessly fix pieces of her display, burying herself and her mind in an attempt to try and play blissful ignorance to this angelic beauty that walked into her midst.

Spherules were wild, chaotic and tresses disheveled by the harsh swipes of the rain and wind, tender timbre resonating with passion as the both the weather and her car were brutally destroyed by a stream of unforgiving words, a sight that truly left the Omega breathless in an instant and utterly struck with wonderment. Triss silently reminded herself of the virtues, of one’s control and that she was far better than that of a typical, stereotypical Omega, far better than her inner workings. This woman was simply another customer and was in no way, shape or form any different to her and should be treated with respect, no ogled upon as if she was some poor, hopeless animal captured in a zoo for the amusement of others.

“Fuck” she growls.

No matter, she’ll put it to charge in the car. Stepping out, the sky seemed darker than usual, starless. The pale woman could tell it was going to rain, and heavily at that. How lovely. Slipping into her car, off she goes driving down the nearly deserted streets of Vengerberg. It begins to pour, suddenly, making it rather difficult for the woman to see. Her headlights are long and her wipers at full speed. With no cars in the road, the pale woman feels safe enough to rummage around for her charger. She pulls lilac eyes away from the road for a singular moment, just a moment and the next thing she knows, she is taking a hole on the road at full speed, popping her wheel. She swerves some, hands shooting to the steering wheel and heeled foot slamming on the breaks. Her car settles on a curb.

There’s a moment of silence, her breathing is ragged, hands gripping the wheel tightly. The rain continues to pour, the wipers continue to move side to side quickly. “FUUUUUUCK” she screams in aggravation. Never mind that she could’ve nearly died, why the fuck was there a hole on the road? Why wasn’t it fixed? She knew the mayor was trash, but fucks sake. What the hell was she supposed to do now? She could charger her phone but she realizes she only had enough gas to get to work. She needs coffee asap and gods she wanted out of this damn rain! The woman looks around, trying to gather her bearings and honestly she expected nothing to be open at this hour. Most shops opened at six am at the earliest but there was one, just across from her. Lights on and well maybe they can let her burrow a phone.

The Aerdinian sighs and begins to look around for an umbrella but of fucking course she doesn’t have it here. She’ll have to use her blazer for cover. Perhaps she can get closer with the car. In a slow drive, Yennefer manages to park in front of the store which will make her walk less and in turn will make her become less wet. Turning the car off and taking her wallet from her purse, the raven haired woman maneuvers herself so that she can get out with her blazer over her head and briskly walks into the shop. Warmth instantly surrounds her and she shivers violently as the wet parts of her body from briefly being out in such weather are hit by the change in temperature.

“Fuck, shit, stupid car” she mutter to herself. “Stupid phone, stupid street.”

𝙃𝙞 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙚.

Yennefer gets startle and turns, as if having completely forgotten the reason she even came here. Forgotten that obviously somehow will be running this shop. A bakery and a flower shop all in one? How peculiar. Lilac eyes as stormy as the weather outside settles on the redhead behind the counter. The alpha finds herself captivated by the woman and now that she seems aware of her presence, she was also very away of the spicy of her pheromones. An omega. A rather sweet smelling okie which makes her stomach twist into a knot and heart flutter. She was lovely, skin kissed by freckles and lose strands of hair falling to frame her face. She looked soft, gentle and warm. And she was chirper, who the hell is this chirper in the mornings. Her studying of the woman is so intense she nearly misses the next words the omega utters.

“You chose the worst of days to have mechanical problems, haven’t you?” She had chosen to jest with that of a light chuckle, the base of her throat fluttering laboriously around the lump that settled in the depths of her throat and supple brims carved a path for delicate dimples and crows feet to form within porcelain flesh as cornflower blue orbs fluttered nervously over the pale-skinned alpha that seemed to call feverishly, persistently to the omega.

It was — odd, being so intensely looked upon in a not so menacing way. She was used to studied, yes, observed as a means to find some form of weakness. She’s never been looked at like this, as if this stranger was trying to capture every singular detail about her. Not even her ex-mate and husband, Geralt, looked at her like this. At least he hadn’t after years of being together. The alpha was already struck by how the simple smell of the omega seemed to call viciously to her, she couldn’t allow herself to fall under that gaze either. A dark brown arches up at the words, “combative, really?” She couldn’t picture it, bakers or florists going tooth and nail for the success of their business. But then again, if it’s a business, isn’t there always competition? Actually everything in life is. “That shouldn’t surprise me, really, everything in life is. I suppose perhaps the idea of you being competitive is what surprises me. I’ve only just met you, not properly I may add, but you don’t seem like that sort of person. . . You’re too sweet” she says thoughtfully, head cocking to the side.

“Help thy neighbor” the CEO repeated and released a light almost inaudible snort. “That’s. . . Not many have that mindset” she tells the stranger. The human hums quietly and nods, “yes, do stay indoors, hm?” She says, offering the woman with a wink. “Ah, milk and two spoons of brown sugar” she says before stepping through the door and taking the direction the redhead had told her. The raven haired woman felt some form of relief at being away from the baker’s enticing smell. Except that it is that much more potent in the office. “Fuck” she mumbles and sighs, closing her eyes so center herself. The lilac eyed woman makes the call to triple A but it isn’t much help.

One simply couldn’t deny that the 1800s truly was the time for a life of invention, opportunity and freedom. There was an array of lifestyles ripe for the taking, suiting the array of souls that walked across the country and tailored to their preferences to the type of life that they wanted to live. Granted that the safety of others were not gravely endangered and well, that those with power and influence were not bothered. Previously, such lives had been denied beneath the prejudice of gender, class and education. Inventions were birthed constantly, creating another path for an adventurous soul to follow and create a life that previously never been experienced. You see, the creation of the telegraph instantly connected humans across thousands of miles; the construction of railroads had been the death of some towns while it had been the birth of others and the invention of the gun promptly established settlers’ dominance among each other. It had created the possibility for money, authority and adventure to be achieved in an array of ways. Soon, an array of criminals, both silent and boisterous, had been birthed and alongside them, bounty hunters. And were all criminals, criminals? Or did they simply fight back those who had taken from them? Those who were in such positions that couldn’t be fought?

It was no secret that a lawman, whether they were a magistrate, sheriff or revenue collector, could be corrupt. In fact, there was little surprise when members of the law were discovered hidden among the ranks of gangs to earn that of a pretty penny amongst their already generous pay. You see, conversation amongst the people spread like a wildfire amongst the thick undergrowth and couldn’t be stopped, well, unless fear was ignited in their hearts. And it was no surprise when those involved in the law used their position to silence those that dared to talk, framing them for a sickening crime or simply making them disappear without a trace among an array of other colourful options. Jessep Hixon was, perhaps, the worst of the worst and was one of those corrupt men of the law and was not only thick as a thief within the likes of a barbarous gang but was the cruel and ever so calculated leader of it. He was responsible for countless of cruel and careless deaths of men, women and children all in the name of deepening his pockets. His crimes were nothing but savage, crueler than the demons that hide in the bottom of a whiskey bottle.

To be wanted in such times as the rough and tumble Wild West was no easy feat, especially when the offered bounty was truly deserved. Amara Isolda led a life of crime and had earned each of her charges proudly, earning her spot as a most wanted outlaw with ease. There was no reason to try and deny such a fact. Her list of crimes ranged from the simple misdemeanours to minor and major felonies to frightening hanging offences but none of them had been birthed from malice or pure darkness and instead, arose from revenge. She was the fierce rival to Jessep Hixon, the corrupt man of the law that had murdered her entire family over her father’s refusal to trade. And Amara had, sadly, been the sole survivor of the massacre, sent off by her oldest brother to a secret basement where she had listened to the brutal murders that had taken place. It had been an frightening experience, the memories haunting her across her childhood and even to this very day and leaving her in a stalemate, unable to move on with her life until Hixon saw his empire shattered, broken and then buried six feet beneath the dirt and until that guilt of being a survivor had long left. She had become a Good Samaritan of sorts among Hixon’s victims, taking in those that were struck by his unforgiving hand and giving them somewhere safe to live, to hide and begin to get back on their feet, grant them an education, money, a carriage and a powerful steed so that they could disappear into a far away city and start a new life.

She had a strict set of rules that acted as her moral compass, kept her upon a road that she believe that could be returned from.

1. There was, by no means, killing of women or children.

2. Stealing from the poor was simply out of the question and such acts of thievery were kept only ever for the rich and the deserving.

3. Those that were the unfortunate victims of Hixon and his unforgiving violence were given a home and safety far from his reach.

4. Hixon and his beloved empire were nothing more than free, deserving game that could easily fend for themselves and could be struck wherever and whenever was possible.

5. Those who worked for Hixon, those that supported him were just as worthy to her wrath as he was.

She never looked back. Of course to survive out in the world she had to know how to defend herself, how to haggle. She had stumbled about a woman called Tissaia and to this day Yen wonders how she had been fortunate enough for that. Tissaia had taught her everything she knew, from shooting to lassoing and forming great knots, everything which she now used to her advantage as a bounty Hunter.

In her line she has seen all sorts of criminals. They seem to grow as she does, their crimes becoming worse and worse but that also meant higher pay. But none, none have ever reached the heights that a particular one has; Amara Isolda. She seems to be in ever wanted board and each time the lilac eyed bounty Hunter set her eyes upon the parchment the prize seems higher. It left the raven haired woman questioning exactly what such a woman could’ve done to earn such a price on her head. Whatever it is must be atrocious and unspeakable. How shameful it was because if the image upon said paper was anything to go by, she was lovely. She looked like an angel, incapable of harming a soul.

But she supposed that those were the most dangerous ones, weren’t they?

Finally, after months of seeing her all over the state and seeing now how much money they offered, well she decided to take her go at it. It was good money, she could settle down with this, buy a home. Perhaps she wouldn’t stop hunting, there’s always something so accelerating about it but to know she’ll have a home of her own where she could retire to once she does grow tired of it? Sounded nice. Grabbing the paper, she folds it neatly and slips it into her satchel. Time to hunt.

Yennefer tracks her down for weeks, searching in last known locations of the woman until all of it leads her to a saloon. Nice music is playing, the atmosphere feels nice even before the bounty Hunter sets foot inside the establishment. The spurs of her boots make noise with each sure step she takes upon the wooden floors of the establishment. Her entire outfit is black, the sun wrecks havoc at times on her wardrobe but somehow she managed. Perhaps it was the white laces within the black here and there on the seams. The woman arrives at the bar, taking off her black hat and shaking wild curls slightly. Setting the hat down, a gloved hand signals for a drinks.

“Whiskey” she says in a low timbre. Casually lilac eyes scan the place, takes it in while all too aware that her target was just a few places down the bar. So comfortably and calm as if she didn’t have a large price on her head. The bartender sets the drink down and Yennefer takes out a ten, slamming it gently on the counter and sliding it over. “Keep the change as a tip” she says simply before grabbing the whiskey and tossing it back. A mild hiss of pleasure escapes her at the burn before setting the empty tumbler down. Picking her hat, Yennefer slips it onto her head again and finally she makes her way down the bar.

Confident, the outlaw was. Why wouldn’t she be? Amara was unstoppable thus far and truly had nothing to live for, making her by far the most dangerous type of criminal that could traverse the open plains. And this slice of dusty, humid paradise so far from the pristine walls of the closet city was hers and only hers and you’d find that there was more support behind her than there was behind the local and state law. Not to mention, to bring her in alive was the assignment demanded by the law and if one dared to turn her body cold, well, that 10,000 paycheque would vanish into nothing and instead would be rewarded a measly 100 pounds.

This nameless visitor had captured the outlaw’s attention from the moment that she had spoken. Now someone that was blessed with a voice so fine simply had to be a wondrous work of art and disappoint, she did not. By the gods. How someone could be as beautiful as this was simply unbelievable. Perhaps, this woman was an angel that fell from heaven? But, judging by the expensive duelling pistols that was strapped to her hips and the reinforced lasso that accompanied her weapons, this woman was a demon sent right from the pits of hell. By no means were demons any lesser to angels in the eyes of the outlaw, they were just as enjoyable, if not more, as a sweet, little angel but demons were by far more fun.

One simply couldn’t deny that the 1800s truly was the time for a life of invention, opportunity and freedom. There was an array of lifestyles ripe for the taking, suiting the array of souls that walked across the country and tailored to their preferences to the type of life that they wanted to live. Granted that the safety of others were not gravely endangered and well, that those with power and influence were not bothered. Previously, such lives had been denied beneath the prejudice of gender, class and education. Inventions were birthed constantly, creating another path for an adventurous soul to follow and create a life that previously never been experienced. You see, the creation of the telegraph instantly connected humans across thousands of miles; the construction of railroads had been the death of some towns while it had been the birth of others and the invention of the gun promptly established settlers’ dominance among each other. It had created the possibility for money, authority and adventure to be achieved in an array of ways. Soon, an array of criminals, both silent and boisterous, had been birthed and alongside them, bounty hunters. And were all criminals, criminals? Or did they simply fight back those who had taken from them? Those who were in such positions that couldn’t be fought?

It was no secret that a lawman, whether they were a magistrate, sheriff or revenue collector, could be corrupt. In fact, there was little surprise when members of the law were discovered hidden among the ranks of gangs to earn that of a pretty penny amongst their already generous pay. You see, conversation amongst the people spread like a wildfire amongst the thick undergrowth and couldn’t be stopped, well, unless fear was ignited in their hearts. And it was no surprise when those involved in the law used their position to silence those that dared to talk, framing them for a sickening crime or simply making them disappear without a trace among an array of other colourful options. Jessep Hixon was, perhaps, the worst of the worst and was one of those corrupt men of the law and was not only thick as a thief within the likes of a barbarous gang but was the cruel and ever so calculated leader of it. He was responsible for countless of cruel and careless deaths of men, women and children all in the name of deepening his pockets. His crimes were nothing but savage, crueler than the demons that hide in the bottom of a whiskey bottle.

To be wanted in such times as the rough and tumble Wild West was no easy feat, especially when the offered bounty was truly deserved. Amara Isolda led a life of crime and had earned each of her charges proudly, earning her spot as a most wanted outlaw with ease. There was no reason to try and deny such a fact. Her list of crimes ranged from the simple misdemeanours to minor and major felonies to frightening hanging offences but none of them had been birthed from malice or pure darkness and instead, arose from revenge. She was the fierce rival to Jessep Hixon, the corrupt man of the law that had murdered her entire family over her father’s refusal to trade. And Amara had, sadly, been the sole survivor of the massacre, sent off by her oldest brother to a secret basement where she had listened to the brutal murders that had taken place. It had been an frightening experience, the memories haunting her across her childhood and even to this very day and leaving her in a stalemate, unable to move on with her life until Hixon saw his empire shattered, broken and then buried six feet beneath the dirt and until that guilt of being a survivor had long left. She had become a Good Samaritan of sorts among Hixon’s victims, taking in those that were struck by his unforgiving hand and giving them somewhere safe to live, to hide and begin to get back on their feet, grant them an education, money, a carriage and a powerful steed so that they could disappear into a far away city and start a new life.

She had a strict set of rules that acted as her moral compass, kept her upon a road that she believe that could be returned from.

1. There was, by no means, killing of women or children.

2. Stealing from the poor was simply out of the question and such acts of thievery were kept only ever for the rich and the deserving.

3. Those that were the unfortunate victims of Hixon and his unforgiving violence were given a home and safety far from his reach.

4. Hixon and his beloved empire were nothing more than free, deserving game that could easily fend for themselves and could be struck wherever and whenever was possible.

5. Those who worked for Hixon, those that supported him were just as worthy to her wrath as he was.

She never looked back. Of course to survive out in the world she had to know how to defend herself, how to haggle. She had stumbled about a woman called Tissaia and to this day Yen wonders how she had been fortunate enough for that. Tissaia had taught her everything she knew, from shooting to lassoing and forming great knots, everything which she now used to her advantage as a bounty Hunter.

In her line she has seen all sorts of criminals. They seem to grow as she does, their crimes becoming worse and worse but that also meant higher pay. But none, none have ever reached the heights that a particular one has; Amara Isolda. She seems to be in ever wanted board and each time the lilac eyed bounty Hunter set her eyes upon the parchment the prize seems higher. It left the raven haired woman questioning exactly what such a woman could’ve done to earn such a price on her head. Whatever it is must be atrocious and unspeakable. How shameful it was because if the image upon said paper was anything to go by, she was lovely. She looked like an angel, incapable of harming a soul.

But she supposed that those were the most dangerous ones, weren’t they?

Finally, after months of seeing her all over the state and seeing now how much money they offered, well she decided to take her go at it. It was good money, she could settle down with this, buy a home. Perhaps she wouldn’t stop hunting, there’s always something so accelerating about it but to know she’ll have a home of her own where she could retire to once she does grow tired of it? Sounded nice. Grabbing the paper, she folds it neatly and slips it into her satchel. Time to hunt.

Yennefer tracks her down for weeks, searching in last known locations of the woman until all of it leads her to a saloon. Nice music is playing, the atmosphere feels nice even before the bounty Hunter sets foot inside the establishment. The spurs of her boots make noise with each sure step she takes upon the wooden floors of the establishment. Her entire outfit is black, the sun wrecks havoc at times on her wardrobe but somehow she managed. Perhaps it was the white laces within the black here and there on the seams. The woman arrives at the bar, taking off her black hat and shaking wild curls slightly. Setting the hat down, a gloved hand signals for a drinks.

“Whiskey” she says in a low timbre. Casually lilac eyes scan the place, takes it in while all too aware that her target was just a few places down the bar. So comfortably and calm as if she didn’t have a large price on her head. The bartender sets the drink down and Yennefer takes out a ten, slamming it gently on the counter and sliding it over. “Keep the change as a tip” she says simply before grabbing the whiskey and tossing it back. A mild hiss of pleasure escapes her at the burn before setting the empty tumbler down. Picking her hat, Yennefer slips it onto her head again and finally she makes her way down the bar.

Motherhood… How was it something that women craved? And with such intense desperation? Why would someone sign themselves up for such a role, desire to be the world of something so pure and delicate? Put themselves in such a violate position? It was nothing more than an aspect of life that the Sorceress of Gors Velen had purposely fled from, remaining tenaciously out of reach to any and all situations that could, even in the slightest, led the pale-skinned woman into a position that saw her caring for a child, existing as a mother-figure to an innocent soul that could so easily be broken, disappointed. And such desperate avoidance, such a distasteful outlook was carved from a childhood that had been painful, horrific and lonely, spent trapped beneath a cruel caretaker in a dilapidated orphanage. Perhaps, Amara was selfish. Perhaps, Amara was weak. Perhaps, Amara still held scars, thus, was scared, frightened. And such scars had not healed, forever reopening beneath invisible strain as toxic ignorance was paid towards mental and physical wounds that had refused to leave, to ease when the victim denied facing them. Simply, to be a mother was a role she loathed the thought of, actively avoided in every sense of the word. She had been walking, existing across this Continent for over three centuries and had yet to truly keep herself together, to act in a manner that was safe and wholeheartedly mature instead of chasing a youthful, careless lifestyle that had seen her split from her loved ones, captured in moments that gifted her scars that would never fade even with the aide of magic. Pregnancy was nothing more than a fragment of life that the Sorceress had been wholeheartedly uninterested in as the belief of being a terrible, uncaring mother whispered in the back of her mind and frightening off any thoughts that dared to arise.

Yennefer of Vengerberg was her first love and had been an important, unwavering presence in the Temerian’s life from the moment that their paths crossed in the Courts of Aedirn and that soaring, passionate bond was created, forged by the likes of destiny and was unbreaking beneath the pressure of time and a whirlwind romance that was as chaotic as an untamed stallion galloping through lush fields. It was truly nothing for the women to be together one moment and apart the next, days, weeks, months or even years spent together. Now, this did not mean in any way, shape or form that their love was untrue or impure as a couple that spent their lives together, remaining attached at the hip. It simply meant that their love, however chaotic and unpredictable, was passionate, burning and unable to be mellowed, the women brought back together repeatedly by the unusual workings of fate. Violate they could be, loving in the first moment, thoroughly frustrated in the second and dripping with lust in the last. It was that very sequence that had led the Sorceress of Gors Velen into this … undesired situation, the very situation that she had never expected, envisioned herself to be in. She and Yennefer had parted ways but not without a night of passion that had left her ever so pleasurably bruised and unable to walk without limping after the Sorceress of Vengerberg experimented with a new spell that had seen her equipped with a very real, very responsive phallus.

Unforeseen, the Scholar of Rissberg had brusquely awoken one morning with the unyielding desire to empty the contents of her stomach as the organ rocked, trembled viciously, riotously and promptly lost the previous night’s meal in a bucket that had been hastily received. She hadn’t expected to have the light of life to be growing, forming within her stomach in an act of chance that was truly magical, a blessing. And why would such a thought arise? Akin to all Aretuza Sorceresses, Yennefer’s ascension had come at a painful cost that had seen her purposely left sterile and unable to have children in an act that the Brotherhood of Sorcerers had hoped pledge loyalty. Who could possibly have thought that playing around with a crude spell could create a loophole? One that ended in pregnancy, the gift of life? It had not ever been heard of, unspoken and hidden if such a discovery had been founded previously by another couple. No. Pregnancy had not been the thought that had entered Amara’s mind, in fact, the pale-skinned Temerian had simply believed that she had fallen ill. Sorceresses, after all, could still fall sick as they were wholeheartedly immune to the ways of life and had treated herself as such, believing after that of a truly agonising week of morning sickness that it was an unusual case of hay fever and was responding painfully to a new crop that her community was using, waving it off as an allergy of sorts. In fact, even the increase in the Sorceress’s eating habits had been simply shouldered off as her body trying to naturally heal itself and required the nutrition to fight the effects of the ailment that acted out upon her body.

Outrageously, the Sorceress of Gors Velen had been painfully unaware of the situation she had unknowingly found herself in as days turned into weeks and edged onto the first few months. You see, her appetite had always been that of a healthy one and ate, for the majority, to her pleasure. It wasn’t until the desire for a spontaneous bath had seen her uncovered and unprotected, argenteous orbs uncovering the startling discovery of a previously undetected bump that had seemed to have formed without her knowledge. And suddenly, the last few weeks and all those strange, unusual variations had all come crashing down upon her in unrelenting waves of emotions, finally making sense in a daunting discovery that was frightening and life-altering all in the very same second, provoking a strangled sob to tear forth from her lips as the woman fell to the ground as pale hands grasped and not at her stomach, as one would think, but the floor. One could not discover a response that could truly describe the situation the Sorceress had found herself in, the emotions and conflict which lashed out at her body. It was frightening to think of just how much was being unpacked in her mind. On one hand, she was pregnant and that was a feat she had never foreseen and she was pregnant with Yennefer’s child and that was a feat that should have been impossible given Yennefer’s inability to have children. Without a doubt, it was Yennefer’s. Amara only enjoyed the company of the same-sex and such devious acts of using chaos to conjure a magical cock on her lover’s body had only ever been done with Yennefer.

Gods… It opened a whole new pot of worms. Could she tell Yennefer? Should she tell Yennefer? Could or should she keep this life that was living inside of her? Given the violent response of both her body and mind, Amara was aware there and then that she was unable to purposely rid herself of the gift that had been created out of the love that shimmered and burned between herself and the woman she loved in a feat that was, without a doubt, a true creation of fate. And yet, she was unable to bring herself to informing Yennefer of this discovery, of the fact that the Sorceress of Gors Velen was pregnant with their child in an unbelievable outcome. Surely, the pale-skinned woman would sound insane, had finally lost the last screw as so many joked with such an admittance and had imagined an array of Yennefer’s responses that , of such that she did not want to battle with and their last communication had read that Yennefer was content, happy in her current life with Geralt, the Infamous Witcher and their child surprise, Ciri. Who was she to play god in their relationships by dropping such an emotional bomb? If Yennefer believed her that is. She had only ever wanted Yennefer to be happy in her life, to find that meaning the Aedirnian wanted and such was found as the mother to Geralt’s child surprise. Perhaps, her choice of keeping their child secret was ever so wrong, one that would see the women damaged, hurt and confused. Amara Isolda was someone who often, in the opinion of those that surrounded her, chose the wrong choice, even if it was chosen for the right reason and for the health of those she cared for. Was another wrong choice truly going to be so bad? When she had so many already trailing behind her? It was one that she regretted with each passing day, with each letter received from Yennefer and had forced herself to live with.

Amara had, surprisingly, eased into the aspect of having a child ever so swiftly, with such effortlessness that had left her debating on her previous beliefs of her ability in the world of motherhood and was truly loving, attentive to the unborn child that grew in her stomach, showering it in constant acts of affection and love throughout the day, ensuring that she only ever digested the best quality of foods and ensured that it was family with her voice, talking, singing and reading to the bundle of joy as the days passed on and her belly grew larger, signalling that her child was healthy and nurtured, blossoming beneath her love. In fact, the Sorceress had even departed from her birth town of Gors Velen, leaving behind a life that she had loved living for one far slower and settled down in a tasteful Manor discovered not far from the smaller settlement of Oxenfurt, a piece of the continent that was quieter, without conflict and was absent of the hustle and bustle that came with the likes of an overpopulated city that was brimming with factions, businesses and opportunities.

When the birth came, it was a challenge as any childbirth was but after hours of intense labour guided by a close friend and confidant, the Continent was made brighter, better by the birth of a beautiful baby girl. And a beauty she was, blessed with skin that was as delicate as porcelain and a gentle button nose, generous little eyebrows and tresses as dark as the night, chaotic and wild as Yennefer’s and features that paired Amara and Yennefer together tastefully but most important of all, little orbs which danced vividly with an array of amethyst shades that was identical to her mother. And such an emotional discovery that was, a stream of tears staining alabaster cheeks as the woman she loved more than life itself was so very present in the gift they had created. Yennefer was, without a single doubt, lovingly present in their daughter as her demanding yet gentle natured personality was more akin to her Mother’s rather than Amara’s. And just as the Sorceress of Gors Velen had been whilst their baby grew, blossomed in her stomach, Amara was ever so loving and affectionate towards her bundle of joy, passionately proud and ardently protective of the gift fate had given her.

The months spent training the little ugly one had seen them grow closer. Sharing a room at some point and having the girl curled up at her side in her protective, motherly hold had a love blossoming within her chest for the young girl. It was only solidified and made stronger when the girl referred to her as mother. And from then on, Yennefer swore that no matter what, she will always be Ciri’s mother.

Her path with Geralt obviously was further intertwined now and it was no surprise when they got back together. Traveling across the continent, keeping the ashen haired girl safe and hidden from all those who wished to harm her or use her for power. It was on their travels, at a tavern where they run into Dandelion — whom they always seem to run into at some point and really how is this bard still living? — that she learns about Amara and apparently the state she was last in when the bard saw her. Pregnant? Amara had always been against motherhood. The lilac eyed sorceress couldn’t quite explain the array of emotions that coursed through her chest.

“I wonder who the father is” he says with a light snort.

“You best keep your mouth shut, Dandelion” the raven haired woman snapped lightly. “It is none of your concern.”

He knew, they all knew of her history with the Temerian sorceress. But no one said a thing and if the bard said anything at all afterwards, it wasn’t in front of her. Yen had gone to her room which she shared with Geralt and of course had been unable to think of anything else but Amara. She was with child? Whose? Since when? Why hadn’t she said anything in her letters? Was she perhaps afraid Yen would resent her for her ability to have children? Surely she knows that the raven haired woman would never.

She lasted all of a day before she had told Geralt she needed to make a detour and that she will meet them at their destination within a week tops. If there happens to be any delays, she will let him know. He knew where she was going and perhaps that was the reason he did not asked and she, being Yen, did not give any further details. The lilac eyed sorceress heads on then towards the city of Oxenfurt, locating the sorceress from Rissberg with an easy locating spell. She could not believe her eyes when she sets her gaze upon the house the woman resided within. It isn’t that Amara has never had the best of the when it came to her homes and the way they looked — it was more on the fact the woman was… gardening.

If the half-elf had caught wind of Dandelion’s movements in Oxenfurt and his newly earned duty as a Lecturer at Oxenfurt’s Acadamy, Amara would have ensured that she had moved elsewhere. She knew him more than enough to be painfully aware of his mouth and it’s inability to remain silenced, the aspect of gossip and being paid attention for even the smallest of seconds causing his thoughts to simply vanish and his mouth to open and pour with rumours and stories similar to that of a waterfall. And if Amara was to hear of his admittance and that it was his running mouth that informed Yennefer of her situation, the Bard would find himself cursed.

She had heard the sounds of steps waltzing across the path that guided one into the garden and paid little attention towards who owned them as few now paid spontaneous visits upon her, simply expecting it to be the beloved Astraea or one of her friends from her years spent at Rissberg. Expect, when the visitor dared to speak, the Sorceress’s body reacted almost violently in an concoction of emotions, hairs rising to attention at the excitement, the utter joy that was always present whenever Yennefer of Vengerberg was near and blood was ran cold, her heart immediately beginning to pound away desperately within it’s cage. “When they told me you were off living a quiet life… I couldn’t believe it. And yet here you are…” There was only one person across the entire continent with a voice that was so heavenly, that could send her on a blissful journey with a single word. What… What on Earth was she doing here? How had she managed to track her down? She was practically a worlds away from Gors Velen, from anything that linked to the Temerian. Amara thought back to their last letters, to the mention of a visit that she could have missed and came up with, well, nothing. Yennefer hadn’t mentioned visiting. And that only caused worry to burn in the back of her mind, creating a path for questions to arise upon her tongue.

There’s a breathiness to her voice as she says her name, not that Yennefer minds. It is a testimony to the effects she has upon the sorceress of Gors Velen. It takes her a second to rise, the Aerdinian notices this as well but when she does, she turns to look at her and gods, she is lovely as ever. Sharp features, silver hues, absolutely breathtaking in all of her motherly glory. Speaking of which, lilac hues flicker to the little bundle all wrapped around against Amara’s chest. It is true, what Dandelion said. Amara had been with child. She couldn’t explain the feelings which coursed through her being at the sight.

When the half-elf speaks, the lilac eyed mage flickers her gaze back towards her. A well defined brow quirks at the words and her head tilts. “No, nothing is the matter, Cirilla is in perfect health, thank the gods. Need there to be something wrong for me to visit you?” She asks, stepping forth just so and halting a few inches. She doesn’t think she has ever seen Amara this cautious or standoffish around her ever, it made her curious. Why was the woman behaving in such manner? Well, it could be because she had kept such huge news a secret? And now here Yen was, seeing this new picture in person.

In spite of how her questions arose out of curiosity, of worry as to why Yennefer was here and how it might have seemed to the opposing woman as they fell from pale lips, Amara’s query in regards to Cirilla’s health was genuine. Geralt might have been someone who lacked favour with the Sorceress of Gors Velen, in fact, he was someone she utterly distasted for an array of reasons but there was a soft spot for his child surprise. After her own childhood, the horrific experiences she had been brutally bestowed there was a softness, a kindred with children and young adults who had also experienced similar horrors that had been created. Not to mention, Ciri was Yennefer’s child in every sense of the word and that came with it’s own meaning to the older woman. “You are always welcome, Yennefer. I suppose I’m simply taken by surprise. You randomly visit me without sending a letter to signal your arrival. I suspect more for the fresh apple juice.” Playfully spoken, that breathlessness remained as the younger woman closed the distant and served to increase the heavy beat of her heart as teeth worried at the inside of her cheek. It had been just under a year since Yennefer was seen and being in her presence once more brought an array of emotions to the woman and her body, unable to be resisted as Yennefer was one of the only people that caused her to react so purely, without the ability to be restrained and left her painfully exposed beneath lilac hues.

The violet eyed mage loves the way the woman always reacts to her touch. The way she leans into the touch to her cheek. She ached to pull her into her arms, to kiss her a she always ached to do but she couldn’t. Not now. Yennefer understood the need to for Amara to just take a step back and process this, the woman had always had certain views on motherhood. She knows it because of how the way the Gors Velen sorceress had been orphaned so unexpectedly and brutally.

All train of thoughts cease however when her finger is taken. Her gaze lands on the little bundle in Amara’s arms. There were a handful of times where Yennefer of Vengerberg has been stunt, unable to form much of a thought. Her breath hitched slightly and she stares at the baby in absolute awe, in wonder. She couldn’t explain it, the warmth that coursed through her body at such a simple gesture from an innocent little baby. It gave her this strong feeling, like she needed to release it in tears. Could it be because the baby was Amara’s? She certainly has never reacted to any other tiny human. The pale woman wiggles her finger lightly, not enough to disturb the baby and make her release her finger but enough to make her little fist wiggle.

There was a passing shadow of disappointment, gone as quickly as it came. She wanted to kiss the younger woman, to surrender to the ache that constantly pestered at her body. If this had been any other moment, Amara would have eagerly pulled Yennefer into a bone-crushing embrace and bestowed tender lips with a breathtaking kiss and inform the Sorceress of the feelings she could never openly admit. But… Such a series of motions could not be taken, Yennefer was with Geralt in a relationship that brought her happiness and satisfaction. Amara couldn’t be the one to destroy the joy that the Sorceress of Vengerberg had finally found. She only ever wanted the best for Yennefer, even if it left her saddened, dissatisfied that such happiness wasn’t found with her. It was the price that the wish demanded and a price that Amara paid in silence since it had fallen from Geralt’s lips all those decades ago. And after all, it wasn’t Yennefer’s fault that she had been Amara’s first love.

Spherules watched on in utter and complete silent at the gripping of Yennefer’s finger. Gods. Would she be able to keep up this secret if Yennefer and her daughter repeated such purity? Concern lashed out at the back of her mind, repetitive reminders setting off in an attempt to try and silence the emotions that welled up, threatening to tip the pale-skinned woman over. The whirlwind of emotions had left her wanting to scream, cry and laugh all in the same moment. Was this the price she was forced to pay for her choice of harbouring this secret? She was forced to see these acts and remain silent, not daring to react even as her body begged. How her lungs screamed, begged for the Temerian to breathe.

The wish, what had changed everything and turned each of their lives upside down. She knows that Amara is affected as much as she and Geralt were. It couldn’t be and was not easy to have someone you love bonded to another by magic, linked together by destiny. More often than not the lilac eyed sorceress wishes it was not so, that she could just give the Temerian everything she craved. Because Yen craved it too. But with immortality came separation from time to time and taking different paths before coming together once more. Nothing was ever easy and even less so for them.

The baby tightens her grip on her finger and coos unhappily at the motion. It makes the raven haired woman smile ever so, nearly laugh actually as she watched the scene before her. Pristine teeth sink into her bottom lip as she stares solemnly at the little bundle that snuggles closer to the sorceress’ chest. Yes, she too knew how heavenly such a place was. Yennefer stills her finger but the stroking of tiny knuckles with her thumb does not cease. The name is spoken and the Aerdinian sorceress stops then. Faye, if all those lessons in Aretuza serve her right, which they did, she’s positive the name means Raven. She feels a lump form in her throat, heart clenching in her chest. Had it been deliberate, the choosing of the name? Has Amara picked the name for the baby after her in some way? The mere idea has her sentimental which knowing Yennefer es also a feat in itself.

She held bitterness towards the wish and in turn, the man that had cast it. Only a few select words and it forever altered her most precious possession. And her love was little match for the powers of a Djinn, the most powerful air elemental that could change destiny itself as if it was the smallest feat known to man. Fate had often intervened, bringing them together only for destiny to laugh and pull them apart once more, setting them on different paths that brought a new wave of heartache. How long she had spent wishing to forget the emotions Yennefer stirred inside of her? Had feverishly searched for the one that could surpass and cause her pain to subside, to prevent it from haunting her as it did? Sadly, such endeavours had brought nothing to the woman expect momentarily satisfaction after a tumble in bed. This didn’t include Astraea, of course, who had been the closest but the women had been unable to let that love blossom into it’s true complexity as even she had been ripped from Amara’s grasp and thrown into the arms of another lover. Perhaps, her destiny was not to spend her life loving someone other then herself and now her child. And all she had ever wanted was to spent this prolonged life with someone she loved and that returned that very love. It was better off, she supposes. Her touch, after time, never brought success and only ever granted poison.

The sorceress from Vengerberg watches as the woman looks at Faye with so much love, holds her so protectively. She looks every bit a protective mother and it warms the woman’s heart, feels the organ often described as like the obsidian rock on her necklace, growing in her chest with all this love begging to be poured out. But the raven haired woman keeps a tight lid upon it, is content for the time being on simply watching on. Her head tilts to the side and she released a soft laugh at the explaining behind the name, every bit an Amara reason and truth be told? Yen would’ve done the same. Her child would be every bit extraordinary and so would her name be. However now her own heart is pounding in her chest as she takes the words in. The Temerian wanted for her name to have meaning and — well, what did that mean? Why call her by a name which meant raven? The very nickname the woman has called her for decades?

Surprisingly, Yennefer hadn’t yet dared to ask who else had aided in the creation of the bundle of joy that was snuggled up with such contentment, still gripping at her gloved finger and not granting the younger woman the ability to create distance, tightening whenever she sensed movement that she did not approve of. Oh, yes, Yennefer’s she was or the world would hear about her dislike at life going the way she desires. It was such an relief to have a moment to breathe, to think of how to answer such a question and bring satisfaction to her once lover with an answer that would inevitably given.

The baby seems adamant in letting her go. Her grip tightening on her finger the moment she felt even the slightest of movements from the Aerdinian sorceress. She was tempted so ask if she could hold the girl but refrained from it. The teasing words had her rolling her eyes lightly as she smiles ever so. “No knowledges whatsoever has begun to fade, I’m insulted you’ve even jumped to such a conclusion” she says with a mild, playful huff. However it turns serious, the mood, the atmosphere — at the very least for her it does. “I know the many meanings, I simply need you to tell me the meaning it holds for you.” The words are soft spoken, “see I knew one of them was Raven and it stopped my heart at the thought of you possibly naming her that because of me.”

Yennefer had always been possessive, something that the older woman had truly enjoyed for the most part of their relationship. Perhaps, the enjoyment came from a twisted sense of wanting to feel wanted, as if she belonged and that possessiveness answered to it in some way, shape or form. Perhaps, she had enjoyed that in spite of being possessive, Amara had never felt owned by Yennefer and that her moments of possession arose from love. It was something that the women shared, the possessiveness and it had never seemed to fade in spite of the way that destiny constantly interviewed, the decades that had passed between them and the momentarily lovers they knew of but had chosen to simply ignore.

Faye expressed little consideration in loosening her grip upon the younger woman, preventing the family from parting even the slightest. Gods. Such proximity to Yennefer was hard as the woman, knowingly or unknowingly, invaded all of her senses as the Sorceress of Gors Velen was, as she had always been, painfully aware of the woman and everything that came with her. She inhaled slowly, trying to silence the slight shake that threatened as silver orbs took Yennefer’s concentration upon their child to her advantage and granted herself the ability to watch, observe each of those breathtaking features. Yennefer hadn’t changed, remained as she had when they first met and by the gods, how it left her breathless and weakened as her beauty swept her utterly and completely from her feet as it always had. Amara was torn from the emotions, the fantasies that arose in her mind and returned to life as it was, her attention purposely turned from the quarter-elf in favour of anything else. “Someone has to keep you on your toes.” And the jest had soon crumbled away, giving way beneath the seriousness that Yennefer bestowed upon them in the name of her need to understand the meaning that was behind Amara’s child and just what significance it held to the Temerian.

Gods. How her jaw threatened to shatter beneath the sheer force that was knowingly applied to it as the older woman’s strength was called upon. Was Yennefer truly so clueless? Did she not realise the importance she held within the half-elf’s life? “I chose it for it’s translation of Raven, Yennefer. I think the rest of the answer has already fallen into place.” Three centuries old and the concept of talking of emotions, confessing them from her own lips in an admittance of spoken word was still one that had her at a loss and especially with Yennefer. She hated how vulnerable, how easily broken she was in Yennefer’s presence and how it only took one word from the woman to be shattered. The gaze was not broken, fingers trembling as the Sorceress of Gors Velen kept steady and dared not to glance elsewhere but tried not to get hopelessly lost in a sea of amethyst. Yennefer had ruined her from the moment the younger woman dared to strike conversation, answering to fate’s call.

She was not clueless to the importance she held in Amara’s life, her heart. She just needed to hear confirmation rather than making speculations. She needed to know, needed to understand — well perhaps not the why. As she said, she knew the importance she held in Amara’s life. However if she had a child with another, why name her after her? Does the father know about it? The meaning behind it? The person that inspired it and what they are to each other? But before any of those question can be thought about deeper, perhaps even be voice and demand a response the baby fusses and Amara suggest stepping inside.

“Excuse the messes.” Not that there was one. Amara was the type of woman that was painfully clean, constantly ensuring that her home was spotless and without even the slightest of messes. It came from her line of work, one could say. If your home was clean and in proper order, even the slightest of modifications could be noticed and in turn, acts of intrusions could be easily spotted, not that documents and other valuable or sensitive items were ever left outside of the safety of her workrooms. She had easily fallen into the role of a mother, the role simply radiating from her naturally and now that they were inside her home, her body had begun careful rocking as the baby remained in her arms and those chaotic locks continued to stroked in such a soothing manner, lulling the baby into the deepest of slumbers while silver orbs watched on as if the child was the only object near and dear.

They step into the house and Amara apologizes for the mess. It makes the sorceress from Vengerberg roll her eyes, quite typical of her it was. There was never a single thing out of place in the Temerian’s home. If there was ever any mess, it was quickly cleaned up. If it wasn’t, well it was simply because it was the fun kind of mess. The lilac eyed mage watched as her beloved rocks the little bundle of joy in her arms and well Yennefer sort of had to follow it up because her finger is still very much still being held by the baby. “There is never any mess in your house, Amara.”

“There is always a mess.” She murmured with a slight roll of her silver orbs almost as if the Half-Elf was silently, gently informing Yennefer of her miscalculation and the ability to use her arms once more was used to her advantage now that Faye was safety buried within the warmth of Yennefer’s arms and seemingly invisible fluff was wiped away with a distasteful swipe of her hand. “Shall I get you a fresh pitcher of apple juice, Yen?” It had become that of a staple in her life since her pregnancy and the cravings that came with it, the women’s child bestowing constant cravings upon the Temerian throughout the entirety of those long yet blissful nine-months and even now, loved nothing more than having the golden liquid applied to the end of her pacifiers or upon her gums almost as much as Yennefer herself enjoyed drinking it by the gallon. Amara removed the cotton wrap from her body, beginning to fold it neatly but had ended up placing it carelessly on the dining table as her concentration was captured, the Temerian enthralled by the sight of her child and the woman she loved, that of a emotionally-gripped simper curling at the edge of supple brims as her heart pounded, fluttered with potent emotions and energised love.

Gods… It was truly the beautiful sight to behold, the sight of her beloved daughter content and ever so happy in her ex-partner’s arms as if this was not the first meeting and they had done this a thousand times, healthy little hands gripping, holding at Yennefer’s dress as Faye’s body turned to settle against the warmth that radiated from her mother and tiny, roseate lips danced with happiness. If only she was able to capture this moment, to be able to relive it once Yennefer leaves and returns to her life with Geralt. Faye was a bundle of joy that was small and light but that certainly did not mean the newborn was delicate and without sturdiness, her appetite healthy and bestowing her chunky little thighs, chubby cheeks and a tiny tummy that was often the topic of amusement during a playful game of raspberry with her mother. Amara felt her heart clench painfully the longer that she stared, teeth worrying at flesh of her inner cheek as the sight unravelled so many hidden emotions at a pace that was truly daunting and a sharp inhale was taken, forced down as tears threatened to fall and they were willed away. “You… You look beautiful with a child, Yennefer.” With our child. Words unable to be spoken, that burned at her very soul. She had yet to see Yennefer holding a child and this very moment had granted her the beauty and forced her to relive so many of her decisions, filling her with regrets and wishes that the potentional of a family was brought up in their youth and that her tentative proposal of marriage had repeatedly fallen from her lips until Yennefer’s refusal morphed into acceptance.

Yennefer gently rocks the baby, fingers lightly tracing soft features. She finds herself smiling, eyes as violent as a storm completely soft and tender when gazing upon this gentle creature. This small thing. The words from Amara causes her to look up at her and her breath quietly hitches at the sight. It seems that the half-elf was close to tears and well, the sorceress of Vengerberg felt something similar because — how long has she craved this? To hold a child, her child, her legacy, what she leaves behind in this cruel world. Someone she would be important to because nothing is as important as a mother, a good mother. She gives the Temerian a tender and loving smile but when the gaze is broken, when Amara looks away she sets her gaze upon the baby.

Silence envelopes them and it isn’t exactly uncomfortable. Not to her at the very least. She’s still quite enthralled by the baby, gently cooing and lightly rocking the babe. When she glanced up once the glass was offered to her, she could’ve choked on her own breath at the eyeful of breasts she got. She knows that pregnancy could change a woman’s body, breasts enlarging duo to the milk that is produced for the baby but by the gods —. She swallows thickly and moves her gaze to the goblet which she grabs. “Thank you” she says and takes a sip, humming in delight. Exactly how she likes it. “No darling, I’m alright for the time being.” She cradles the baby in one arm and the juice on her other hand. It was still so surreal to her that this child was Amara’s. “How is motherhood treating you so far?” She asks and moves to sit on the table, placing the cup on it so now both hands are holding the baby.

Now, as stated before, she had felt like Amara was behaving weirdly. She had passed it off as many things at first but now it felt sort of ridiculous. She had the strangest sensation that Amara was trying to keep Faye away from her. Why? “By the gods, Amara, are you afraid I’ll steal her?” She says with a quirk of her brow as she looks upon the woman and how nervous she is. How she shifts from foot to foot and her gaze flickers between herself and the baby. What was going on with her? “Why are you so nervous?” Perhaps the baby felt the tension or the mild aggravation that Yennefer was exuding at this behavior from her usually calm, confident and mischievous ex-lover. But there’s a wail, a sound of protest which makes the Vengerberg sorceress shift her gaze down to the baby. Little fists rub tiny eyes and she watched as if it were the most interesting thing on the Continent. Sees the way the baby stretches and then opens her eyes.

Time stills when eyes are revealed and she sees reflected back at her violet eyes.

𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐮𝐜𝐤?

The baby is coping, reaching for her, smiling at her. She is monetarily torn between feeling utter happiness and joy and feeling like she could conjure up a storm with the anger and hurt she feels in regards to and towards Amara. She had kept this a secret from her and form the looks of it had planned to do so for quite some time. The minutes stretch on and she doesn’t move her gaze away from the baby, not yet. She smiles back and leans into the little chubby hands which grip her cheeks.

The raven haired half-elf allows her time with Faye, which she thinks is the least she can do. She maintain her distance for the time being and deep down the Vengerberg sorceress appreciates that. When she hands the baby back to her, the lilac eyed mage observed at the woman lower dress to expose her breast and for a brief second she looks at them as a woman who, well finds deep enjoyment in them. Regaledlesss of her anger but then the baby is being fed and all sexual thoughts disappear and she’s struck by the sight. It was so — she couldn’t explain it, really. But it was beautiful, in her opinion. At some point the Aerdinian takes a seat and plays with her previous cup of juice which was still mostly full and only looks over when the Temerian speaks.

Yennefer stands and nods in the same manner that Amara had previously. She takes the baby gently into her arms once more and follows the directions the half-elf had given her. Upon arrival, she takes the room in, instantly notices tho little details, little trinkets that are hers. She was so involved in her life and yet not really. It made her ache further and she feels mildly lucky that she has discovered this now rather than years later and having missed all of the firsts. Yen looks down at the drowsy baby and smiles, humming and gently caressing her features. She watched as Faye slowly begun to drift into sleep and once the sorceress knew she was off in dreamland, she placed her down on the crib. She makes sure she is comfy before making her way out and down the stairs. Here it goes.

𝗬𝗼𝘂’𝗿𝗲 𝗵𝗮𝗽𝗽𝘆 𝗶𝗻 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝗻𝗲𝘄 𝗹𝗶𝗳𝗲.

And she can hear the bitterness. That was not surprising, really and she has always known this was a sensitive subject. The Vengerberg sorceress even understood it, really but what did that have to do with this? How could she think she wouldn’t be happy at such news? “How could you ever think you’d be a burden to me? Are you fucking—” she needs a second, a moment of deep breath and she pinches the bridge of her nose as she does. She starts a gentle pace before her head snaps up to look at Amara, “I wouldn’t believe you?! Why the hell wouldn’t I believe you? You have never lie to me, I have absolutely no reason to believe you would lie about or even joke about such a thing!”

This all felt like excuses. Which in some level also hurt the sorceress from Vengerberg. Did the half-elf truly thought all that? Felt all of that?

𝗬𝗼𝘂 𝗷𝘂𝘀𝘁 𝗱𝗼𝗻’𝘁 𝘂𝗻𝗱𝗲𝗿𝘀𝘁𝗮𝗻𝗱, 𝗱𝗼 𝘆𝗼𝘂?

Then the woman slips on that mask she is quite familiar. She’s seen it before, sometimes with her but mostly to other people she did not like or did not feel like dealing or simply did not wish to give them even the slightest inkling as to what she was feeling. “Right” she says in a tersely manner, “seems like I don’t.” She stands straighter, shoulders squared and she gazes at Amara in a manner that even though she’s rather short compared to the rest of the damn continent, still made you feel like she was looking down at you, towering over with her presence. “Kind of you to extend that offer and I’ll take a room at the inn. I’ll be back early in the morning.”

It was that of a truly striking difference between the women, was it not? Yennefer appeared similar to that of a chaotic storm that was moments from touching the ground and wreaking utter havoc across the lands and those that dared to lay in her wake, whereas, Amara was the opposite and appeared to be barely clinging on, without even the smallest inch of life, defeated and prepared to simply give up. Defeat was something that Amara had never considered, in any way, shape or form and actively fought against but now… Gods. Defeat appeared to be an old pal, welcomed with open arms.

That piled up with the words that had been said just — it seemed like this was what would break them. Yennefer rents a room for a couple of nights, unsure of how long she’ll be staying now that she knew this. Taking paper and quill, she writes a letter to Geralt, gives little explanation as to why as per usual but tells him she will be staying a couple of days as something important has come up. The sorceress then gets ready for bed, doing her usual routine after a bath. The night seems longer than usual and sleep doesn’t come until quite late. In the morning she’s getting ready once more, making herself look impeccable before stepping out and deciding on no breakfast at the tavern.

Yennefer had been in the back of the Sorceress’ mind, painfully tugging at her head and leaving Amara utterly and completely deflated as their friendship, their unique bond created by fate was, once more, at risk and this time, well, this time it seemed irreparable and finally broken, shattered by destiny. She thoroughly regretted the path she had taken, the choices that she had purposely chosen, without a single doubt, and yet, Amara stood by them as this entire situation and the outcome thus far had done nothing but proved the points that had been listed and the ones that remained silent, proved that her presence only ever caused pain to the opposing woman as time went on.

The door opens to reveal Amara with their daughter. Under normal circumstances she would’ve taken the time to take the half-elf in. How beautiful she looks even in such simple attire. How her ears are on display, Yennefer had always loved to see them but Amara kept them hidden from the rest of the world. The sorceress from Vengerberg couldn’t blame her of course, the content was not a safe place for anyone that was non-human. They both already were at risk for simply being sorceresses, thought of as the worse of people for it. Amara had been capture by witch hunters on several occasions, she didn’t need to be persecuted because she had elven blood within her. And it isn’t to say she didn’t take a second of time to appreciate it all before reminders of their circumstances crashed into her mind.

How unforgiving the forecast appeared, cloud cover serving as an idle threat and wind speed delivering it’s victims unforgiving windburn. There was a storm upon the horizon, threatening to spill over and feed the land beneath with nurturing rain and low rumbles, grumbling echos rolled over the hills, creating a song that was, truly, gripping and accompanied by a feast for the eyes as the sky danced with light.

Signs of life were minuscule, only the odd vehicle and it’s gleaming headlights passing along a stretch of road not yet awoken at the most unsuspecting times, telling a tale to the unfortunate who had to work while their loved ones slumbered. Said vehicles were seen pausing, stopping in on the only shop that dared to be awake at such an early hour and receiving their fuel for the day given joyously by a courteous woman who simply shouldn’t be so chipper at hours as early as this. Small the establishment was but the bakery held an endearing charm, an ode to the old world as sandstone brick and polished wood remained steadfast beneath the ticking arm of time. One couldn’t help but fall in love, unable to pass by without peering in at least once and discovering not only tasteful food, beautiful flowers and handmade items but an comfortable, jovial atmosphere that radiated warmth.

Triss Merigold had arrived at the challenging decision to move from her home in Maribor to the City of Vengerberg that laid in the neighbouring state of Aedirn only two years prior to this tempestuous morning and feverishly moved a few months later in an hopeful attempt at starting over. She had opened this quaint, picturesque store on a whim, blithely abandoning her work as a Public Affairs Consultant and acting out in favour of herself and her newly discovered freedom, finally allowing herself to use her hard-earned savings and knowledge towards something that the woman had always wanted instead of following what those around her thought she should do. Flowers & Flour combined the wonderful scent and beauty of pulchritudinous flowers at the very peak of their bloom with warm, buttery pastries of both savoury and sweet. There was the odds and ends sold in the store, organic items that fed the body and soul and ranged from organic shampoos and soaps to slaves and tender-smelling creams. It had become tastefully popular, a small hole in the wall where customers repeatedly returned and the working man or woman had found immense satisfaction as there was always a warm meal and a hot coffee to be offered when most shops were closed, uninterested in the faithful customers on offer if they dared to open a few hours earlier.

The sun’s rays had not begun to peak through and the weather served only to worsen, rain colliding against the windows of the establishment and earning an curious gaze from the Temerian as her attention was, momentarily, turned from her determined but gentle kneading to the loud crackle of thunder. Stalwart hands were wiped upon that of a stray cloth, an attempt to save the woman’s colourful sundress and equally vibrant sweater from spots of flour as the sound of a bell pulled her from the depths of her mind and signalled the arrival of a new customer. A beguiling smile leaped upon ample lips with natural-born ease as the woman turned merrily, completely and utterly prepared to serve her customer with joy that came to Triss naturally only for orbs of shimmering blue to arrive upon a truly beautiful woman that appeared to be a whirlwind of passionate and sheer determination, dressed only in shades of white and black with skin so delicately pale as if it was pure porcelain itself and lavish, obsidian tresses that blended in effortlessly with the shadows of the night. Suddenly, Triss felt unprepared and lacking the correct outfit, underdressed for an moment unexpected and that should have be paid little attention instead of this utter and complete concentration. There was this agonising desperation to please this woman, to impress her in any way, shape or form possible. This woman was, to be frank, painfully prepossessing, haunting and beguiling all at once tastefully enveloped in a power suit that hugged indulgently at succulent curves in a prideful display and smelling wondrously of such potent, sweet-smelling alpha pheromones that left her inner omega quivering and unable to ignore. Gods. Control of her fingers was non-existent as they grew a mind of their own and begun to mindlessly fix pieces of her display, burying herself and her mind in an attempt to try and play blissful ignorance to this angelic beauty that walked into her midst.

Spherules were wild, chaotic and tresses disheveled by the harsh swipes of the rain and wind, tender timbre resonating with passion as the both the weather and her car were brutally destroyed by a stream of unforgiving words, a sight that truly left the Omega breathless in an instant and utterly struck with wonderment. Triss silently reminded herself of the virtues, of one’s control and that she was far better than that of a typical, stereotypical Omega, far better than her inner workings. This woman was simply another customer and was in no way, shape or form any different to her and should be treated with respect, no ogled upon as if she was some poor, hopeless animal captured in a zoo for the amusement of others.

“Fuck” she growls.

No matter, she’ll put it to charge in the car. Stepping out, the sky seemed darker than usual, starless. The pale woman could tell it was going to rain, and heavily at that. How lovely. Slipping into her car, off she goes driving down the nearly deserted streets of Vengerberg. It begins to pour, suddenly, making it rather difficult for the woman to see. Her headlights are long and her wipers at full speed. With no cars in the road, the pale woman feels safe enough to rummage around for her charger. She pulls lilac eyes away from the road for a singular moment, just a moment and the next thing she knows, she is taking a hole on the road at full speed, popping her wheel. She swerves some, hands shooting to the steering wheel and heeled foot slamming on the breaks. Her car settles on a curb.

There’s a moment of silence, her breathing is ragged, hands gripping the wheel tightly. The rain continues to pour, the wipers continue to move side to side quickly. “FUUUUUUCK” she screams in aggravation. Never mind that she could’ve nearly died, why the fuck was there a hole on the road? Why wasn’t it fixed? She knew the mayor was trash, but fucks sake. What the hell was she supposed to do now? She could charger her phone but she realizes she only had enough gas to get to work. She needs coffee asap and gods she wanted out of this damn rain! The woman looks around, trying to gather her bearings and honestly she expected nothing to be open at this hour. Most shops opened at six am at the earliest but there was one, just across from her. Lights on and well maybe they can let her burrow a phone.

The Aerdinian sighs and begins to look around for an umbrella but of fucking course she doesn’t have it here. She’ll have to use her blazer for cover. Perhaps she can get closer with the car. In a slow drive, Yennefer manages to park in front of the store which will make her walk less and in turn will make her become less wet. Turning the car off and taking her wallet from her purse, the raven haired woman maneuvers herself so that she can get out with her blazer over her head and briskly walks into the shop. Warmth instantly surrounds her and she shivers violently as the wet parts of her body from briefly being out in such weather are hit by the change in temperature.

“Fuck, shit, stupid car” she mutter to herself. “Stupid phone, stupid street.”

𝙃𝙞 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙚.

Yennefer gets startle and turns, as if having completely forgotten the reason she even came here. Forgotten that obviously somehow will be running this shop. A bakery and a flower shop all in one? How peculiar. Lilac eyes as stormy as the weather outside settles on the redhead behind the counter. The alpha finds herself captivated by the woman and now that she seems aware of her presence, she was also very away of the spicy of her pheromones. An omega. A rather sweet smelling okie which makes her stomach twist into a knot and heart flutter. She was lovely, skin kissed by freckles and lose strands of hair falling to frame her face. She looked soft, gentle and warm. And she was chirper, who the hell is this chirper in the mornings. Her studying of the woman is so intense she nearly misses the next words the omega utters.

“You chose the worst of days to have mechanical problems, haven’t you?” She had chosen to jest with that of a light chuckle, the base of her throat fluttering laboriously around the lump that settled in the depths of her throat and supple brims carved a path for delicate dimples and crows feet to form within porcelain flesh as cornflower blue orbs fluttered nervously over the pale-skinned alpha that seemed to call feverishly, persistently to the omega.

It was — odd, being so intensely looked upon in a not so menacing way. She was used to studied, yes, observed as a means to find some form of weakness. She’s never been looked at like this, as if this stranger was trying to capture every singular detail about her. Not even her ex-mate and husband, Geralt, looked at her like this. At least he hadn’t after years of being together. The alpha was already struck by how the simple smell of the omega seemed to call viciously to her, she couldn’t allow herself to fall under that gaze either. A dark brown arches up at the words, “combative, really?” She couldn’t picture it, bakers or florists going tooth and nail for the success of their business. But then again, if it’s a business, isn’t there always competition? Actually everything in life is. “That shouldn’t surprise me, really, everything in life is. I suppose perhaps the idea of you being competitive is what surprises me. I’ve only just met you, not properly I may add, but you don’t seem like that sort of person. . . You’re too sweet” she says thoughtfully, head cocking to the side.

How unforgiving the forecast appeared, cloud cover serving as an idle threat and wind speed delivering it’s victims unforgiving windburn. There was a storm upon the horizon, threatening to spill over and feed the land beneath with nurturing rain and low rumbles, grumbling echos rolled over the hills, creating a song that was, truly, gripping and accompanied by a feast for the eyes as the sky danced with light.

Signs of life were minuscule, only the odd vehicle and it’s gleaming headlights passing along a stretch of road not yet awoken at the most unsuspecting times, telling a tale to the unfortunate who had to work while their loved ones slumbered. Said vehicles were seen pausing, stopping in on the only shop that dared to be awake at such an early hour and receiving their fuel for the day given joyously by a courteous woman who simply shouldn’t be so chipper at hours as early as this. Small the establishment was but the bakery held an endearing charm, an ode to the old world as sandstone brick and polished wood remained steadfast beneath the ticking arm of time. One couldn’t help but fall in love, unable to pass by without peering in at least once and discovering not only tasteful food, beautiful flowers and handmade items but an comfortable, jovial atmosphere that radiated warmth.

Triss Merigold had arrived at the challenging decision to move from her home in Maribor to the City of Vengerberg that laid in the neighbouring state of Aedirn only two years prior to this tempestuous morning and feverishly moved a few months later in an hopeful attempt at starting over. She had opened this quaint, picturesque store on a whim, blithely abandoning her work as a Public Affairs Consultant and acting out in favour of herself and her newly discovered freedom, finally allowing herself to use her hard-earned savings and knowledge towards something that the woman had always wanted instead of following what those around her thought she should do. Flowers & Flour combined the wonderful scent and beauty of pulchritudinous flowers at the very peak of their bloom with warm, buttery pastries of both savoury and sweet. There was the odds and ends sold in the store, organic items that fed the body and soul and ranged from organic shampoos and soaps to slaves and tender-smelling creams. It had become tastefully popular, a small hole in the wall where customers repeatedly returned and the working man or woman had found immense satisfaction as there was always a warm meal and a hot coffee to be offered when most shops were closed, uninterested in the faithful customers on offer if they dared to open a few hours earlier.

The sun’s rays had not begun to peak through and the weather served only to worsen, rain colliding against the windows of the establishment and earning an curious gaze from the Temerian as her attention was, momentarily, turned from her determined but gentle kneading to the loud crackle of thunder. Stalwart hands were wiped upon that of a stray cloth, an attempt to save the woman’s colourful sundress and equally vibrant sweater from spots of flour as the sound of a bell pulled her from the depths of her mind and signalled the arrival of a new customer. A beguiling smile leaped upon ample lips with natural-born ease as the woman turned merrily, completely and utterly prepared to serve her customer with joy that came to Triss naturally only for orbs of shimmering blue to arrive upon a truly beautiful woman that appeared to be a whirlwind of passionate and sheer determination, dressed only in shades of white and black with skin so delicately pale as if it was pure porcelain itself and lavish, obsidian tresses that blended in effortlessly with the shadows of the night. Suddenly, Triss felt unprepared and lacking the correct outfit, underdressed for an moment unexpected and that should have be paid little attention instead of this utter and complete concentration. There was this agonising desperation to please this woman, to impress her in any way, shape or form possible. This woman was, to be frank, painfully prepossessing, haunting and beguiling all at once tastefully enveloped in a power suit that hugged indulgently at succulent curves in a prideful display and smelling wondrously of such potent, sweet-smelling alpha pheromones that left her inner omega quivering and unable to ignore. Gods. Control of her fingers was non-existent as they grew a mind of their own and begun to mindlessly fix pieces of her display, burying herself and her mind in an attempt to try and play blissful ignorance to this angelic beauty that walked into her midst.

Spherules were wild, chaotic and tresses disheveled by the harsh swipes of the rain and wind, tender timbre resonating with passion as the both the weather and her car were brutally destroyed by a stream of unforgiving words, a sight that truly left the Omega breathless in an instant and utterly struck with wonderment. Triss silently reminded herself of the virtues, of one’s control and that she was far better than that of a typical, stereotypical Omega, far better than her inner workings. This woman was simply another customer and was in no way, shape or form any different to her and should be treated with respect, no ogled upon as if she was some poor, hopeless animal captured in a zoo for the amusement of others.

“Fuck” she growls.

No matter, she’ll put it to charge in the car. Stepping out, the sky seemed darker than usual, starless. The pale woman could tell it was going to rain, and heavily at that. How lovely. Slipping into her car, off she goes driving down the nearly deserted streets of Vengerberg. It begins to pour, suddenly, making it rather difficult for the woman to see. Her headlights are long and her wipers at full speed. With no cars in the road, the pale woman feels safe enough to rummage around for her charger. She pulls lilac eyes away from the road for a singular moment, just a moment and the next thing she knows, she is taking a hole on the road at full speed, popping her wheel. She swerves some, hands shooting to the steering wheel and heeled foot slamming on the breaks. Her car settles on a curb.

There’s a moment of silence, her breathing is ragged, hands gripping the wheel tightly. The rain continues to pour, the wipers continue to move side to side quickly. “FUUUUUUCK” she screams in aggravation. Never mind that she could’ve nearly died, why the fuck was there a hole on the road? Why wasn’t it fixed? She knew the mayor was trash, but fucks sake. What the hell was she supposed to do now? She could charger her phone but she realizes she only had enough gas to get to work. She needs coffee asap and gods she wanted out of this damn rain! The woman looks around, trying to gather her bearings and honestly she expected nothing to be open at this hour. Most shops opened at six am at the earliest but there was one, just across from her. Lights on and well maybe they can let her burrow a phone.

The Aerdinian sighs and begins to look around for an umbrella but of fucking course she doesn’t have it here. She’ll have to use her blazer for cover. Perhaps she can get closer with the car. In a slow drive, Yennefer manages to park in front of the store which will make her walk less and in turn will make her become less wet. Turning the car off and taking her wallet from her purse, the raven haired woman maneuvers herself so that she can get out with her blazer over her head and briskly walks into the shop. Warmth instantly surrounds her and she shivers violently as the wet parts of her body from briefly being out in such weather are hit by the change in temperature.

“Fuck, shit, stupid car” she mutter to herself. “Stupid phone, stupid street.”

𝙃𝙞 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙚.

Yennefer gets startle and turns, as if having completely forgotten the reason she even came here. Forgotten that obviously somehow will be running this shop. A bakery and a flower shop all in one? How peculiar. Lilac eyes as stormy as the weather outside settles on the redhead behind the counter. The alpha finds herself captivated by the woman and now that she seems aware of her presence, she was also very away of the spicy of her pheromones. An omega. A rather sweet smelling okie which makes her stomach twist into a knot and heart flutter. She was lovely, skin kissed by freckles and lose strands of hair falling to frame her face. She looked soft, gentle and warm. And she was chirper, who the hell is this chirper in the mornings. Her studying of the woman is so intense she nearly misses the next words the omega utters.

“You chose the worst of days to have mechanical problems, haven’t you?” She had chosen to jest with that of a light chuckle, the base of her throat fluttering laboriously around the lump that settled in the depths of her throat and supple brims carved a path for delicate dimples and crows feet to form within porcelain flesh as cornflower blue orbs fluttered nervously over the pale-skinned alpha that seemed to call feverishly, persistently to the omega.

How unforgiving the forecast appeared, cloud cover serving as an idle threat and wind speed delivering it’s victims unforgiving windburn. There was a storm upon the horizon, threatening to spill over and feed the land beneath with nurturing rain and low rumbles, grumbling echos rolled over the hills, creating a song that was, truly, gripping and accompanied by a feast for the eyes as the sky danced with light.

Signs of life were minuscule, only the odd vehicle and it’s gleaming headlights passing along a stretch of road not yet awoken at the most unsuspecting times, telling a tale to the unfortunate who had to work while their loved ones slumbered. Said vehicles were seen pausing, stopping in on the only shop that dared to be awake at such an early hour and receiving their fuel for the day given joyously by a courteous woman who simply shouldn’t be so chipper at hours as early as this. Small the establishment was but the bakery held an endearing charm, an ode to the old world as sandstone brick and polished wood remained steadfast beneath the ticking arm of time. One couldn’t help but fall in love, unable to pass by without peering in at least once and discovering not only tasteful food, beautiful flowers and handmade items but an comfortable, jovial atmosphere that radiated warmth.

Triss Merigold had arrived at the challenging decision to move from her home in Maribor to the City of Vengerberg that laid in the neighbouring state of Aedirn only two years prior to this tempestuous morning and feverishly moved a few months later in an hopeful attempt at starting over. She had opened this quaint, picturesque store on a whim, blithely abandoning her work as a Public Affairs Consultant and acting out in favour of herself and her newly discovered freedom, finally allowing herself to use her hard-earned savings and knowledge towards something that the woman had always wanted instead of following what those around her thought she should do. Flowers & Flour combined the wonderful scent and beauty of pulchritudinous flowers at the very peak of their bloom with warm, buttery pastries of both savoury and sweet. There was the odds and ends sold in the store, organic items that fed the body and soul and ranged from organic shampoos and soaps to slaves and tender-smelling creams. It had become tastefully popular, a small hole in the wall where customers repeatedly returned and the working man or woman had found immense satisfaction as there was always a warm meal and a hot coffee to be offered when most shops were closed, uninterested in the faithful customers on offer if they dared to open a few hours earlier.

The sun’s rays had not begun to peak through and the weather served only to worsen, rain colliding against the windows of the establishment and earning an curious gaze from the Temerian as her attention was, momentarily, turned from her determined but gentle kneading to the loud crackle of thunder. Stalwart hands were wiped upon that of a stray cloth, an attempt to save the woman’s colourful sundress and equally vibrant sweater from spots of flour as the sound of a bell pulled her from the depths of her mind and signalled the arrival of a new customer. A beguiling smile leaped upon ample lips with natural-born ease as the woman turned merrily, completely and utterly prepared to serve her customer with joy that came to Triss naturally only for orbs of shimmering blue to arrive upon a truly beautiful woman that appeared to be a whirlwind of passionate and sheer determination, dressed only in shades of white and black with skin so delicately pale as if it was pure porcelain itself and lavish, obsidian tresses that blended in effortlessly with the shadows of the night. Suddenly, Triss felt unprepared and lacking the correct outfit, underdressed for an moment unexpected and that should have be paid little attention instead of this utter and complete concentration. There was this agonising desperation to please this woman, to impress her in any way, shape or form possible. This woman was, to be frank, painfully prepossessing, haunting and beguiling all at once tastefully enveloped in a power suit that hugged indulgently at succulent curves in a prideful display and smelling wondrously of such potent, sweet-smelling alpha pheromones that left her inner omega quivering and unable to ignore. Gods. Control of her fingers was non-existent as they grew a mind of their own and begun to mindlessly fix pieces of her display, burying herself and her mind in an attempt to try and play blissful ignorance to this angelic beauty that walked into her midst.

Spherules were wild, chaotic and tresses disheveled by the harsh swipes of the rain and wind, tender timbre resonating with passion as the both the weather and her car were brutally destroyed by a stream of unforgiving words, a sight that truly left the Omega breathless in an instant and utterly struck with wonderment. Triss silently reminded herself of the virtues, of one’s control and that she was far better than that of a typical, stereotypical Omega, far better than her inner workings. This woman was simply another customer and was in no way, shape or form any different to her and should be treated with respect, no ogled upon as if she was some poor, hopeless animal captured in a zoo for the amusement of others.

“Fuck” she growls.

No matter, she’ll put it to charge in the car. Stepping out, the sky seemed darker than usual, starless. The pale woman could tell it was going to rain, and heavily at that. How lovely. Slipping into her car, off she goes driving down the nearly deserted streets of Vengerberg. It begins to pour, suddenly, making it rather difficult for the woman to see. Her headlights are long and her wipers at full speed. With no cars in the road, the pale woman feels safe enough to rummage around for her charger. She pulls lilac eyes away from the road for a singular moment, just a moment and the next thing she knows, she is taking a hole on the road at full speed, popping her wheel. She swerves some, hands shooting to the steering wheel and heeled foot slamming on the breaks. Her car settles on a curb.

There’s a moment of silence, her breathing is ragged, hands gripping the wheel tightly. The rain continues to pour, the wipers continue to move side to side quickly. “FUUUUUUCK” she screams in aggravation. Never mind that she could’ve nearly died, why the fuck was there a hole on the road? Why wasn’t it fixed? She knew the mayor was trash, but fucks sake. What the hell was she supposed to do now? She could charger her phone but she realizes she only had enough gas to get to work. She needs coffee asap and gods she wanted out of this damn rain! The woman looks around, trying to gather her bearings and honestly she expected nothing to be open at this hour. Most shops opened at six am at the earliest but there was one, just across from her. Lights on and well maybe they can let her burrow a phone.

The Aerdinian sighs and begins to look around for an umbrella but of fucking course she doesn’t have it here. She’ll have to use her blazer for cover. Perhaps she can get closer with the car. In a slow drive, Yennefer manages to park in front of the store which will make her walk less and in turn will make her become less wet. Turning the car off and taking her wallet from her purse, the raven haired woman maneuvers herself so that she can get out with her blazer over her head and briskly walks into the shop. Warmth instantly surrounds her and she shivers violently as the wet parts of her body from briefly being out in such weather are hit by the change in temperature.

“Fuck, shit, stupid car” she mutter to herself. “Stupid phone, stupid street.”

𝙃𝙞 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙚.

Yennefer gets startle and turns, as if having completely forgotten the reason she even came here. Forgotten that obviously somehow will be running this shop. A bakery and a flower shop all in one? How peculiar. Lilac eyes as stormy as the weather outside settles on the redhead behind the counter. The alpha finds herself captivated by the woman and now that she seems aware of her presence, she was also very away of the spicy of her pheromones. An omega. A rather sweet smelling okie which makes her stomach twist into a knot and heart flutter. She was lovely, skin kissed by freckles and lose strands of hair falling to frame her face. She looked soft, gentle and warm. And she was chirper, who the hell is this chirper in the mornings. Her studying of the woman is so intense she nearly misses the next words the omega utters.

Motherhood… How was it something that women craved? And with such intense desperation? Why would someone sign themselves up for such a role, desire to be the world of something so pure and delicate? Put themselves in such a violate position? It was nothing more than an aspect of life that the Sorceress of Gors Velen had purposely fled from, remaining tenaciously out of reach to any and all situations that could, even in the slightest, led the pale-skinned woman into a position that saw her caring for a child, existing as a mother-figure to an innocent soul that could so easily be broken, disappointed. And such desperate avoidance, such a distasteful outlook was carved from a childhood that had been painful, horrific and lonely, spent trapped beneath a cruel caretaker in a dilapidated orphanage. Perhaps, Amara was selfish. Perhaps, Amara was weak. Perhaps, Amara still held scars, thus, was scared, frightened. And such scars had not healed, forever reopening beneath invisible strain as toxic ignorance was paid towards mental and physical wounds that had refused to leave, to ease when the victim denied facing them. Simply, to be a mother was a role she loathed the thought of, actively avoided in every sense of the word. She had been walking, existing across this Continent for over three centuries and had yet to truly keep herself together, to act in a manner that was safe and wholeheartedly mature instead of chasing a youthful, careless lifestyle that had seen her split from her loved ones, captured in moments that gifted her scars that would never fade even with the aide of magic. Pregnancy was nothing more than a fragment of life that the Sorceress had been wholeheartedly uninterested in as the belief of being a terrible, uncaring mother whispered in the back of her mind and frightening off any thoughts that dared to arise.

Yennefer of Vengerberg was her first love and had been an important, unwavering presence in the Temerian’s life from the moment that their paths crossed in the Courts of Aedirn and that soaring, passionate bond was created, forged by the likes of destiny and was unbreaking beneath the pressure of time and a whirlwind romance that was as chaotic as an untamed stallion galloping through lush fields. It was truly nothing for the women to be together one moment and apart the next, days, weeks, months or even years spent together. Now, this did not mean in any way, shape or form that their love was untrue or impure as a couple that spent their lives together, remaining attached at the hip. It simply meant that their love, however chaotic and unpredictable, was passionate, burning and unable to be mellowed, the women brought back together repeatedly by the unusual workings of fate. Violate they could be, loving in the first moment, thoroughly frustrated in the second and dripping with lust in the last. It was that very sequence that had led the Sorceress of Gors Velen into this … undesired situation, the very situation that she had never expected, envisioned herself to be in. She and Yennefer had parted ways but not without a night of passion that had left her ever so pleasurably bruised and unable to walk without limping after the Sorceress of Vengerberg experimented with a new spell that had seen her equipped with a very real, very responsive phallus.

Unforeseen, the Scholar of Rissberg had brusquely awoken one morning with the unyielding desire to empty the contents of her stomach as the organ rocked, trembled viciously, riotously and promptly lost the previous night’s meal in a bucket that had been hastily received. She hadn’t expected to have the light of life to be growing, forming within her stomach in an act of chance that was truly magical, a blessing. And why would such a thought arise? Akin to all Aretuza Sorceresses, Yennefer’s ascension had come at a painful cost that had seen her purposely left sterile and unable to have children in an act that the Brotherhood of Sorcerers had hoped pledge loyalty. Who could possibly have thought that playing around with a crude spell could create a loophole? One that ended in pregnancy, the gift of life? It had not ever been heard of, unspoken and hidden if such a discovery had been founded previously by another couple. No. Pregnancy had not been the thought that had entered Amara’s mind, in fact, the pale-skinned Temerian had simply believed that she had fallen ill. Sorceresses, after all, could still fall sick as they were wholeheartedly immune to the ways of life and had treated herself as such, believing after that of a truly agonising week of morning sickness that it was an unusual case of hay fever and was responding painfully to a new crop that her community was using, waving it off as an allergy of sorts. In fact, even the increase in the Sorceress’s eating habits had been simply shouldered off as her body trying to naturally heal itself and required the nutrition to fight the effects of the ailment that acted out upon her body.

Outrageously, the Sorceress of Gors Velen had been painfully unaware of the situation she had unknowingly found herself in as days turned into weeks and edged onto the first few months. You see, her appetite had always been that of a healthy one and ate, for the majority, to her pleasure. It wasn’t until the desire for a spontaneous bath had seen her uncovered and unprotected, argenteous orbs uncovering the startling discovery of a previously undetected bump that had seemed to have formed without her knowledge. And suddenly, the last few weeks and all those strange, unusual variations had all come crashing down upon her in unrelenting waves of emotions, finally making sense in a daunting discovery that was frightening and life-altering all in the very same second, provoking a strangled sob to tear forth from her lips as the woman fell to the ground as pale hands grasped and not at her stomach, as one would think, but the floor. One could not discover a response that could truly describe the situation the Sorceress had found herself in, the emotions and conflict which lashed out at her body. It was frightening to think of just how much was being unpacked in her mind. On one hand, she was pregnant and that was a feat she had never foreseen and she was pregnant with Yennefer’s child and that was a feat that should have been impossible given Yennefer’s inability to have children. Without a doubt, it was Yennefer’s. Amara only enjoyed the company of the same-sex and such devious acts of using chaos to conjure a magical cock on her lover’s body had only ever been done with Yennefer.

Gods… It opened a whole new pot of worms. Could she tell Yennefer? Should she tell Yennefer? Could or should she keep this life that was living inside of her? Given the violent response of both her body and mind, Amara was aware there and then that she was unable to purposely rid herself of the gift that had been created out of the love that shimmered and burned between herself and the woman she loved in a feat that was, without a doubt, a true creation of fate. And yet, she was unable to bring herself to informing Yennefer of this discovery, of the fact that the Sorceress of Gors Velen was pregnant with their child in an unbelievable outcome. Surely, the pale-skinned woman would sound insane, had finally lost the last screw as so many joked with such an admittance and had imagined an array of Yennefer’s responses that , of such that she did not want to battle with and their last communication had read that Yennefer was content, happy in her current life with Geralt, the Infamous Witcher and their child surprise, Ciri. Who was she to play god in their relationships by dropping such an emotional bomb? If Yennefer believed her that is. She had only ever wanted Yennefer to be happy in her life, to find that meaning the Aedirnian wanted and such was found as the mother to Geralt’s child surprise. Perhaps, her choice of keeping their child secret was ever so wrong, one that would see the women damaged, hurt and confused. Amara Isolda was someone who often, in the opinion of those that surrounded her, chose the wrong choice, even if it was chosen for the right reason and for the health of those she cared for. Was another wrong choice truly going to be so bad? When she had so many already trailing behind her? It was one that she regretted with each passing day, with each letter received from Yennefer and had forced herself to live with.

Amara had, surprisingly, eased into the aspect of having a child ever so swiftly, with such effortlessness that had left her debating on her previous beliefs of her ability in the world of motherhood and was truly loving, attentive to the unborn child that grew in her stomach, showering it in constant acts of affection and love throughout the day, ensuring that she only ever digested the best quality of foods and ensured that it was family with her voice, talking, singing and reading to the bundle of joy as the days passed on and her belly grew larger, signalling that her child was healthy and nurtured, blossoming beneath her love. In fact, the Sorceress had even departed from her birth town of Gors Velen, leaving behind a life that she had loved living for one far slower and settled down in a tasteful Manor discovered not far from the smaller settlement of Oxenfurt, a piece of the continent that was quieter, without conflict and was absent of the hustle and bustle that came with the likes of an overpopulated city that was brimming with factions, businesses and opportunities.

When the birth came, it was a challenge as any childbirth was but after hours of intense labour guided by a close friend and confidant, the Continent was made brighter, better by the birth of a beautiful baby girl. And a beauty she was, blessed with skin that was as delicate as porcelain and a gentle button nose, generous little eyebrows and tresses as dark as the night, chaotic and wild as Yennefer’s and features that paired Amara and Yennefer together tastefully but most important of all, little orbs which danced vividly with an array of amethyst shades that was identical to her mother. And such an emotional discovery that was, a stream of tears staining alabaster cheeks as the woman she loved more than life itself was so very present in the gift they had created. Yennefer was, without a single doubt, lovingly present in their daughter as her demanding yet gentle natured personality was more akin to her Mother’s rather than Amara’s. And just as the Sorceress of Gors Velen had been whilst their baby grew, blossomed in her stomach, Amara was ever so loving and affectionate towards her bundle of joy, passionately proud and ardently protective of the gift fate had given her.

The months spent training the little ugly one had seen them grow closer. Sharing a room at some point and having the girl curled up at her side in her protective, motherly hold had a love blossoming within her chest for the young girl. It was only solidified and made stronger when the girl referred to her as mother. And from then on, Yennefer swore that no matter what, she will always be Ciri’s mother.

Her path with Geralt obviously was further intertwined now and it was no surprise when they got back together. Traveling across the continent, keeping the ashen haired girl safe and hidden from all those who wished to harm her or use her for power. It was on their travels, at a tavern where they run into Dandelion — whom they always seem to run into at some point and really how is this bard still living? — that she learns about Amara and apparently the state she was last in when the bard saw her. Pregnant? Amara had always been against motherhood. The lilac eyed sorceress couldn’t quite explain the array of emotions that coursed through her chest.

“I wonder who the father is” he says with a light snort.

“You best keep your mouth shut, Dandelion” the raven haired woman snapped lightly. “It is none of your concern.”

He knew, they all knew of her history with the Temerian sorceress. But no one said a thing and if the bard said anything at all afterwards, it wasn’t in front of her. Yen had gone to her room which she shared with Geralt and of course had been unable to think of anything else but Amara. She was with child? Whose? Since when? Why hadn’t she said anything in her letters? Was she perhaps afraid Yen would resent her for her ability to have children? Surely she knows that the raven haired woman would never.

She lasted all of a day before she had told Geralt she needed to make a detour and that she will meet them at their destination within a week tops. If there happens to be any delays, she will let him know. He knew where she was going and perhaps that was the reason he did not asked and she, being Yen, did not give any further details. The lilac eyed sorceress heads on then towards the city of Oxenfurt, locating the sorceress from Rissberg with an easy locating spell. She could not believe her eyes when she sets her gaze upon the house the woman resided within. It isn’t that Amara has never had the best of the when it came to her homes and the way they looked — it was more on the fact the woman was… gardening.

If the half-elf had caught wind of Dandelion’s movements in Oxenfurt and his newly earned duty as a Lecturer at Oxenfurt’s Acadamy, Amara would have ensured that she had moved elsewhere. She knew him more than enough to be painfully aware of his mouth and it’s inability to remain silenced, the aspect of gossip and being paid attention for even the smallest of seconds causing his thoughts to simply vanish and his mouth to open and pour with rumours and stories similar to that of a waterfall. And if Amara was to hear of his admittance and that it was his running mouth that informed Yennefer of her situation, the Bard would find himself cursed.

She had heard the sounds of steps waltzing across the path that guided one into the garden and paid little attention towards who owned them as few now paid spontaneous visits upon her, simply expecting it to be the beloved Astraea or one of her friends from her years spent at Rissberg. Expect, when the visitor dared to speak, the Sorceress’s body reacted almost violently in an concoction of emotions, hairs rising to attention at the excitement, the utter joy that was always present whenever Yennefer of Vengerberg was near and blood was ran cold, her heart immediately beginning to pound away desperately within it’s cage. “When they told me you were off living a quiet life… I couldn’t believe it. And yet here you are…” There was only one person across the entire continent with a voice that was so heavenly, that could send her on a blissful journey with a single word. What… What on Earth was she doing here? How had she managed to track her down? She was practically a worlds away from Gors Velen, from anything that linked to the Temerian. Amara thought back to their last letters, to the mention of a visit that she could have missed and came up with, well, nothing. Yennefer hadn’t mentioned visiting. And that only caused worry to burn in the back of her mind, creating a path for questions to arise upon her tongue.

There’s a breathiness to her voice as she says her name, not that Yennefer minds. It is a testimony to the effects she has upon the sorceress of Gors Velen. It takes her a second to rise, the Aerdinian notices this as well but when she does, she turns to look at her and gods, she is lovely as ever. Sharp features, silver hues, absolutely breathtaking in all of her motherly glory. Speaking of which, lilac hues flicker to the little bundle all wrapped around against Amara’s chest. It is true, what Dandelion said. Amara had been with child. She couldn’t explain the feelings which coursed through her being at the sight.

When the half-elf speaks, the lilac eyed mage flickers her gaze back towards her. A well defined brow quirks at the words and her head tilts. “No, nothing is the matter, Cirilla is in perfect health, thank the gods. Need there to be something wrong for me to visit you?” She asks, stepping forth just so and halting a few inches. She doesn’t think she has ever seen Amara this cautious or standoffish around her ever, it made her curious. Why was the woman behaving in such manner? Well, it could be because she had kept such huge news a secret? And now here Yen was, seeing this new picture in person.

In spite of how her questions arose out of curiosity, of worry as to why Yennefer was here and how it might have seemed to the opposing woman as they fell from pale lips, Amara’s query in regards to Cirilla’s health was genuine. Geralt might have been someone who lacked favour with the Sorceress of Gors Velen, in fact, he was someone she utterly distasted for an array of reasons but there was a soft spot for his child surprise. After her own childhood, the horrific experiences she had been brutally bestowed there was a softness, a kindred with children and young adults who had also experienced similar horrors that had been created. Not to mention, Ciri was Yennefer’s child in every sense of the word and that came with it’s own meaning to the older woman. “You are always welcome, Yennefer. I suppose I’m simply taken by surprise. You randomly visit me without sending a letter to signal your arrival. I suspect more for the fresh apple juice.” Playfully spoken, that breathlessness remained as the younger woman closed the distant and served to increase the heavy beat of her heart as teeth worried at the inside of her cheek. It had been just under a year since Yennefer was seen and being in her presence once more brought an array of emotions to the woman and her body, unable to be resisted as Yennefer was one of the only people that caused her to react so purely, without the ability to be restrained and left her painfully exposed beneath lilac hues.

The violet eyed mage loves the way the woman always reacts to her touch. The way she leans into the touch to her cheek. She ached to pull her into her arms, to kiss her a she always ached to do but she couldn’t. Not now. Yennefer understood the need to for Amara to just take a step back and process this, the woman had always had certain views on motherhood. She knows it because of how the way the Gors Velen sorceress had been orphaned so unexpectedly and brutally.

All train of thoughts cease however when her finger is taken. Her gaze lands on the little bundle in Amara’s arms. There were a handful of times where Yennefer of Vengerberg has been stunt, unable to form much of a thought. Her breath hitched slightly and she stares at the baby in absolute awe, in wonder. She couldn’t explain it, the warmth that coursed through her body at such a simple gesture from an innocent little baby. It gave her this strong feeling, like she needed to release it in tears. Could it be because the baby was Amara’s? She certainly has never reacted to any other tiny human. The pale woman wiggles her finger lightly, not enough to disturb the baby and make her release her finger but enough to make her little fist wiggle.

There was a passing shadow of disappointment, gone as quickly as it came. She wanted to kiss the younger woman, to surrender to the ache that constantly pestered at her body. If this had been any other moment, Amara would have eagerly pulled Yennefer into a bone-crushing embrace and bestowed tender lips with a breathtaking kiss and inform the Sorceress of the feelings she could never openly admit. But… Such a series of motions could not be taken, Yennefer was with Geralt in a relationship that brought her happiness and satisfaction. Amara couldn’t be the one to destroy the joy that the Sorceress of Vengerberg had finally found. She only ever wanted the best for Yennefer, even if it left her saddened, dissatisfied that such happiness wasn’t found with her. It was the price that the wish demanded and a price that Amara paid in silence since it had fallen from Geralt’s lips all those decades ago. And after all, it wasn’t Yennefer’s fault that she had been Amara’s first love.

Spherules watched on in utter and complete silent at the gripping of Yennefer’s finger. Gods. Would she be able to keep up this secret if Yennefer and her daughter repeated such purity? Concern lashed out at the back of her mind, repetitive reminders setting off in an attempt to try and silence the emotions that welled up, threatening to tip the pale-skinned woman over. The whirlwind of emotions had left her wanting to scream, cry and laugh all in the same moment. Was this the price she was forced to pay for her choice of harbouring this secret? She was forced to see these acts and remain silent, not daring to react even as her body begged. How her lungs screamed, begged for the Temerian to breathe.

The wish, what had changed everything and turned each of their lives upside down. She knows that Amara is affected as much as she and Geralt were. It couldn’t be and was not easy to have someone you love bonded to another by magic, linked together by destiny. More often than not the lilac eyed sorceress wishes it was not so, that she could just give the Temerian everything she craved. Because Yen craved it too. But with immortality came separation from time to time and taking different paths before coming together once more. Nothing was ever easy and even less so for them.

The baby tightens her grip on her finger and coos unhappily at the motion. It makes the raven haired woman smile ever so, nearly laugh actually as she watched the scene before her. Pristine teeth sink into her bottom lip as she stares solemnly at the little bundle that snuggles closer to the sorceress’ chest. Yes, she too knew how heavenly such a place was. Yennefer stills her finger but the stroking of tiny knuckles with her thumb does not cease. The name is spoken and the Aerdinian sorceress stops then. Faye, if all those lessons in Aretuza serve her right, which they did, she’s positive the name means Raven. She feels a lump form in her throat, heart clenching in her chest. Had it been deliberate, the choosing of the name? Has Amara picked the name for the baby after her in some way? The mere idea has her sentimental which knowing Yennefer es also a feat in itself.

She held bitterness towards the wish and in turn, the man that had cast it. Only a few select words and it forever altered her most precious possession. And her love was little match for the powers of a Djinn, the most powerful air elemental that could change destiny itself as if it was the smallest feat known to man. Fate had often intervened, bringing them together only for destiny to laugh and pull them apart once more, setting them on different paths that brought a new wave of heartache. How long she had spent wishing to forget the emotions Yennefer stirred inside of her? Had feverishly searched for the one that could surpass and cause her pain to subside, to prevent it from haunting her as it did? Sadly, such endeavours had brought nothing to the woman expect momentarily satisfaction after a tumble in bed. This didn’t include Astraea, of course, who had been the closest but the women had been unable to let that love blossom into it’s true complexity as even she had been ripped from Amara’s grasp and thrown into the arms of another lover. Perhaps, her destiny was not to spend her life loving someone other then herself and now her child. And all she had ever wanted was to spent this prolonged life with someone she loved and that returned that very love. It was better off, she supposes. Her touch, after time, never brought success and only ever granted poison.

The sorceress from Vengerberg watches as the woman looks at Faye with so much love, holds her so protectively. She looks every bit a protective mother and it warms the woman’s heart, feels the organ often described as like the obsidian rock on her necklace, growing in her chest with all this love begging to be poured out. But the raven haired woman keeps a tight lid upon it, is content for the time being on simply watching on. Her head tilts to the side and she released a soft laugh at the explaining behind the name, every bit an Amara reason and truth be told? Yen would’ve done the same. Her child would be every bit extraordinary and so would her name be. However now her own heart is pounding in her chest as she takes the words in. The Temerian wanted for her name to have meaning and — well, what did that mean? Why call her by a name which meant raven? The very nickname the woman has called her for decades?

Surprisingly, Yennefer hadn’t yet dared to ask who else had aided in the creation of the bundle of joy that was snuggled up with such contentment, still gripping at her gloved finger and not granting the younger woman the ability to create distance, tightening whenever she sensed movement that she did not approve of. Oh, yes, Yennefer’s she was or the world would hear about her dislike at life going the way she desires. It was such an relief to have a moment to breathe, to think of how to answer such a question and bring satisfaction to her once lover with an answer that would inevitably given.

The baby seems adamant in letting her go. Her grip tightening on her finger the moment she felt even the slightest of movements from the Aerdinian sorceress. She was tempted so ask if she could hold the girl but refrained from it. The teasing words had her rolling her eyes lightly as she smiles ever so. “No knowledges whatsoever has begun to fade, I’m insulted you’ve even jumped to such a conclusion” she says with a mild, playful huff. However it turns serious, the mood, the atmosphere — at the very least for her it does. “I know the many meanings, I simply need you to tell me the meaning it holds for you.” The words are soft spoken, “see I knew one of them was Raven and it stopped my heart at the thought of you possibly naming her that because of me.”

Yennefer had always been possessive, something that the older woman had truly enjoyed for the most part of their relationship. Perhaps, the enjoyment came from a twisted sense of wanting to feel wanted, as if she belonged and that possessiveness answered to it in some way, shape or form. Perhaps, she had enjoyed that in spite of being possessive, Amara had never felt owned by Yennefer and that her moments of possession arose from love. It was something that the women shared, the possessiveness and it had never seemed to fade in spite of the way that destiny constantly interviewed, the decades that had passed between them and the momentarily lovers they knew of but had chosen to simply ignore.

Faye expressed little consideration in loosening her grip upon the younger woman, preventing the family from parting even the slightest. Gods. Such proximity to Yennefer was hard as the woman, knowingly or unknowingly, invaded all of her senses as the Sorceress of Gors Velen was, as she had always been, painfully aware of the woman and everything that came with her. She inhaled slowly, trying to silence the slight shake that threatened as silver orbs took Yennefer’s concentration upon their child to her advantage and granted herself the ability to watch, observe each of those breathtaking features. Yennefer hadn’t changed, remained as she had when they first met and by the gods, how it left her breathless and weakened as her beauty swept her utterly and completely from her feet as it always had. Amara was torn from the emotions, the fantasies that arose in her mind and returned to life as it was, her attention purposely turned from the quarter-elf in favour of anything else. “Someone has to keep you on your toes.” And the jest had soon crumbled away, giving way beneath the seriousness that Yennefer bestowed upon them in the name of her need to understand the meaning that was behind Amara’s child and just what significance it held to the Temerian.

Gods. How her jaw threatened to shatter beneath the sheer force that was knowingly applied to it as the older woman’s strength was called upon. Was Yennefer truly so clueless? Did she not realise the importance she held within the half-elf’s life? “I chose it for it’s translation of Raven, Yennefer. I think the rest of the answer has already fallen into place.” Three centuries old and the concept of talking of emotions, confessing them from her own lips in an admittance of spoken word was still one that had her at a loss and especially with Yennefer. She hated how vulnerable, how easily broken she was in Yennefer’s presence and how it only took one word from the woman to be shattered. The gaze was not broken, fingers trembling as the Sorceress of Gors Velen kept steady and dared not to glance elsewhere but tried not to get hopelessly lost in a sea of amethyst. Yennefer had ruined her from the moment the younger woman dared to strike conversation, answering to fate’s call.

She was not clueless to the importance she held in Amara’s life, her heart. She just needed to hear confirmation rather than making speculations. She needed to know, needed to understand — well perhaps not the why. As she said, she knew the importance she held in Amara’s life. However if she had a child with another, why name her after her? Does the father know about it? The meaning behind it? The person that inspired it and what they are to each other? But before any of those question can be thought about deeper, perhaps even be voice and demand a response the baby fusses and Amara suggest stepping inside.

“Excuse the messes.” Not that there was one. Amara was the type of woman that was painfully clean, constantly ensuring that her home was spotless and without even the slightest of messes. It came from her line of work, one could say. If your home was clean and in proper order, even the slightest of modifications could be noticed and in turn, acts of intrusions could be easily spotted, not that documents and other valuable or sensitive items were ever left outside of the safety of her workrooms. She had easily fallen into the role of a mother, the role simply radiating from her naturally and now that they were inside her home, her body had begun careful rocking as the baby remained in her arms and those chaotic locks continued to stroked in such a soothing manner, lulling the baby into the deepest of slumbers while silver orbs watched on as if the child was the only object near and dear.

They step into the house and Amara apologizes for the mess. It makes the sorceress from Vengerberg roll her eyes, quite typical of her it was. There was never a single thing out of place in the Temerian’s home. If there was ever any mess, it was quickly cleaned up. If it wasn’t, well it was simply because it was the fun kind of mess. The lilac eyed mage watched as her beloved rocks the little bundle of joy in her arms and well Yennefer sort of had to follow it up because her finger is still very much still being held by the baby. “There is never any mess in your house, Amara.”

“There is always a mess.” She murmured with a slight roll of her silver orbs almost as if the Half-Elf was silently, gently informing Yennefer of her miscalculation and the ability to use her arms once more was used to her advantage now that Faye was safety buried within the warmth of Yennefer’s arms and seemingly invisible fluff was wiped away with a distasteful swipe of her hand. “Shall I get you a fresh pitcher of apple juice, Yen?” It had become that of a staple in her life since her pregnancy and the cravings that came with it, the women’s child bestowing constant cravings upon the Temerian throughout the entirety of those long yet blissful nine-months and even now, loved nothing more than having the golden liquid applied to the end of her pacifiers or upon her gums almost as much as Yennefer herself enjoyed drinking it by the gallon. Amara removed the cotton wrap from her body, beginning to fold it neatly but had ended up placing it carelessly on the dining table as her concentration was captured, the Temerian enthralled by the sight of her child and the woman she loved, that of a emotionally-gripped simper curling at the edge of supple brims as her heart pounded, fluttered with potent emotions and energised love.

Gods… It was truly the beautiful sight to behold, the sight of her beloved daughter content and ever so happy in her ex-partner’s arms as if this was not the first meeting and they had done this a thousand times, healthy little hands gripping, holding at Yennefer’s dress as Faye’s body turned to settle against the warmth that radiated from her mother and tiny, roseate lips danced with happiness. If only she was able to capture this moment, to be able to relive it once Yennefer leaves and returns to her life with Geralt. Faye was a bundle of joy that was small and light but that certainly did not mean the newborn was delicate and without sturdiness, her appetite healthy and bestowing her chunky little thighs, chubby cheeks and a tiny tummy that was often the topic of amusement during a playful game of raspberry with her mother. Amara felt her heart clench painfully the longer that she stared, teeth worrying at flesh of her inner cheek as the sight unravelled so many hidden emotions at a pace that was truly daunting and a sharp inhale was taken, forced down as tears threatened to fall and they were willed away. “You… You look beautiful with a child, Yennefer.” With our child. Words unable to be spoken, that burned at her very soul. She had yet to see Yennefer holding a child and this very moment had granted her the beauty and forced her to relive so many of her decisions, filling her with regrets and wishes that the potentional of a family was brought up in their youth and that her tentative proposal of marriage had repeatedly fallen from her lips until Yennefer’s refusal morphed into acceptance.

Yennefer gently rocks the baby, fingers lightly tracing soft features. She finds herself smiling, eyes as violent as a storm completely soft and tender when gazing upon this gentle creature. This small thing. The words from Amara causes her to look up at her and her breath quietly hitches at the sight. It seems that the half-elf was close to tears and well, the sorceress of Vengerberg felt something similar because — how long has she craved this? To hold a child, her child, her legacy, what she leaves behind in this cruel world. Someone she would be important to because nothing is as important as a mother, a good mother. She gives the Temerian a tender and loving smile but when the gaze is broken, when Amara looks away she sets her gaze upon the baby.

Silence envelopes them and it isn’t exactly uncomfortable. Not to her at the very least. She’s still quite enthralled by the baby, gently cooing and lightly rocking the babe. When she glanced up once the glass was offered to her, she could’ve choked on her own breath at the eyeful of breasts she got. She knows that pregnancy could change a woman’s body, breasts enlarging duo to the milk that is produced for the baby but by the gods —. She swallows thickly and moves her gaze to the goblet which she grabs. “Thank you” she says and takes a sip, humming in delight. Exactly how she likes it. “No darling, I’m alright for the time being.” She cradles the baby in one arm and the juice on her other hand. It was still so surreal to her that this child was Amara’s. “How is motherhood treating you so far?” She asks and moves to sit on the table, placing the cup on it so now both hands are holding the baby.

Now, as stated before, she had felt like Amara was behaving weirdly. She had passed it off as many things at first but now it felt sort of ridiculous. She had the strangest sensation that Amara was trying to keep Faye away from her. Why? “By the gods, Amara, are you afraid I’ll steal her?” She says with a quirk of her brow as she looks upon the woman and how nervous she is. How she shifts from foot to foot and her gaze flickers between herself and the baby. What was going on with her? “Why are you so nervous?” Perhaps the baby felt the tension or the mild aggravation that Yennefer was exuding at this behavior from her usually calm, confident and mischievous ex-lover. But there’s a wail, a sound of protest which makes the Vengerberg sorceress shift her gaze down to the baby. Little fists rub tiny eyes and she watched as if it were the most interesting thing on the Continent. Sees the way the baby stretches and then opens her eyes.

Time stills when eyes are revealed and she sees reflected back at her violet eyes.

𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐮𝐜𝐤?

The baby is coping, reaching for her, smiling at her. She is monetarily torn between feeling utter happiness and joy and feeling like she could conjure up a storm with the anger and hurt she feels in regards to and towards Amara. She had kept this a secret from her and form the looks of it had planned to do so for quite some time. The minutes stretch on and she doesn’t move her gaze away from the baby, not yet. She smiles back and leans into the little chubby hands which grip her cheeks.

The raven haired half-elf allows her time with Faye, which she thinks is the least she can do. She maintain her distance for the time being and deep down the Vengerberg sorceress appreciates that. When she hands the baby back to her, the lilac eyed mage observed at the woman lower dress to expose her breast and for a brief second she looks at them as a woman who, well finds deep enjoyment in them. Regaledlesss of her anger but then the baby is being fed and all sexual thoughts disappear and she’s struck by the sight. It was so — she couldn’t explain it, really. But it was beautiful, in her opinion. At some point the Aerdinian takes a seat and plays with her previous cup of juice which was still mostly full and only looks over when the Temerian speaks.

Yennefer stands and nods in the same manner that Amara had previously. She takes the baby gently into her arms once more and follows the directions the half-elf had given her. Upon arrival, she takes the room in, instantly notices tho little details, little trinkets that are hers. She was so involved in her life and yet not really. It made her ache further and she feels mildly lucky that she has discovered this now rather than years later and having missed all of the firsts. Yen looks down at the drowsy baby and smiles, humming and gently caressing her features. She watched as Faye slowly begun to drift into sleep and once the sorceress knew she was off in dreamland, she placed her down on the crib. She makes sure she is comfy before making her way out and down the stairs. Here it goes.

𝗬𝗼𝘂’𝗿𝗲 𝗵𝗮𝗽𝗽𝘆 𝗶𝗻 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝗻𝗲𝘄 𝗹𝗶𝗳𝗲.

And she can hear the bitterness. That was not surprising, really and she has always known this was a sensitive subject. The Vengerberg sorceress even understood it, really but what did that have to do with this? How could she think she wouldn’t be happy at such news? “How could you ever think you’d be a burden to me? Are you fucking—” she needs a second, a moment of deep breath and she pinches the bridge of her nose as she does. She starts a gentle pace before her head snaps up to look at Amara, “I wouldn’t believe you?! Why the hell wouldn’t I believe you? You have never lie to me, I have absolutely no reason to believe you would lie about or even joke about such a thing!”

This all felt like excuses. Which in some level also hurt the sorceress from Vengerberg. Did the half-elf truly thought all that? Felt all of that?

𝗬𝗼𝘂 𝗷𝘂𝘀𝘁 𝗱𝗼𝗻’𝘁 𝘂𝗻𝗱𝗲𝗿𝘀𝘁𝗮𝗻𝗱, 𝗱𝗼 𝘆𝗼𝘂?

Then the woman slips on that mask she is quite familiar. She’s seen it before, sometimes with her but mostly to other people she did not like or did not feel like dealing or simply did not wish to give them even the slightest inkling as to what she was feeling. “Right” she says in a tersely manner, “seems like I don’t.” She stands straighter, shoulders squared and she gazes at Amara in a manner that even though she’s rather short compared to the rest of the damn continent, still made you feel like she was looking down at you, towering over with her presence. “Kind of you to extend that offer and I’ll take a room at the inn. I’ll be back early in the morning.”

It was that of a truly striking difference between the women, was it not? Yennefer appeared similar to that of a chaotic storm that was moments from touching the ground and wreaking utter havoc across the lands and those that dared to lay in her wake, whereas, Amara was the opposite and appeared to be barely clinging on, without even the smallest inch of life, defeated and prepared to simply give up. Defeat was something that Amara had never considered, in any way, shape or form and actively fought against but now… Gods. Defeat appeared to be an old pal, welcomed with open arms.

That piled up with the words that had been said just — it seemed like this was what would break them. Yennefer rents a room for a couple of nights, unsure of how long she’ll be staying now that she knew this. Taking paper and quill, she writes a letter to Geralt, gives little explanation as to why as per usual but tells him she will be staying a couple of days as something important has come up. The sorceress then gets ready for bed, doing her usual routine after a bath. The night seems longer than usual and sleep doesn’t come until quite late. In the morning she’s getting ready once more, making herself look impeccable before stepping out and deciding on no breakfast at the tavern.

Motherhood… How was it something that women craved? And with such intense desperation? Why would someone sign themselves up for such a role, desire to be the world of something so pure and delicate? Put themselves in such a violate position? It was nothing more than an aspect of life that the Sorceress of Gors Velen had purposely fled from, remaining tenaciously out of reach to any and all situations that could, even in the slightest, led the pale-skinned woman into a position that saw her caring for a child, existing as a mother-figure to an innocent soul that could so easily be broken, disappointed. And such desperate avoidance, such a distasteful outlook was carved from a childhood that had been painful, horrific and lonely, spent trapped beneath a cruel caretaker in a dilapidated orphanage. Perhaps, Amara was selfish. Perhaps, Amara was weak. Perhaps, Amara still held scars, thus, was scared, frightened. And such scars had not healed, forever reopening beneath invisible strain as toxic ignorance was paid towards mental and physical wounds that had refused to leave, to ease when the victim denied facing them. Simply, to be a mother was a role she loathed the thought of, actively avoided in every sense of the word. She had been walking, existing across this Continent for over three centuries and had yet to truly keep herself together, to act in a manner that was safe and wholeheartedly mature instead of chasing a youthful, careless lifestyle that had seen her split from her loved ones, captured in moments that gifted her scars that would never fade even with the aide of magic. Pregnancy was nothing more than a fragment of life that the Sorceress had been wholeheartedly uninterested in as the belief of being a terrible, uncaring mother whispered in the back of her mind and frightening off any thoughts that dared to arise.

Yennefer of Vengerberg was her first love and had been an important, unwavering presence in the Temerian’s life from the moment that their paths crossed in the Courts of Aedirn and that soaring, passionate bond was created, forged by the likes of destiny and was unbreaking beneath the pressure of time and a whirlwind romance that was as chaotic as an untamed stallion galloping through lush fields. It was truly nothing for the women to be together one moment and apart the next, days, weeks, months or even years spent together. Now, this did not mean in any way, shape or form that their love was untrue or impure as a couple that spent their lives together, remaining attached at the hip. It simply meant that their love, however chaotic and unpredictable, was passionate, burning and unable to be mellowed, the women brought back together repeatedly by the unusual workings of fate. Violate they could be, loving in the first moment, thoroughly frustrated in the second and dripping with lust in the last. It was that very sequence that had led the Sorceress of Gors Velen into this … undesired situation, the very situation that she had never expected, envisioned herself to be in. She and Yennefer had parted ways but not without a night of passion that had left her ever so pleasurably bruised and unable to walk without limping after the Sorceress of Vengerberg experimented with a new spell that had seen her equipped with a very real, very responsive phallus.

Unforeseen, the Scholar of Rissberg had brusquely awoken one morning with the unyielding desire to empty the contents of her stomach as the organ rocked, trembled viciously, riotously and promptly lost the previous night’s meal in a bucket that had been hastily received. She hadn’t expected to have the light of life to be growing, forming within her stomach in an act of chance that was truly magical, a blessing. And why would such a thought arise? Akin to all Aretuza Sorceresses, Yennefer’s ascension had come at a painful cost that had seen her purposely left sterile and unable to have children in an act that the Brotherhood of Sorcerers had hoped pledge loyalty. Who could possibly have thought that playing around with a crude spell could create a loophole? One that ended in pregnancy, the gift of life? It had not ever been heard of, unspoken and hidden if such a discovery had been founded previously by another couple. No. Pregnancy had not been the thought that had entered Amara’s mind, in fact, the pale-skinned Temerian had simply believed that she had fallen ill. Sorceresses, after all, could still fall sick as they were wholeheartedly immune to the ways of life and had treated herself as such, believing after that of a truly agonising week of morning sickness that it was an unusual case of hay fever and was responding painfully to a new crop that her community was using, waving it off as an allergy of sorts. In fact, even the increase in the Sorceress’s eating habits had been simply shouldered off as her body trying to naturally heal itself and required the nutrition to fight the effects of the ailment that acted out upon her body.

Outrageously, the Sorceress of Gors Velen had been painfully unaware of the situation she had unknowingly found herself in as days turned into weeks and edged onto the first few months. You see, her appetite had always been that of a healthy one and ate, for the majority, to her pleasure. It wasn’t until the desire for a spontaneous bath had seen her uncovered and unprotected, argenteous orbs uncovering the startling discovery of a previously undetected bump that had seemed to have formed without her knowledge. And suddenly, the last few weeks and all those strange, unusual variations had all come crashing down upon her in unrelenting waves of emotions, finally making sense in a daunting discovery that was frightening and life-altering all in the very same second, provoking a strangled sob to tear forth from her lips as the woman fell to the ground as pale hands grasped and not at her stomach, as one would think, but the floor. One could not discover a response that could truly describe the situation the Sorceress had found herself in, the emotions and conflict which lashed out at her body. It was frightening to think of just how much was being unpacked in her mind. On one hand, she was pregnant and that was a feat she had never foreseen and she was pregnant with Yennefer’s child and that was a feat that should have been impossible given Yennefer’s inability to have children. Without a doubt, it was Yennefer’s. Amara only enjoyed the company of the same-sex and such devious acts of using chaos to conjure a magical cock on her lover’s body had only ever been done with Yennefer.

Gods… It opened a whole new pot of worms. Could she tell Yennefer? Should she tell Yennefer? Could or should she keep this life that was living inside of her? Given the violent response of both her body and mind, Amara was aware there and then that she was unable to purposely rid herself of the gift that had been created out of the love that shimmered and burned between herself and the woman she loved in a feat that was, without a doubt, a true creation of fate. And yet, she was unable to bring herself to informing Yennefer of this discovery, of the fact that the Sorceress of Gors Velen was pregnant with their child in an unbelievable outcome. Surely, the pale-skinned woman would sound insane, had finally lost the last screw as so many joked with such an admittance and had imagined an array of Yennefer’s responses that , of such that she did not want to battle with and their last communication had read that Yennefer was content, happy in her current life with Geralt, the Infamous Witcher and their child surprise, Ciri. Who was she to play god in their relationships by dropping such an emotional bomb? If Yennefer believed her that is. She had only ever wanted Yennefer to be happy in her life, to find that meaning the Aedirnian wanted and such was found as the mother to Geralt’s child surprise. Perhaps, her choice of keeping their child secret was ever so wrong, one that would see the women damaged, hurt and confused. Amara Isolda was someone who often, in the opinion of those that surrounded her, chose the wrong choice, even if it was chosen for the right reason and for the health of those she cared for. Was another wrong choice truly going to be so bad? When she had so many already trailing behind her? It was one that she regretted with each passing day, with each letter received from Yennefer and had forced herself to live with.

Amara had, surprisingly, eased into the aspect of having a child ever so swiftly, with such effortlessness that had left her debating on her previous beliefs of her ability in the world of motherhood and was truly loving, attentive to the unborn child that grew in her stomach, showering it in constant acts of affection and love throughout the day, ensuring that she only ever digested the best quality of foods and ensured that it was family with her voice, talking, singing and reading to the bundle of joy as the days passed on and her belly grew larger, signalling that her child was healthy and nurtured, blossoming beneath her love. In fact, the Sorceress had even departed from her birth town of Gors Velen, leaving behind a life that she had loved living for one far slower and settled down in a tasteful Manor discovered not far from the smaller settlement of Oxenfurt, a piece of the continent that was quieter, without conflict and was absent of the hustle and bustle that came with the likes of an overpopulated city that was brimming with factions, businesses and opportunities.

When the birth came, it was a challenge as any childbirth was but after hours of intense labour guided by a close friend and confidant, the Continent was made brighter, better by the birth of a beautiful baby girl. And a beauty she was, blessed with skin that was as delicate as porcelain and a gentle button nose, generous little eyebrows and tresses as dark as the night, chaotic and wild as Yennefer’s and features that paired Amara and Yennefer together tastefully but most important of all, little orbs which danced vividly with an array of amethyst shades that was identical to her mother. And such an emotional discovery that was, a stream of tears staining alabaster cheeks as the woman she loved more than life itself was so very present in the gift they had created. Yennefer was, without a single doubt, lovingly present in their daughter as her demanding yet gentle natured personality was more akin to her Mother’s rather than Amara’s. And just as the Sorceress of Gors Velen had been whilst their baby grew, blossomed in her stomach, Amara was ever so loving and affectionate towards her bundle of joy, passionately proud and ardently protective of the gift fate had given her.

The months spent training the little ugly one had seen them grow closer. Sharing a room at some point and having the girl curled up at her side in her protective, motherly hold had a love blossoming within her chest for the young girl. It was only solidified and made stronger when the girl referred to her as mother. And from then on, Yennefer swore that no matter what, she will always be Ciri’s mother.

Her path with Geralt obviously was further intertwined now and it was no surprise when they got back together. Traveling across the continent, keeping the ashen haired girl safe and hidden from all those who wished to harm her or use her for power. It was on their travels, at a tavern where they run into Dandelion — whom they always seem to run into at some point and really how is this bard still living? — that she learns about Amara and apparently the state she was last in when the bard saw her. Pregnant? Amara had always been against motherhood. The lilac eyed sorceress couldn’t quite explain the array of emotions that coursed through her chest.

“I wonder who the father is” he says with a light snort.

“You best keep your mouth shut, Dandelion” the raven haired woman snapped lightly. “It is none of your concern.”

He knew, they all knew of her history with the Temerian sorceress. But no one said a thing and if the bard said anything at all afterwards, it wasn’t in front of her. Yen had gone to her room which she shared with Geralt and of course had been unable to think of anything else but Amara. She was with child? Whose? Since when? Why hadn’t she said anything in her letters? Was she perhaps afraid Yen would resent her for her ability to have children? Surely she knows that the raven haired woman would never.

She lasted all of a day before she had told Geralt she needed to make a detour and that she will meet them at their destination within a week tops. If there happens to be any delays, she will let him know. He knew where she was going and perhaps that was the reason he did not asked and she, being Yen, did not give any further details. The lilac eyed sorceress heads on then towards the city of Oxenfurt, locating the sorceress from Rissberg with an easy locating spell. She could not believe her eyes when she sets her gaze upon the house the woman resided within. It isn’t that Amara has never had the best of the when it came to her homes and the way they looked — it was more on the fact the woman was… gardening.

If the half-elf had caught wind of Dandelion’s movements in Oxenfurt and his newly earned duty as a Lecturer at Oxenfurt’s Acadamy, Amara would have ensured that she had moved elsewhere. She knew him more than enough to be painfully aware of his mouth and it’s inability to remain silenced, the aspect of gossip and being paid attention for even the smallest of seconds causing his thoughts to simply vanish and his mouth to open and pour with rumours and stories similar to that of a waterfall. And if Amara was to hear of his admittance and that it was his running mouth that informed Yennefer of her situation, the Bard would find himself cursed.

She had heard the sounds of steps waltzing across the path that guided one into the garden and paid little attention towards who owned them as few now paid spontaneous visits upon her, simply expecting it to be the beloved Astraea or one of her friends from her years spent at Rissberg. Expect, when the visitor dared to speak, the Sorceress’s body reacted almost violently in an concoction of emotions, hairs rising to attention at the excitement, the utter joy that was always present whenever Yennefer of Vengerberg was near and blood was ran cold, her heart immediately beginning to pound away desperately within it’s cage. “When they told me you were off living a quiet life… I couldn’t believe it. And yet here you are…” There was only one person across the entire continent with a voice that was so heavenly, that could send her on a blissful journey with a single word. What… What on Earth was she doing here? How had she managed to track her down? She was practically a worlds away from Gors Velen, from anything that linked to the Temerian. Amara thought back to their last letters, to the mention of a visit that she could have missed and came up with, well, nothing. Yennefer hadn’t mentioned visiting. And that only caused worry to burn in the back of her mind, creating a path for questions to arise upon her tongue.

There’s a breathiness to her voice as she says her name, not that Yennefer minds. It is a testimony to the effects she has upon the sorceress of Gors Velen. It takes her a second to rise, the Aerdinian notices this as well but when she does, she turns to look at her and gods, she is lovely as ever. Sharp features, silver hues, absolutely breathtaking in all of her motherly glory. Speaking of which, lilac hues flicker to the little bundle all wrapped around against Amara’s chest. It is true, what Dandelion said. Amara had been with child. She couldn’t explain the feelings which coursed through her being at the sight.

When the half-elf speaks, the lilac eyed mage flickers her gaze back towards her. A well defined brow quirks at the words and her head tilts. “No, nothing is the matter, Cirilla is in perfect health, thank the gods. Need there to be something wrong for me to visit you?” She asks, stepping forth just so and halting a few inches. She doesn’t think she has ever seen Amara this cautious or standoffish around her ever, it made her curious. Why was the woman behaving in such manner? Well, it could be because she had kept such huge news a secret? And now here Yen was, seeing this new picture in person.

In spite of how her questions arose out of curiosity, of worry as to why Yennefer was here and how it might have seemed to the opposing woman as they fell from pale lips, Amara’s query in regards to Cirilla’s health was genuine. Geralt might have been someone who lacked favour with the Sorceress of Gors Velen, in fact, he was someone she utterly distasted for an array of reasons but there was a soft spot for his child surprise. After her own childhood, the horrific experiences she had been brutally bestowed there was a softness, a kindred with children and young adults who had also experienced similar horrors that had been created. Not to mention, Ciri was Yennefer’s child in every sense of the word and that came with it’s own meaning to the older woman. “You are always welcome, Yennefer. I suppose I’m simply taken by surprise. You randomly visit me without sending a letter to signal your arrival. I suspect more for the fresh apple juice.” Playfully spoken, that breathlessness remained as the younger woman closed the distant and served to increase the heavy beat of her heart as teeth worried at the inside of her cheek. It had been just under a year since Yennefer was seen and being in her presence once more brought an array of emotions to the woman and her body, unable to be resisted as Yennefer was one of the only people that caused her to react so purely, without the ability to be restrained and left her painfully exposed beneath lilac hues.

The violet eyed mage loves the way the woman always reacts to her touch. The way she leans into the touch to her cheek. She ached to pull her into her arms, to kiss her a she always ached to do but she couldn’t. Not now. Yennefer understood the need to for Amara to just take a step back and process this, the woman had always had certain views on motherhood. She knows it because of how the way the Gors Velen sorceress had been orphaned so unexpectedly and brutally.

All train of thoughts cease however when her finger is taken. Her gaze lands on the little bundle in Amara’s arms. There were a handful of times where Yennefer of Vengerberg has been stunt, unable to form much of a thought. Her breath hitched slightly and she stares at the baby in absolute awe, in wonder. She couldn’t explain it, the warmth that coursed through her body at such a simple gesture from an innocent little baby. It gave her this strong feeling, like she needed to release it in tears. Could it be because the baby was Amara’s? She certainly has never reacted to any other tiny human. The pale woman wiggles her finger lightly, not enough to disturb the baby and make her release her finger but enough to make her little fist wiggle.

There was a passing shadow of disappointment, gone as quickly as it came. She wanted to kiss the younger woman, to surrender to the ache that constantly pestered at her body. If this had been any other moment, Amara would have eagerly pulled Yennefer into a bone-crushing embrace and bestowed tender lips with a breathtaking kiss and inform the Sorceress of the feelings she could never openly admit. But… Such a series of motions could not be taken, Yennefer was with Geralt in a relationship that brought her happiness and satisfaction. Amara couldn’t be the one to destroy the joy that the Sorceress of Vengerberg had finally found. She only ever wanted the best for Yennefer, even if it left her saddened, dissatisfied that such happiness wasn’t found with her. It was the price that the wish demanded and a price that Amara paid in silence since it had fallen from Geralt’s lips all those decades ago. And after all, it wasn’t Yennefer’s fault that she had been Amara’s first love.

Spherules watched on in utter and complete silent at the gripping of Yennefer’s finger. Gods. Would she be able to keep up this secret if Yennefer and her daughter repeated such purity? Concern lashed out at the back of her mind, repetitive reminders setting off in an attempt to try and silence the emotions that welled up, threatening to tip the pale-skinned woman over. The whirlwind of emotions had left her wanting to scream, cry and laugh all in the same moment. Was this the price she was forced to pay for her choice of harbouring this secret? She was forced to see these acts and remain silent, not daring to react even as her body begged. How her lungs screamed, begged for the Temerian to breathe.

The wish, what had changed everything and turned each of their lives upside down. She knows that Amara is affected as much as she and Geralt were. It couldn’t be and was not easy to have someone you love bonded to another by magic, linked together by destiny. More often than not the lilac eyed sorceress wishes it was not so, that she could just give the Temerian everything she craved. Because Yen craved it too. But with immortality came separation from time to time and taking different paths before coming together once more. Nothing was ever easy and even less so for them.

The baby tightens her grip on her finger and coos unhappily at the motion. It makes the raven haired woman smile ever so, nearly laugh actually as she watched the scene before her. Pristine teeth sink into her bottom lip as she stares solemnly at the little bundle that snuggles closer to the sorceress’ chest. Yes, she too knew how heavenly such a place was. Yennefer stills her finger but the stroking of tiny knuckles with her thumb does not cease. The name is spoken and the Aerdinian sorceress stops then. Faye, if all those lessons in Aretuza serve her right, which they did, she’s positive the name means Raven. She feels a lump form in her throat, heart clenching in her chest. Had it been deliberate, the choosing of the name? Has Amara picked the name for the baby after her in some way? The mere idea has her sentimental which knowing Yennefer es also a feat in itself.

She held bitterness towards the wish and in turn, the man that had cast it. Only a few select words and it forever altered her most precious possession. And her love was little match for the powers of a Djinn, the most powerful air elemental that could change destiny itself as if it was the smallest feat known to man. Fate had often intervened, bringing them together only for destiny to laugh and pull them apart once more, setting them on different paths that brought a new wave of heartache. How long she had spent wishing to forget the emotions Yennefer stirred inside of her? Had feverishly searched for the one that could surpass and cause her pain to subside, to prevent it from haunting her as it did? Sadly, such endeavours had brought nothing to the woman expect momentarily satisfaction after a tumble in bed. This didn’t include Astraea, of course, who had been the closest but the women had been unable to let that love blossom into it’s true complexity as even she had been ripped from Amara’s grasp and thrown into the arms of another lover. Perhaps, her destiny was not to spend her life loving someone other then herself and now her child. And all she had ever wanted was to spent this prolonged life with someone she loved and that returned that very love. It was better off, she supposes. Her touch, after time, never brought success and only ever granted poison.

The sorceress from Vengerberg watches as the woman looks at Faye with so much love, holds her so protectively. She looks every bit a protective mother and it warms the woman’s heart, feels the organ often described as like the obsidian rock on her necklace, growing in her chest with all this love begging to be poured out. But the raven haired woman keeps a tight lid upon it, is content for the time being on simply watching on. Her head tilts to the side and she released a soft laugh at the explaining behind the name, every bit an Amara reason and truth be told? Yen would’ve done the same. Her child would be every bit extraordinary and so would her name be. However now her own heart is pounding in her chest as she takes the words in. The Temerian wanted for her name to have meaning and — well, what did that mean? Why call her by a name which meant raven? The very nickname the woman has called her for decades?

Surprisingly, Yennefer hadn’t yet dared to ask who else had aided in the creation of the bundle of joy that was snuggled up with such contentment, still gripping at her gloved finger and not granting the younger woman the ability to create distance, tightening whenever she sensed movement that she did not approve of. Oh, yes, Yennefer’s she was or the world would hear about her dislike at life going the way she desires. It was such an relief to have a moment to breathe, to think of how to answer such a question and bring satisfaction to her once lover with an answer that would inevitably given.

The baby seems adamant in letting her go. Her grip tightening on her finger the moment she felt even the slightest of movements from the Aerdinian sorceress. She was tempted so ask if she could hold the girl but refrained from it. The teasing words had her rolling her eyes lightly as she smiles ever so. “No knowledges whatsoever has begun to fade, I’m insulted you’ve even jumped to such a conclusion” she says with a mild, playful huff. However it turns serious, the mood, the atmosphere — at the very least for her it does. “I know the many meanings, I simply need you to tell me the meaning it holds for you.” The words are soft spoken, “see I knew one of them was Raven and it stopped my heart at the thought of you possibly naming her that because of me.”

Yennefer had always been possessive, something that the older woman had truly enjoyed for the most part of their relationship. Perhaps, the enjoyment came from a twisted sense of wanting to feel wanted, as if she belonged and that possessiveness answered to it in some way, shape or form. Perhaps, she had enjoyed that in spite of being possessive, Amara had never felt owned by Yennefer and that her moments of possession arose from love. It was something that the women shared, the possessiveness and it had never seemed to fade in spite of the way that destiny constantly interviewed, the decades that had passed between them and the momentarily lovers they knew of but had chosen to simply ignore.

Faye expressed little consideration in loosening her grip upon the younger woman, preventing the family from parting even the slightest. Gods. Such proximity to Yennefer was hard as the woman, knowingly or unknowingly, invaded all of her senses as the Sorceress of Gors Velen was, as she had always been, painfully aware of the woman and everything that came with her. She inhaled slowly, trying to silence the slight shake that threatened as silver orbs took Yennefer’s concentration upon their child to her advantage and granted herself the ability to watch, observe each of those breathtaking features. Yennefer hadn’t changed, remained as she had when they first met and by the gods, how it left her breathless and weakened as her beauty swept her utterly and completely from her feet as it always had. Amara was torn from the emotions, the fantasies that arose in her mind and returned to life as it was, her attention purposely turned from the quarter-elf in favour of anything else. “Someone has to keep you on your toes.” And the jest had soon crumbled away, giving way beneath the seriousness that Yennefer bestowed upon them in the name of her need to understand the meaning that was behind Amara’s child and just what significance it held to the Temerian.

Gods. How her jaw threatened to shatter beneath the sheer force that was knowingly applied to it as the older woman’s strength was called upon. Was Yennefer truly so clueless? Did she not realise the importance she held within the half-elf’s life? “I chose it for it’s translation of Raven, Yennefer. I think the rest of the answer has already fallen into place.” Three centuries old and the concept of talking of emotions, confessing them from her own lips in an admittance of spoken word was still one that had her at a loss and especially with Yennefer. She hated how vulnerable, how easily broken she was in Yennefer’s presence and how it only took one word from the woman to be shattered. The gaze was not broken, fingers trembling as the Sorceress of Gors Velen kept steady and dared not to glance elsewhere but tried not to get hopelessly lost in a sea of amethyst. Yennefer had ruined her from the moment the younger woman dared to strike conversation, answering to fate’s call.

She was not clueless to the importance she held in Amara’s life, her heart. She just needed to hear confirmation rather than making speculations. She needed to know, needed to understand — well perhaps not the why. As she said, she knew the importance she held in Amara’s life. However if she had a child with another, why name her after her? Does the father know about it? The meaning behind it? The person that inspired it and what they are to each other? But before any of those question can be thought about deeper, perhaps even be voice and demand a response the baby fusses and Amara suggest stepping inside.

“Excuse the messes.” Not that there was one. Amara was the type of woman that was painfully clean, constantly ensuring that her home was spotless and without even the slightest of messes. It came from her line of work, one could say. If your home was clean and in proper order, even the slightest of modifications could be noticed and in turn, acts of intrusions could be easily spotted, not that documents and other valuable or sensitive items were ever left outside of the safety of her workrooms. She had easily fallen into the role of a mother, the role simply radiating from her naturally and now that they were inside her home, her body had begun careful rocking as the baby remained in her arms and those chaotic locks continued to stroked in such a soothing manner, lulling the baby into the deepest of slumbers while silver orbs watched on as if the child was the only object near and dear.

They step into the house and Amara apologizes for the mess. It makes the sorceress from Vengerberg roll her eyes, quite typical of her it was. There was never a single thing out of place in the Temerian’s home. If there was ever any mess, it was quickly cleaned up. If it wasn’t, well it was simply because it was the fun kind of mess. The lilac eyed mage watched as her beloved rocks the little bundle of joy in her arms and well Yennefer sort of had to follow it up because her finger is still very much still being held by the baby. “There is never any mess in your house, Amara.”

“There is always a mess.” She murmured with a slight roll of her silver orbs almost as if the Half-Elf was silently, gently informing Yennefer of her miscalculation and the ability to use her arms once more was used to her advantage now that Faye was safety buried within the warmth of Yennefer’s arms and seemingly invisible fluff was wiped away with a distasteful swipe of her hand. “Shall I get you a fresh pitcher of apple juice, Yen?” It had become that of a staple in her life since her pregnancy and the cravings that came with it, the women’s child bestowing constant cravings upon the Temerian throughout the entirety of those long yet blissful nine-months and even now, loved nothing more than having the golden liquid applied to the end of her pacifiers or upon her gums almost as much as Yennefer herself enjoyed drinking it by the gallon. Amara removed the cotton wrap from her body, beginning to fold it neatly but had ended up placing it carelessly on the dining table as her concentration was captured, the Temerian enthralled by the sight of her child and the woman she loved, that of a emotionally-gripped simper curling at the edge of supple brims as her heart pounded, fluttered with potent emotions and energised love.

Gods… It was truly the beautiful sight to behold, the sight of her beloved daughter content and ever so happy in her ex-partner’s arms as if this was not the first meeting and they had done this a thousand times, healthy little hands gripping, holding at Yennefer’s dress as Faye’s body turned to settle against the warmth that radiated from her mother and tiny, roseate lips danced with happiness. If only she was able to capture this moment, to be able to relive it once Yennefer leaves and returns to her life with Geralt. Faye was a bundle of joy that was small and light but that certainly did not mean the newborn was delicate and without sturdiness, her appetite healthy and bestowing her chunky little thighs, chubby cheeks and a tiny tummy that was often the topic of amusement during a playful game of raspberry with her mother. Amara felt her heart clench painfully the longer that she stared, teeth worrying at flesh of her inner cheek as the sight unravelled so many hidden emotions at a pace that was truly daunting and a sharp inhale was taken, forced down as tears threatened to fall and they were willed away. “You… You look beautiful with a child, Yennefer.” With our child. Words unable to be spoken, that burned at her very soul. She had yet to see Yennefer holding a child and this very moment had granted her the beauty and forced her to relive so many of her decisions, filling her with regrets and wishes that the potentional of a family was brought up in their youth and that her tentative proposal of marriage had repeatedly fallen from her lips until Yennefer’s refusal morphed into acceptance.

Yennefer gently rocks the baby, fingers lightly tracing soft features. She finds herself smiling, eyes as violent as a storm completely soft and tender when gazing upon this gentle creature. This small thing. The words from Amara causes her to look up at her and her breath quietly hitches at the sight. It seems that the half-elf was close to tears and well, the sorceress of Vengerberg felt something similar because — how long has she craved this? To hold a child, her child, her legacy, what she leaves behind in this cruel world. Someone she would be important to because nothing is as important as a mother, a good mother. She gives the Temerian a tender and loving smile but when the gaze is broken, when Amara looks away she sets her gaze upon the baby.

Silence envelopes them and it isn’t exactly uncomfortable. Not to her at the very least. She’s still quite enthralled by the baby, gently cooing and lightly rocking the babe. When she glanced up once the glass was offered to her, she could’ve choked on her own breath at the eyeful of breasts she got. She knows that pregnancy could change a woman’s body, breasts enlarging duo to the milk that is produced for the baby but by the gods —. She swallows thickly and moves her gaze to the goblet which she grabs. “Thank you” she says and takes a sip, humming in delight. Exactly how she likes it. “No darling, I’m alright for the time being.” She cradles the baby in one arm and the juice on her other hand. It was still so surreal to her that this child was Amara’s. “How is motherhood treating you so far?” She asks and moves to sit on the table, placing the cup on it so now both hands are holding the baby.

Now, as stated before, she had felt like Amara was behaving weirdly. She had passed it off as many things at first but now it felt sort of ridiculous. She had the strangest sensation that Amara was trying to keep Faye away from her. Why? “By the gods, Amara, are you afraid I’ll steal her?” She says with a quirk of her brow as she looks upon the woman and how nervous she is. How she shifts from foot to foot and her gaze flickers between herself and the baby. What was going on with her? “Why are you so nervous?” Perhaps the baby felt the tension or the mild aggravation that Yennefer was exuding at this behavior from her usually calm, confident and mischievous ex-lover. But there’s a wail, a sound of protest which makes the Vengerberg sorceress shift her gaze down to the baby. Little fists rub tiny eyes and she watched as if it were the most interesting thing on the Continent. Sees the way the baby stretches and then opens her eyes.

Time stills when eyes are revealed and she sees reflected back at her violet eyes.

𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐮𝐜𝐤?

The baby is coping, reaching for her, smiling at her. She is monetarily torn between feeling utter happiness and joy and feeling like she could conjure up a storm with the anger and hurt she feels in regards to and towards Amara. She had kept this a secret from her and form the looks of it had planned to do so for quite some time. The minutes stretch on and she doesn’t move her gaze away from the baby, not yet. She smiles back and leans into the little chubby hands which grip her cheeks.

The raven haired half-elf allows her time with Faye, which she thinks is the least she can do. She maintain her distance for the time being and deep down the Vengerberg sorceress appreciates that. When she hands the baby back to her, the lilac eyed mage observed at the woman lower dress to expose her breast and for a brief second she looks at them as a woman who, well finds deep enjoyment in them. Regaledlesss of her anger but then the baby is being fed and all sexual thoughts disappear and she’s struck by the sight. It was so — she couldn’t explain it, really. But it was beautiful, in her opinion. At some point the Aerdinian takes a seat and plays with her previous cup of juice which was still mostly full and only looks over when the Temerian speaks.

Yennefer stands and nods in the same manner that Amara had previously. She takes the baby gently into her arms once more and follows the directions the half-elf had given her. Upon arrival, she takes the room in, instantly notices tho little details, little trinkets that are hers. She was so involved in her life and yet not really. It made her ache further and she feels mildly lucky that she has discovered this now rather than years later and having missed all of the firsts. Yen looks down at the drowsy baby and smiles, humming and gently caressing her features. She watched as Faye slowly begun to drift into sleep and once the sorceress knew she was off in dreamland, she placed her down on the crib. She makes sure she is comfy before making her way out and down the stairs. Here it goes.

𝗬𝗼𝘂’𝗿𝗲 𝗵𝗮𝗽𝗽𝘆 𝗶𝗻 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝗻𝗲𝘄 𝗹𝗶𝗳𝗲.

And she can hear the bitterness. That was not surprising, really and she has always known this was a sensitive subject. The Vengerberg sorceress even understood it, really but what did that have to do with this? How could she think she wouldn’t be happy at such news? “How could you ever think you’d be a burden to me? Are you fucking—” she needs a second, a moment of deep breath and she pinches the bridge of her nose as she does. She starts a gentle pace before her head snaps up to look at Amara, “I wouldn’t believe you?! Why the hell wouldn’t I believe you? You have never lie to me, I have absolutely no reason to believe you would lie about or even joke about such a thing!”

This all felt like excuses. Which in some level also hurt the sorceress from Vengerberg. Did the half-elf truly thought all that? Felt all of that?

𝗬𝗼𝘂 𝗷𝘂𝘀𝘁 𝗱𝗼𝗻’𝘁 𝘂𝗻𝗱𝗲𝗿𝘀𝘁𝗮𝗻𝗱, 𝗱𝗼 𝘆𝗼𝘂?

Then the woman slips on that mask she is quite familiar. She’s seen it before, sometimes with her but mostly to other people she did not like or did not feel like dealing or simply did not wish to give them even the slightest inkling as to what she was feeling. “Right” she says in a tersely manner, “seems like I don’t.” She stands straighter, shoulders squared and she gazes at Amara in a manner that even though she’s rather short compared to the rest of the damn continent, still made you feel like she was looking down at you, towering over with her presence. “Kind of you to extend that offer and I’ll take a room at the inn. I’ll be back early in the morning.”

Motherhood… How was it something that women craved? And with such intense desperation? Why would someone sign themselves up for such a role, desire to be the world of something so pure and delicate? Put themselves in such a violate position? It was nothing more than an aspect of life that the Sorceress of Gors Velen had purposely fled from, remaining tenaciously out of reach to any and all situations that could, even in the slightest, led the pale-skinned woman into a position that saw her caring for a child, existing as a mother-figure to an innocent soul that could so easily be broken, disappointed. And such desperate avoidance, such a distasteful outlook was carved from a childhood that had been painful, horrific and lonely, spent trapped beneath a cruel caretaker in a dilapidated orphanage. Perhaps, Amara was selfish. Perhaps, Amara was weak. Perhaps, Amara still held scars, thus, was scared, frightened. And such scars had not healed, forever reopening beneath invisible strain as toxic ignorance was paid towards mental and physical wounds that had refused to leave, to ease when the victim denied facing them. Simply, to be a mother was a role she loathed the thought of, actively avoided in every sense of the word. She had been walking, existing across this Continent for over three centuries and had yet to truly keep herself together, to act in a manner that was safe and wholeheartedly mature instead of chasing a youthful, careless lifestyle that had seen her split from her loved ones, captured in moments that gifted her scars that would never fade even with the aide of magic. Pregnancy was nothing more than a fragment of life that the Sorceress had been wholeheartedly uninterested in as the belief of being a terrible, uncaring mother whispered in the back of her mind and frightening off any thoughts that dared to arise.

Yennefer of Vengerberg was her first love and had been an important, unwavering presence in the Temerian’s life from the moment that their paths crossed in the Courts of Aedirn and that soaring, passionate bond was created, forged by the likes of destiny and was unbreaking beneath the pressure of time and a whirlwind romance that was as chaotic as an untamed stallion galloping through lush fields. It was truly nothing for the women to be together one moment and apart the next, days, weeks, months or even years spent together. Now, this did not mean in any way, shape or form that their love was untrue or impure as a couple that spent their lives together, remaining attached at the hip. It simply meant that their love, however chaotic and unpredictable, was passionate, burning and unable to be mellowed, the women brought back together repeatedly by the unusual workings of fate. Violate they could be, loving in the first moment, thoroughly frustrated in the second and dripping with lust in the last. It was that very sequence that had led the Sorceress of Gors Velen into this … undesired situation, the very situation that she had never expected, envisioned herself to be in. She and Yennefer had parted ways but not without a night of passion that had left her ever so pleasurably bruised and unable to walk without limping after the Sorceress of Vengerberg experimented with a new spell that had seen her equipped with a very real, very responsive phallus.

Unforeseen, the Scholar of Rissberg had brusquely awoken one morning with the unyielding desire to empty the contents of her stomach as the organ rocked, trembled viciously, riotously and promptly lost the previous night’s meal in a bucket that had been hastily received. She hadn’t expected to have the light of life to be growing, forming within her stomach in an act of chance that was truly magical, a blessing. And why would such a thought arise? Akin to all Aretuza Sorceresses, Yennefer’s ascension had come at a painful cost that had seen her purposely left sterile and unable to have children in an act that the Brotherhood of Sorcerers had hoped pledge loyalty. Who could possibly have thought that playing around with a crude spell could create a loophole? One that ended in pregnancy, the gift of life? It had not ever been heard of, unspoken and hidden if such a discovery had been founded previously by another couple. No. Pregnancy had not been the thought that had entered Amara’s mind, in fact, the pale-skinned Temerian had simply believed that she had fallen ill. Sorceresses, after all, could still fall sick as they were wholeheartedly immune to the ways of life and had treated herself as such, believing after that of a truly agonising week of morning sickness that it was an unusual case of hay fever and was responding painfully to a new crop that her community was using, waving it off as an allergy of sorts. In fact, even the increase in the Sorceress’s eating habits had been simply shouldered off as her body trying to naturally heal itself and required the nutrition to fight the effects of the ailment that acted out upon her body.

Outrageously, the Sorceress of Gors Velen had been painfully unaware of the situation she had unknowingly found herself in as days turned into weeks and edged onto the first few months. You see, her appetite had always been that of a healthy one and ate, for the majority, to her pleasure. It wasn’t until the desire for a spontaneous bath had seen her uncovered and unprotected, argenteous orbs uncovering the startling discovery of a previously undetected bump that had seemed to have formed without her knowledge. And suddenly, the last few weeks and all those strange, unusual variations had all come crashing down upon her in unrelenting waves of emotions, finally making sense in a daunting discovery that was frightening and life-altering all in the very same second, provoking a strangled sob to tear forth from her lips as the woman fell to the ground as pale hands grasped and not at her stomach, as one would think, but the floor. One could not discover a response that could truly describe the situation the Sorceress had found herself in, the emotions and conflict which lashed out at her body. It was frightening to think of just how much was being unpacked in her mind. On one hand, she was pregnant and that was a feat she had never foreseen and she was pregnant with Yennefer’s child and that was a feat that should have been impossible given Yennefer’s inability to have children. Without a doubt, it was Yennefer’s. Amara only enjoyed the company of the same-sex and such devious acts of using chaos to conjure a magical cock on her lover’s body had only ever been done with Yennefer.

Gods… It opened a whole new pot of worms. Could she tell Yennefer? Should she tell Yennefer? Could or should she keep this life that was living inside of her? Given the violent response of both her body and mind, Amara was aware there and then that she was unable to purposely rid herself of the gift that had been created out of the love that shimmered and burned between herself and the woman she loved in a feat that was, without a doubt, a true creation of fate. And yet, she was unable to bring herself to informing Yennefer of this discovery, of the fact that the Sorceress of Gors Velen was pregnant with their child in an unbelievable outcome. Surely, the pale-skinned woman would sound insane, had finally lost the last screw as so many joked with such an admittance and had imagined an array of Yennefer’s responses that , of such that she did not want to battle with and their last communication had read that Yennefer was content, happy in her current life with Geralt, the Infamous Witcher and their child surprise, Ciri. Who was she to play god in their relationships by dropping such an emotional bomb? If Yennefer believed her that is. She had only ever wanted Yennefer to be happy in her life, to find that meaning the Aedirnian wanted and such was found as the mother to Geralt’s child surprise. Perhaps, her choice of keeping their child secret was ever so wrong, one that would see the women damaged, hurt and confused. Amara Isolda was someone who often, in the opinion of those that surrounded her, chose the wrong choice, even if it was chosen for the right reason and for the health of those she cared for. Was another wrong choice truly going to be so bad? When she had so many already trailing behind her? It was one that she regretted with each passing day, with each letter received from Yennefer and had forced herself to live with.

Amara had, surprisingly, eased into the aspect of having a child ever so swiftly, with such effortlessness that had left her debating on her previous beliefs of her ability in the world of motherhood and was truly loving, attentive to the unborn child that grew in her stomach, showering it in constant acts of affection and love throughout the day, ensuring that she only ever digested the best quality of foods and ensured that it was family with her voice, talking, singing and reading to the bundle of joy as the days passed on and her belly grew larger, signalling that her child was healthy and nurtured, blossoming beneath her love. In fact, the Sorceress had even departed from her birth town of Gors Velen, leaving behind a life that she had loved living for one far slower and settled down in a tasteful Manor discovered not far from the smaller settlement of Oxenfurt, a piece of the continent that was quieter, without conflict and was absent of the hustle and bustle that came with the likes of an overpopulated city that was brimming with factions, businesses and opportunities.

When the birth came, it was a challenge as any childbirth was but after hours of intense labour guided by a close friend and confidant, the Continent was made brighter, better by the birth of a beautiful baby girl. And a beauty she was, blessed with skin that was as delicate as porcelain and a gentle button nose, generous little eyebrows and tresses as dark as the night, chaotic and wild as Yennefer’s and features that paired Amara and Yennefer together tastefully but most important of all, little orbs which danced vividly with an array of amethyst shades that was identical to her mother. And such an emotional discovery that was, a stream of tears staining alabaster cheeks as the woman she loved more than life itself was so very present in the gift they had created. Yennefer was, without a single doubt, lovingly present in their daughter as her demanding yet gentle natured personality was more akin to her Mother’s rather than Amara’s. And just as the Sorceress of Gors Velen had been whilst their baby grew, blossomed in her stomach, Amara was ever so loving and affectionate towards her bundle of joy, passionately proud and ardently protective of the gift fate had given her.

The months spent training the little ugly one had seen them grow closer. Sharing a room at some point and having the girl curled up at her side in her protective, motherly hold had a love blossoming within her chest for the young girl. It was only solidified and made stronger when the girl referred to her as mother. And from then on, Yennefer swore that no matter what, she will always be Ciri’s mother.

Her path with Geralt obviously was further intertwined now and it was no surprise when they got back together. Traveling across the continent, keeping the ashen haired girl safe and hidden from all those who wished to harm her or use her for power. It was on their travels, at a tavern where they run into Dandelion — whom they always seem to run into at some point and really how is this bard still living? — that she learns about Amara and apparently the state she was last in when the bard saw her. Pregnant? Amara had always been against motherhood. The lilac eyed sorceress couldn’t quite explain the array of emotions that coursed through her chest.

“I wonder who the father is” he says with a light snort.

“You best keep your mouth shut, Dandelion” the raven haired woman snapped lightly. “It is none of your concern.”

He knew, they all knew of her history with the Temerian sorceress. But no one said a thing and if the bard said anything at all afterwards, it wasn’t in front of her. Yen had gone to her room which she shared with Geralt and of course had been unable to think of anything else but Amara. She was with child? Whose? Since when? Why hadn’t she said anything in her letters? Was she perhaps afraid Yen would resent her for her ability to have children? Surely she knows that the raven haired woman would never.

She lasted all of a day before she had told Geralt she needed to make a detour and that she will meet them at their destination within a week tops. If there happens to be any delays, she will let him know. He knew where she was going and perhaps that was the reason he did not asked and she, being Yen, did not give any further details. The lilac eyed sorceress heads on then towards the city of Oxenfurt, locating the sorceress from Rissberg with an easy locating spell. She could not believe her eyes when she sets her gaze upon the house the woman resided within. It isn’t that Amara has never had the best of the when it came to her homes and the way they looked — it was more on the fact the woman was… gardening.

If the half-elf had caught wind of Dandelion’s movements in Oxenfurt and his newly earned duty as a Lecturer at Oxenfurt’s Acadamy, Amara would have ensured that she had moved elsewhere. She knew him more than enough to be painfully aware of his mouth and it’s inability to remain silenced, the aspect of gossip and being paid attention for even the smallest of seconds causing his thoughts to simply vanish and his mouth to open and pour with rumours and stories similar to that of a waterfall. And if Amara was to hear of his admittance and that it was his running mouth that informed Yennefer of her situation, the Bard would find himself cursed.

She had heard the sounds of steps waltzing across the path that guided one into the garden and paid little attention towards who owned them as few now paid spontaneous visits upon her, simply expecting it to be the beloved Astraea or one of her friends from her years spent at Rissberg. Expect, when the visitor dared to speak, the Sorceress’s body reacted almost violently in an concoction of emotions, hairs rising to attention at the excitement, the utter joy that was always present whenever Yennefer of Vengerberg was near and blood was ran cold, her heart immediately beginning to pound away desperately within it’s cage. “When they told me you were off living a quiet life… I couldn’t believe it. And yet here you are…” There was only one person across the entire continent with a voice that was so heavenly, that could send her on a blissful journey with a single word. What… What on Earth was she doing here? How had she managed to track her down? She was practically a worlds away from Gors Velen, from anything that linked to the Temerian. Amara thought back to their last letters, to the mention of a visit that she could have missed and came up with, well, nothing. Yennefer hadn’t mentioned visiting. And that only caused worry to burn in the back of her mind, creating a path for questions to arise upon her tongue.

There’s a breathiness to her voice as she says her name, not that Yennefer minds. It is a testimony to the effects she has upon the sorceress of Gors Velen. It takes her a second to rise, the Aerdinian notices this as well but when she does, she turns to look at her and gods, she is lovely as ever. Sharp features, silver hues, absolutely breathtaking in all of her motherly glory. Speaking of which, lilac hues flicker to the little bundle all wrapped around against Amara’s chest. It is true, what Dandelion said. Amara had been with child. She couldn’t explain the feelings which coursed through her being at the sight.

When the half-elf speaks, the lilac eyed mage flickers her gaze back towards her. A well defined brow quirks at the words and her head tilts. “No, nothing is the matter, Cirilla is in perfect health, thank the gods. Need there to be something wrong for me to visit you?” She asks, stepping forth just so and halting a few inches. She doesn’t think she has ever seen Amara this cautious or standoffish around her ever, it made her curious. Why was the woman behaving in such manner? Well, it could be because she had kept such huge news a secret? And now here Yen was, seeing this new picture in person.

In spite of how her questions arose out of curiosity, of worry as to why Yennefer was here and how it might have seemed to the opposing woman as they fell from pale lips, Amara’s query in regards to Cirilla’s health was genuine. Geralt might have been someone who lacked favour with the Sorceress of Gors Velen, in fact, he was someone she utterly distasted for an array of reasons but there was a soft spot for his child surprise. After her own childhood, the horrific experiences she had been brutally bestowed there was a softness, a kindred with children and young adults who had also experienced similar horrors that had been created. Not to mention, Ciri was Yennefer’s child in every sense of the word and that came with it’s own meaning to the older woman. “You are always welcome, Yennefer. I suppose I’m simply taken by surprise. You randomly visit me without sending a letter to signal your arrival. I suspect more for the fresh apple juice.” Playfully spoken, that breathlessness remained as the younger woman closed the distant and served to increase the heavy beat of her heart as teeth worried at the inside of her cheek. It had been just under a year since Yennefer was seen and being in her presence once more brought an array of emotions to the woman and her body, unable to be resisted as Yennefer was one of the only people that caused her to react so purely, without the ability to be restrained and left her painfully exposed beneath lilac hues.

The violet eyed mage loves the way the woman always reacts to her touch. The way she leans into the touch to her cheek. She ached to pull her into her arms, to kiss her a she always ached to do but she couldn’t. Not now. Yennefer understood the need to for Amara to just take a step back and process this, the woman had always had certain views on motherhood. She knows it because of how the way the Gors Velen sorceress had been orphaned so unexpectedly and brutally.

All train of thoughts cease however when her finger is taken. Her gaze lands on the little bundle in Amara’s arms. There were a handful of times where Yennefer of Vengerberg has been stunt, unable to form much of a thought. Her breath hitched slightly and she stares at the baby in absolute awe, in wonder. She couldn’t explain it, the warmth that coursed through her body at such a simple gesture from an innocent little baby. It gave her this strong feeling, like she needed to release it in tears. Could it be because the baby was Amara’s? She certainly has never reacted to any other tiny human. The pale woman wiggles her finger lightly, not enough to disturb the baby and make her release her finger but enough to make her little fist wiggle.

There was a passing shadow of disappointment, gone as quickly as it came. She wanted to kiss the younger woman, to surrender to the ache that constantly pestered at her body. If this had been any other moment, Amara would have eagerly pulled Yennefer into a bone-crushing embrace and bestowed tender lips with a breathtaking kiss and inform the Sorceress of the feelings she could never openly admit. But… Such a series of motions could not be taken, Yennefer was with Geralt in a relationship that brought her happiness and satisfaction. Amara couldn’t be the one to destroy the joy that the Sorceress of Vengerberg had finally found. She only ever wanted the best for Yennefer, even if it left her saddened, dissatisfied that such happiness wasn’t found with her. It was the price that the wish demanded and a price that Amara paid in silence since it had fallen from Geralt’s lips all those decades ago. And after all, it wasn’t Yennefer’s fault that she had been Amara’s first love.

Spherules watched on in utter and complete silent at the gripping of Yennefer’s finger. Gods. Would she be able to keep up this secret if Yennefer and her daughter repeated such purity? Concern lashed out at the back of her mind, repetitive reminders setting off in an attempt to try and silence the emotions that welled up, threatening to tip the pale-skinned woman over. The whirlwind of emotions had left her wanting to scream, cry and laugh all in the same moment. Was this the price she was forced to pay for her choice of harbouring this secret? She was forced to see these acts and remain silent, not daring to react even as her body begged. How her lungs screamed, begged for the Temerian to breathe.

The wish, what had changed everything and turned each of their lives upside down. She knows that Amara is affected as much as she and Geralt were. It couldn’t be and was not easy to have someone you love bonded to another by magic, linked together by destiny. More often than not the lilac eyed sorceress wishes it was not so, that she could just give the Temerian everything she craved. Because Yen craved it too. But with immortality came separation from time to time and taking different paths before coming together once more. Nothing was ever easy and even less so for them.

The baby tightens her grip on her finger and coos unhappily at the motion. It makes the raven haired woman smile ever so, nearly laugh actually as she watched the scene before her. Pristine teeth sink into her bottom lip as she stares solemnly at the little bundle that snuggles closer to the sorceress’ chest. Yes, she too knew how heavenly such a place was. Yennefer stills her finger but the stroking of tiny knuckles with her thumb does not cease. The name is spoken and the Aerdinian sorceress stops then. Faye, if all those lessons in Aretuza serve her right, which they did, she’s positive the name means Raven. She feels a lump form in her throat, heart clenching in her chest. Had it been deliberate, the choosing of the name? Has Amara picked the name for the baby after her in some way? The mere idea has her sentimental which knowing Yennefer es also a feat in itself.

She held bitterness towards the wish and in turn, the man that had cast it. Only a few select words and it forever altered her most precious possession. And her love was little match for the powers of a Djinn, the most powerful air elemental that could change destiny itself as if it was the smallest feat known to man. Fate had often intervened, bringing them together only for destiny to laugh and pull them apart once more, setting them on different paths that brought a new wave of heartache. How long she had spent wishing to forget the emotions Yennefer stirred inside of her? Had feverishly searched for the one that could surpass and cause her pain to subside, to prevent it from haunting her as it did? Sadly, such endeavours had brought nothing to the woman expect momentarily satisfaction after a tumble in bed. This didn’t include Astraea, of course, who had been the closest but the women had been unable to let that love blossom into it’s true complexity as even she had been ripped from Amara’s grasp and thrown into the arms of another lover. Perhaps, her destiny was not to spend her life loving someone other then herself and now her child. And all she had ever wanted was to spent this prolonged life with someone she loved and that returned that very love. It was better off, she supposes. Her touch, after time, never brought success and only ever granted poison.

The sorceress from Vengerberg watches as the woman looks at Faye with so much love, holds her so protectively. She looks every bit a protective mother and it warms the woman’s heart, feels the organ often described as like the obsidian rock on her necklace, growing in her chest with all this love begging to be poured out. But the raven haired woman keeps a tight lid upon it, is content for the time being on simply watching on. Her head tilts to the side and she released a soft laugh at the explaining behind the name, every bit an Amara reason and truth be told? Yen would’ve done the same. Her child would be every bit extraordinary and so would her name be. However now her own heart is pounding in her chest as she takes the words in. The Temerian wanted for her name to have meaning and — well, what did that mean? Why call her by a name which meant raven? The very nickname the woman has called her for decades?

Surprisingly, Yennefer hadn’t yet dared to ask who else had aided in the creation of the bundle of joy that was snuggled up with such contentment, still gripping at her gloved finger and not granting the younger woman the ability to create distance, tightening whenever she sensed movement that she did not approve of. Oh, yes, Yennefer’s she was or the world would hear about her dislike at life going the way she desires. It was such an relief to have a moment to breathe, to think of how to answer such a question and bring satisfaction to her once lover with an answer that would inevitably given.

The baby seems adamant in letting her go. Her grip tightening on her finger the moment she felt even the slightest of movements from the Aerdinian sorceress. She was tempted so ask if she could hold the girl but refrained from it. The teasing words had her rolling her eyes lightly as she smiles ever so. “No knowledges whatsoever has begun to fade, I’m insulted you’ve even jumped to such a conclusion” she says with a mild, playful huff. However it turns serious, the mood, the atmosphere — at the very least for her it does. “I know the many meanings, I simply need you to tell me the meaning it holds for you.” The words are soft spoken, “see I knew one of them was Raven and it stopped my heart at the thought of you possibly naming her that because of me.”

Yennefer had always been possessive, something that the older woman had truly enjoyed for the most part of their relationship. Perhaps, the enjoyment came from a twisted sense of wanting to feel wanted, as if she belonged and that possessiveness answered to it in some way, shape or form. Perhaps, she had enjoyed that in spite of being possessive, Amara had never felt owned by Yennefer and that her moments of possession arose from love. It was something that the women shared, the possessiveness and it had never seemed to fade in spite of the way that destiny constantly interviewed, the decades that had passed between them and the momentarily lovers they knew of but had chosen to simply ignore.

Faye expressed little consideration in loosening her grip upon the younger woman, preventing the family from parting even the slightest. Gods. Such proximity to Yennefer was hard as the woman, knowingly or unknowingly, invaded all of her senses as the Sorceress of Gors Velen was, as she had always been, painfully aware of the woman and everything that came with her. She inhaled slowly, trying to silence the slight shake that threatened as silver orbs took Yennefer’s concentration upon their child to her advantage and granted herself the ability to watch, observe each of those breathtaking features. Yennefer hadn’t changed, remained as she had when they first met and by the gods, how it left her breathless and weakened as her beauty swept her utterly and completely from her feet as it always had. Amara was torn from the emotions, the fantasies that arose in her mind and returned to life as it was, her attention purposely turned from the quarter-elf in favour of anything else. “Someone has to keep you on your toes.” And the jest had soon crumbled away, giving way beneath the seriousness that Yennefer bestowed upon them in the name of her need to understand the meaning that was behind Amara’s child and just what significance it held to the Temerian.

Gods. How her jaw threatened to shatter beneath the sheer force that was knowingly applied to it as the older woman’s strength was called upon. Was Yennefer truly so clueless? Did she not realise the importance she held within the half-elf’s life? “I chose it for it’s translation of Raven, Yennefer. I think the rest of the answer has already fallen into place.” Three centuries old and the concept of talking of emotions, confessing them from her own lips in an admittance of spoken word was still one that had her at a loss and especially with Yennefer. She hated how vulnerable, how easily broken she was in Yennefer’s presence and how it only took one word from the woman to be shattered. The gaze was not broken, fingers trembling as the Sorceress of Gors Velen kept steady and dared not to glance elsewhere but tried not to get hopelessly lost in a sea of amethyst. Yennefer had ruined her from the moment the younger woman dared to strike conversation, answering to fate’s call.

She was not clueless to the importance she held in Amara’s life, her heart. She just needed to hear confirmation rather than making speculations. She needed to know, needed to understand — well perhaps not the why. As she said, she knew the importance she held in Amara’s life. However if she had a child with another, why name her after her? Does the father know about it? The meaning behind it? The person that inspired it and what they are to each other? But before any of those question can be thought about deeper, perhaps even be voice and demand a response the baby fusses and Amara suggest stepping inside.

“Excuse the messes.” Not that there was one. Amara was the type of woman that was painfully clean, constantly ensuring that her home was spotless and without even the slightest of messes. It came from her line of work, one could say. If your home was clean and in proper order, even the slightest of modifications could be noticed and in turn, acts of intrusions could be easily spotted, not that documents and other valuable or sensitive items were ever left outside of the safety of her workrooms. She had easily fallen into the role of a mother, the role simply radiating from her naturally and now that they were inside her home, her body had begun careful rocking as the baby remained in her arms and those chaotic locks continued to stroked in such a soothing manner, lulling the baby into the deepest of slumbers while silver orbs watched on as if the child was the only object near and dear.

They step into the house and Amara apologizes for the mess. It makes the sorceress from Vengerberg roll her eyes, quite typical of her it was. There was never a single thing out of place in the Temerian’s home. If there was ever any mess, it was quickly cleaned up. If it wasn’t, well it was simply because it was the fun kind of mess. The lilac eyed mage watched as her beloved rocks the little bundle of joy in her arms and well Yennefer sort of had to follow it up because her finger is still very much still being held by the baby. “There is never any mess in your house, Amara.”

“There is always a mess.” She murmured with a slight roll of her silver orbs almost as if the Half-Elf was silently, gently informing Yennefer of her miscalculation and the ability to use her arms once more was used to her advantage now that Faye was safety buried within the warmth of Yennefer’s arms and seemingly invisible fluff was wiped away with a distasteful swipe of her hand. “Shall I get you a fresh pitcher of apple juice, Yen?” It had become that of a staple in her life since her pregnancy and the cravings that came with it, the women’s child bestowing constant cravings upon the Temerian throughout the entirety of those long yet blissful nine-months and even now, loved nothing more than having the golden liquid applied to the end of her pacifiers or upon her gums almost as much as Yennefer herself enjoyed drinking it by the gallon. Amara removed the cotton wrap from her body, beginning to fold it neatly but had ended up placing it carelessly on the dining table as her concentration was captured, the Temerian enthralled by the sight of her child and the woman she loved, that of a emotionally-gripped simper curling at the edge of supple brims as her heart pounded, fluttered with potent emotions and energised love.

Gods… It was truly the beautiful sight to behold, the sight of her beloved daughter content and ever so happy in her ex-partner’s arms as if this was not the first meeting and they had done this a thousand times, healthy little hands gripping, holding at Yennefer’s dress as Faye’s body turned to settle against the warmth that radiated from her mother and tiny, roseate lips danced with happiness. If only she was able to capture this moment, to be able to relive it once Yennefer leaves and returns to her life with Geralt. Faye was a bundle of joy that was small and light but that certainly did not mean the newborn was delicate and without sturdiness, her appetite healthy and bestowing her chunky little thighs, chubby cheeks and a tiny tummy that was often the topic of amusement during a playful game of raspberry with her mother. Amara felt her heart clench painfully the longer that she stared, teeth worrying at flesh of her inner cheek as the sight unravelled so many hidden emotions at a pace that was truly daunting and a sharp inhale was taken, forced down as tears threatened to fall and they were willed away. “You… You look beautiful with a child, Yennefer.” With our child. Words unable to be spoken, that burned at her very soul. She had yet to see Yennefer holding a child and this very moment had granted her the beauty and forced her to relive so many of her decisions, filling her with regrets and wishes that the potentional of a family was brought up in their youth and that her tentative proposal of marriage had repeatedly fallen from her lips until Yennefer’s refusal morphed into acceptance.

Yennefer gently rocks the baby, fingers lightly tracing soft features. She finds herself smiling, eyes as violent as a storm completely soft and tender when gazing upon this gentle creature. This small thing. The words from Amara causes her to look up at her and her breath quietly hitches at the sight. It seems that the half-elf was close to tears and well, the sorceress of Vengerberg felt something similar because — how long has she craved this? To hold a child, her child, her legacy, what she leaves behind in this cruel world. Someone she would be important to because nothing is as important as a mother, a good mother. She gives the Temerian a tender and loving smile but when the gaze is broken, when Amara looks away she sets her gaze upon the baby.

Silence envelopes them and it isn’t exactly uncomfortable. Not to her at the very least. She’s still quite enthralled by the baby, gently cooing and lightly rocking the babe. When she glanced up once the glass was offered to her, she could’ve choked on her own breath at the eyeful of breasts she got. She knows that pregnancy could change a woman’s body, breasts enlarging duo to the milk that is produced for the baby but by the gods —. She swallows thickly and moves her gaze to the goblet which she grabs. “Thank you” she says and takes a sip, humming in delight. Exactly how she likes it. “No darling, I’m alright for the time being.” She cradles the baby in one arm and the juice on her other hand. It was still so surreal to her that this child was Amara’s. “How is motherhood treating you so far?” She asks and moves to sit on the table, placing the cup on it so now both hands are holding the baby.

Now, as stated before, she had felt like Amara was behaving weirdly. She had passed it off as many things at first but now it felt sort of ridiculous. She had the strangest sensation that Amara was trying to keep Faye away from her. Why? “By the gods, Amara, are you afraid I’ll steal her?” She says with a quirk of her brow as she looks upon the woman and how nervous she is. How she shifts from foot to foot and her gaze flickers between herself and the baby. What was going on with her? “Why are you so nervous?” Perhaps the baby felt the tension or the mild aggravation that Yennefer was exuding at this behavior from her usually calm, confident and mischievous ex-lover. But there’s a wail, a sound of protest which makes the Vengerberg sorceress shift her gaze down to the baby. Little fists rub tiny eyes and she watched as if it were the most interesting thing on the Continent. Sees the way the baby stretches and then opens her eyes.

Time stills when eyes are revealed and she sees reflected back at her violet eyes.

𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐮𝐜𝐤?

The baby is coping, reaching for her, smiling at her. She is monetarily torn between feeling utter happiness and joy and feeling like she could conjure up a storm with the anger and hurt she feels in regards to and towards Amara. She had kept this a secret from her and form the looks of it had planned to do so for quite some time. The minutes stretch on and she doesn’t move her gaze away from the baby, not yet. She smiles back and leans into the little chubby hands which grip her cheeks.

The raven haired half-elf allows her time with Faye, which she thinks is the least she can do. She maintain her distance for the time being and deep down the Vengerberg sorceress appreciates that. When she hands the baby back to her, the lilac eyed mage observed at the woman lower dress to expose her breast and for a brief second she looks at them as a woman who, well finds deep enjoyment in them. Regaledlesss of her anger but then the baby is being fed and all sexual thoughts disappear and she’s struck by the sight. It was so — she couldn’t explain it, really. But it was beautiful, in her opinion. At some point the Aerdinian takes a seat and plays with her previous cup of juice which was still mostly full and only looks over when the Temerian speaks.

Yennefer stands and nods in the same manner that Amara had previously. She takes the baby gently into her arms once more and follows the directions the half-elf had given her. Upon arrival, she takes the room in, instantly notices tho little details, little trinkets that are hers. She was so involved in her life and yet not really. It made her ache further and she feels mildly lucky that she has discovered this now rather than years later and having missed all of the firsts. Yen looks down at the drowsy baby and smiles, humming and gently caressing her features. She watched as Faye slowly begun to drift into sleep and once the sorceress knew she was off in dreamland, she placed her down on the crib. She makes sure she is comfy before making her way out and down the stairs. Here it goes.

𝗬𝗼𝘂’𝗿𝗲 𝗵𝗮𝗽𝗽𝘆 𝗶𝗻 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝗻𝗲𝘄 𝗹𝗶𝗳𝗲.

And she can hear the bitterness. That was not surprising, really and she has always known this was a sensitive subject. The Vengerberg sorceress even understood it, really but what did that have to do with this? How could she think she wouldn’t be happy at such news? “How could you ever think you’d be a burden to me? Are you fucking—” she needs a second, a moment of deep breath and she pinches the bridge of her nose as she does. She starts a gentle pace before her head snaps up to look at Amara, “I wouldn’t believe you?! Why the hell wouldn’t I believe you? You have never lie to me, I have absolutely no reason to believe you would lie about or even joke about such a thing!”

This all felt like excuses. Which in some level also hurt the sorceress from Vengerberg. Did the half-elf truly thought all that? Felt all of that?

Motherhood… How was it something that women craved? And with such intense desperation? Why would someone sign themselves up for such a role, desire to be the world of something so pure and delicate? Put themselves in such a violate position? It was nothing more than an aspect of life that the Sorceress of Gors Velen had purposely fled from, remaining tenaciously out of reach to any and all situations that could, even in the slightest, led the pale-skinned woman into a position that saw her caring for a child, existing as a mother-figure to an innocent soul that could so easily be broken, disappointed. And such desperate avoidance, such a distasteful outlook was carved from a childhood that had been painful, horrific and lonely, spent trapped beneath a cruel caretaker in a dilapidated orphanage. Perhaps, Amara was selfish. Perhaps, Amara was weak. Perhaps, Amara still held scars, thus, was scared, frightened. And such scars had not healed, forever reopening beneath invisible strain as toxic ignorance was paid towards mental and physical wounds that had refused to leave, to ease when the victim denied facing them. Simply, to be a mother was a role she loathed the thought of, actively avoided in every sense of the word. She had been walking, existing across this Continent for over three centuries and had yet to truly keep herself together, to act in a manner that was safe and wholeheartedly mature instead of chasing a youthful, careless lifestyle that had seen her split from her loved ones, captured in moments that gifted her scars that would never fade even with the aide of magic. Pregnancy was nothing more than a fragment of life that the Sorceress had been wholeheartedly uninterested in as the belief of being a terrible, uncaring mother whispered in the back of her mind and frightening off any thoughts that dared to arise.

Yennefer of Vengerberg was her first love and had been an important, unwavering presence in the Temerian’s life from the moment that their paths crossed in the Courts of Aedirn and that soaring, passionate bond was created, forged by the likes of destiny and was unbreaking beneath the pressure of time and a whirlwind romance that was as chaotic as an untamed stallion galloping through lush fields. It was truly nothing for the women to be together one moment and apart the next, days, weeks, months or even years spent together. Now, this did not mean in any way, shape or form that their love was untrue or impure as a couple that spent their lives together, remaining attached at the hip. It simply meant that their love, however chaotic and unpredictable, was passionate, burning and unable to be mellowed, the women brought back together repeatedly by the unusual workings of fate. Violate they could be, loving in the first moment, thoroughly frustrated in the second and dripping with lust in the last. It was that very sequence that had led the Sorceress of Gors Velen into this … undesired situation, the very situation that she had never expected, envisioned herself to be in. She and Yennefer had parted ways but not without a night of passion that had left her ever so pleasurably bruised and unable to walk without limping after the Sorceress of Vengerberg experimented with a new spell that had seen her equipped with a very real, very responsive phallus.

Unforeseen, the Scholar of Rissberg had brusquely awoken one morning with the unyielding desire to empty the contents of her stomach as the organ rocked, trembled viciously, riotously and promptly lost the previous night’s meal in a bucket that had been hastily received. She hadn’t expected to have the light of life to be growing, forming within her stomach in an act of chance that was truly magical, a blessing. And why would such a thought arise? Akin to all Aretuza Sorceresses, Yennefer’s ascension had come at a painful cost that had seen her purposely left sterile and unable to have children in an act that the Brotherhood of Sorcerers had hoped pledge loyalty. Who could possibly have thought that playing around with a crude spell could create a loophole? One that ended in pregnancy, the gift of life? It had not ever been heard of, unspoken and hidden if such a discovery had been founded previously by another couple. No. Pregnancy had not been the thought that had entered Amara’s mind, in fact, the pale-skinned Temerian had simply believed that she had fallen ill. Sorceresses, after all, could still fall sick as they were wholeheartedly immune to the ways of life and had treated herself as such, believing after that of a truly agonising week of morning sickness that it was an unusual case of hay fever and was responding painfully to a new crop that her community was using, waving it off as an allergy of sorts. In fact, even the increase in the Sorceress’s eating habits had been simply shouldered off as her body trying to naturally heal itself and required the nutrition to fight the effects of the ailment that acted out upon her body.

Outrageously, the Sorceress of Gors Velen had been painfully unaware of the situation she had unknowingly found herself in as days turned into weeks and edged onto the first few months. You see, her appetite had always been that of a healthy one and ate, for the majority, to her pleasure. It wasn’t until the desire for a spontaneous bath had seen her uncovered and unprotected, argenteous orbs uncovering the startling discovery of a previously undetected bump that had seemed to have formed without her knowledge. And suddenly, the last few weeks and all those strange, unusual variations had all come crashing down upon her in unrelenting waves of emotions, finally making sense in a daunting discovery that was frightening and life-altering all in the very same second, provoking a strangled sob to tear forth from her lips as the woman fell to the ground as pale hands grasped and not at her stomach, as one would think, but the floor. One could not discover a response that could truly describe the situation the Sorceress had found herself in, the emotions and conflict which lashed out at her body. It was frightening to think of just how much was being unpacked in her mind. On one hand, she was pregnant and that was a feat she had never foreseen and she was pregnant with Yennefer’s child and that was a feat that should have been impossible given Yennefer’s inability to have children. Without a doubt, it was Yennefer’s. Amara only enjoyed the company of the same-sex and such devious acts of using chaos to conjure a magical cock on her lover’s body had only ever been done with Yennefer.

Gods… It opened a whole new pot of worms. Could she tell Yennefer? Should she tell Yennefer? Could or should she keep this life that was living inside of her? Given the violent response of both her body and mind, Amara was aware there and then that she was unable to purposely rid herself of the gift that had been created out of the love that shimmered and burned between herself and the woman she loved in a feat that was, without a doubt, a true creation of fate. And yet, she was unable to bring herself to informing Yennefer of this discovery, of the fact that the Sorceress of Gors Velen was pregnant with their child in an unbelievable outcome. Surely, the pale-skinned woman would sound insane, had finally lost the last screw as so many joked with such an admittance and had imagined an array of Yennefer’s responses that , of such that she did not want to battle with and their last communication had read that Yennefer was content, happy in her current life with Geralt, the Infamous Witcher and their child surprise, Ciri. Who was she to play god in their relationships by dropping such an emotional bomb? If Yennefer believed her that is. She had only ever wanted Yennefer to be happy in her life, to find that meaning the Aedirnian wanted and such was found as the mother to Geralt’s child surprise. Perhaps, her choice of keeping their child secret was ever so wrong, one that would see the women damaged, hurt and confused. Amara Isolda was someone who often, in the opinion of those that surrounded her, chose the wrong choice, even if it was chosen for the right reason and for the health of those she cared for. Was another wrong choice truly going to be so bad? When she had so many already trailing behind her? It was one that she regretted with each passing day, with each letter received from Yennefer and had forced herself to live with.

Amara had, surprisingly, eased into the aspect of having a child ever so swiftly, with such effortlessness that had left her debating on her previous beliefs of her ability in the world of motherhood and was truly loving, attentive to the unborn child that grew in her stomach, showering it in constant acts of affection and love throughout the day, ensuring that she only ever digested the best quality of foods and ensured that it was family with her voice, talking, singing and reading to the bundle of joy as the days passed on and her belly grew larger, signalling that her child was healthy and nurtured, blossoming beneath her love. In fact, the Sorceress had even departed from her birth town of Gors Velen, leaving behind a life that she had loved living for one far slower and settled down in a tasteful Manor discovered not far from the smaller settlement of Oxenfurt, a piece of the continent that was quieter, without conflict and was absent of the hustle and bustle that came with the likes of an overpopulated city that was brimming with factions, businesses and opportunities.

When the birth came, it was a challenge as any childbirth was but after hours of intense labour guided by a close friend and confidant, the Continent was made brighter, better by the birth of a beautiful baby girl. And a beauty she was, blessed with skin that was as delicate as porcelain and a gentle button nose, generous little eyebrows and tresses as dark as the night, chaotic and wild as Yennefer’s and features that paired Amara and Yennefer together tastefully but most important of all, little orbs which danced vividly with an array of amethyst shades that was identical to her mother. And such an emotional discovery that was, a stream of tears staining alabaster cheeks as the woman she loved more than life itself was so very present in the gift they had created. Yennefer was, without a single doubt, lovingly present in their daughter as her demanding yet gentle natured personality was more akin to her Mother’s rather than Amara’s. And just as the Sorceress of Gors Velen had been whilst their baby grew, blossomed in her stomach, Amara was ever so loving and affectionate towards her bundle of joy, passionately proud and ardently protective of the gift fate had given her.

The months spent training the little ugly one had seen them grow closer. Sharing a room at some point and having the girl curled up at her side in her protective, motherly hold had a love blossoming within her chest for the young girl. It was only solidified and made stronger when the girl referred to her as mother. And from then on, Yennefer swore that no matter what, she will always be Ciri’s mother.

Her path with Geralt obviously was further intertwined now and it was no surprise when they got back together. Traveling across the continent, keeping the ashen haired girl safe and hidden from all those who wished to harm her or use her for power. It was on their travels, at a tavern where they run into Dandelion — whom they always seem to run into at some point and really how is this bard still living? — that she learns about Amara and apparently the state she was last in when the bard saw her. Pregnant? Amara had always been against motherhood. The lilac eyed sorceress couldn’t quite explain the array of emotions that coursed through her chest.

“I wonder who the father is” he says with a light snort.

“You best keep your mouth shut, Dandelion” the raven haired woman snapped lightly. “It is none of your concern.”

He knew, they all knew of her history with the Temerian sorceress. But no one said a thing and if the bard said anything at all afterwards, it wasn’t in front of her. Yen had gone to her room which she shared with Geralt and of course had been unable to think of anything else but Amara. She was with child? Whose? Since when? Why hadn’t she said anything in her letters? Was she perhaps afraid Yen would resent her for her ability to have children? Surely she knows that the raven haired woman would never.

She lasted all of a day before she had told Geralt she needed to make a detour and that she will meet them at their destination within a week tops. If there happens to be any delays, she will let him know. He knew where she was going and perhaps that was the reason he did not asked and she, being Yen, did not give any further details. The lilac eyed sorceress heads on then towards the city of Oxenfurt, locating the sorceress from Rissberg with an easy locating spell. She could not believe her eyes when she sets her gaze upon the house the woman resided within. It isn’t that Amara has never had the best of the when it came to her homes and the way they looked — it was more on the fact the woman was… gardening.

If the half-elf had caught wind of Dandelion’s movements in Oxenfurt and his newly earned duty as a Lecturer at Oxenfurt’s Acadamy, Amara would have ensured that she had moved elsewhere. She knew him more than enough to be painfully aware of his mouth and it’s inability to remain silenced, the aspect of gossip and being paid attention for even the smallest of seconds causing his thoughts to simply vanish and his mouth to open and pour with rumours and stories similar to that of a waterfall. And if Amara was to hear of his admittance and that it was his running mouth that informed Yennefer of her situation, the Bard would find himself cursed.

She had heard the sounds of steps waltzing across the path that guided one into the garden and paid little attention towards who owned them as few now paid spontaneous visits upon her, simply expecting it to be the beloved Astraea or one of her friends from her years spent at Rissberg. Expect, when the visitor dared to speak, the Sorceress’s body reacted almost violently in an concoction of emotions, hairs rising to attention at the excitement, the utter joy that was always present whenever Yennefer of Vengerberg was near and blood was ran cold, her heart immediately beginning to pound away desperately within it’s cage. “When they told me you were off living a quiet life… I couldn’t believe it. And yet here you are…” There was only one person across the entire continent with a voice that was so heavenly, that could send her on a blissful journey with a single word. What… What on Earth was she doing here? How had she managed to track her down? She was practically a worlds away from Gors Velen, from anything that linked to the Temerian. Amara thought back to their last letters, to the mention of a visit that she could have missed and came up with, well, nothing. Yennefer hadn’t mentioned visiting. And that only caused worry to burn in the back of her mind, creating a path for questions to arise upon her tongue.

There’s a breathiness to her voice as she says her name, not that Yennefer minds. It is a testimony to the effects she has upon the sorceress of Gors Velen. It takes her a second to rise, the Aerdinian notices this as well but when she does, she turns to look at her and gods, she is lovely as ever. Sharp features, silver hues, absolutely breathtaking in all of her motherly glory. Speaking of which, lilac hues flicker to the little bundle all wrapped around against Amara’s chest. It is true, what Dandelion said. Amara had been with child. She couldn’t explain the feelings which coursed through her being at the sight.

When the half-elf speaks, the lilac eyed mage flickers her gaze back towards her. A well defined brow quirks at the words and her head tilts. “No, nothing is the matter, Cirilla is in perfect health, thank the gods. Need there to be something wrong for me to visit you?” She asks, stepping forth just so and halting a few inches. She doesn’t think she has ever seen Amara this cautious or standoffish around her ever, it made her curious. Why was the woman behaving in such manner? Well, it could be because she had kept such huge news a secret? And now here Yen was, seeing this new picture in person.

In spite of how her questions arose out of curiosity, of worry as to why Yennefer was here and how it might have seemed to the opposing woman as they fell from pale lips, Amara’s query in regards to Cirilla’s health was genuine. Geralt might have been someone who lacked favour with the Sorceress of Gors Velen, in fact, he was someone she utterly distasted for an array of reasons but there was a soft spot for his child surprise. After her own childhood, the horrific experiences she had been brutally bestowed there was a softness, a kindred with children and young adults who had also experienced similar horrors that had been created. Not to mention, Ciri was Yennefer’s child in every sense of the word and that came with it’s own meaning to the older woman. “You are always welcome, Yennefer. I suppose I’m simply taken by surprise. You randomly visit me without sending a letter to signal your arrival. I suspect more for the fresh apple juice.” Playfully spoken, that breathlessness remained as the younger woman closed the distant and served to increase the heavy beat of her heart as teeth worried at the inside of her cheek. It had been just under a year since Yennefer was seen and being in her presence once more brought an array of emotions to the woman and her body, unable to be resisted as Yennefer was one of the only people that caused her to react so purely, without the ability to be restrained and left her painfully exposed beneath lilac hues.

The violet eyed mage loves the way the woman always reacts to her touch. The way she leans into the touch to her cheek. She ached to pull her into her arms, to kiss her a she always ached to do but she couldn’t. Not now. Yennefer understood the need to for Amara to just take a step back and process this, the woman had always had certain views on motherhood. She knows it because of how the way the Gors Velen sorceress had been orphaned so unexpectedly and brutally.

All train of thoughts cease however when her finger is taken. Her gaze lands on the little bundle in Amara’s arms. There were a handful of times where Yennefer of Vengerberg has been stunt, unable to form much of a thought. Her breath hitched slightly and she stares at the baby in absolute awe, in wonder. She couldn’t explain it, the warmth that coursed through her body at such a simple gesture from an innocent little baby. It gave her this strong feeling, like she needed to release it in tears. Could it be because the baby was Amara’s? She certainly has never reacted to any other tiny human. The pale woman wiggles her finger lightly, not enough to disturb the baby and make her release her finger but enough to make her little fist wiggle.

There was a passing shadow of disappointment, gone as quickly as it came. She wanted to kiss the younger woman, to surrender to the ache that constantly pestered at her body. If this had been any other moment, Amara would have eagerly pulled Yennefer into a bone-crushing embrace and bestowed tender lips with a breathtaking kiss and inform the Sorceress of the feelings she could never openly admit. But… Such a series of motions could not be taken, Yennefer was with Geralt in a relationship that brought her happiness and satisfaction. Amara couldn’t be the one to destroy the joy that the Sorceress of Vengerberg had finally found. She only ever wanted the best for Yennefer, even if it left her saddened, dissatisfied that such happiness wasn’t found with her. It was the price that the wish demanded and a price that Amara paid in silence since it had fallen from Geralt’s lips all those decades ago. And after all, it wasn’t Yennefer’s fault that she had been Amara’s first love.

Spherules watched on in utter and complete silent at the gripping of Yennefer’s finger. Gods. Would she be able to keep up this secret if Yennefer and her daughter repeated such purity? Concern lashed out at the back of her mind, repetitive reminders setting off in an attempt to try and silence the emotions that welled up, threatening to tip the pale-skinned woman over. The whirlwind of emotions had left her wanting to scream, cry and laugh all in the same moment. Was this the price she was forced to pay for her choice of harbouring this secret? She was forced to see these acts and remain silent, not daring to react even as her body begged. How her lungs screamed, begged for the Temerian to breathe.

The wish, what had changed everything and turned each of their lives upside down. She knows that Amara is affected as much as she and Geralt were. It couldn’t be and was not easy to have someone you love bonded to another by magic, linked together by destiny. More often than not the lilac eyed sorceress wishes it was not so, that she could just give the Temerian everything she craved. Because Yen craved it too. But with immortality came separation from time to time and taking different paths before coming together once more. Nothing was ever easy and even less so for them.

The baby tightens her grip on her finger and coos unhappily at the motion. It makes the raven haired woman smile ever so, nearly laugh actually as she watched the scene before her. Pristine teeth sink into her bottom lip as she stares solemnly at the little bundle that snuggles closer to the sorceress’ chest. Yes, she too knew how heavenly such a place was. Yennefer stills her finger but the stroking of tiny knuckles with her thumb does not cease. The name is spoken and the Aerdinian sorceress stops then. Faye, if all those lessons in Aretuza serve her right, which they did, she’s positive the name means Raven. She feels a lump form in her throat, heart clenching in her chest. Had it been deliberate, the choosing of the name? Has Amara picked the name for the baby after her in some way? The mere idea has her sentimental which knowing Yennefer es also a feat in itself.

She held bitterness towards the wish and in turn, the man that had cast it. Only a few select words and it forever altered her most precious possession. And her love was little match for the powers of a Djinn, the most powerful air elemental that could change destiny itself as if it was the smallest feat known to man. Fate had often intervened, bringing them together only for destiny to laugh and pull them apart once more, setting them on different paths that brought a new wave of heartache. How long she had spent wishing to forget the emotions Yennefer stirred inside of her? Had feverishly searched for the one that could surpass and cause her pain to subside, to prevent it from haunting her as it did? Sadly, such endeavours had brought nothing to the woman expect momentarily satisfaction after a tumble in bed. This didn’t include Astraea, of course, who had been the closest but the women had been unable to let that love blossom into it’s true complexity as even she had been ripped from Amara’s grasp and thrown into the arms of another lover. Perhaps, her destiny was not to spend her life loving someone other then herself and now her child. And all she had ever wanted was to spent this prolonged life with someone she loved and that returned that very love. It was better off, she supposes. Her touch, after time, never brought success and only ever granted poison.

The sorceress from Vengerberg watches as the woman looks at Faye with so much love, holds her so protectively. She looks every bit a protective mother and it warms the woman’s heart, feels the organ often described as like the obsidian rock on her necklace, growing in her chest with all this love begging to be poured out. But the raven haired woman keeps a tight lid upon it, is content for the time being on simply watching on. Her head tilts to the side and she released a soft laugh at the explaining behind the name, every bit an Amara reason and truth be told? Yen would’ve done the same. Her child would be every bit extraordinary and so would her name be. However now her own heart is pounding in her chest as she takes the words in. The Temerian wanted for her name to have meaning and — well, what did that mean? Why call her by a name which meant raven? The very nickname the woman has called her for decades?

Surprisingly, Yennefer hadn’t yet dared to ask who else had aided in the creation of the bundle of joy that was snuggled up with such contentment, still gripping at her gloved finger and not granting the younger woman the ability to create distance, tightening whenever she sensed movement that she did not approve of. Oh, yes, Yennefer’s she was or the world would hear about her dislike at life going the way she desires. It was such an relief to have a moment to breathe, to think of how to answer such a question and bring satisfaction to her once lover with an answer that would inevitably given.

The baby seems adamant in letting her go. Her grip tightening on her finger the moment she felt even the slightest of movements from the Aerdinian sorceress. She was tempted so ask if she could hold the girl but refrained from it. The teasing words had her rolling her eyes lightly as she smiles ever so. “No knowledges whatsoever has begun to fade, I’m insulted you’ve even jumped to such a conclusion” she says with a mild, playful huff. However it turns serious, the mood, the atmosphere — at the very least for her it does. “I know the many meanings, I simply need you to tell me the meaning it holds for you.” The words are soft spoken, “see I knew one of them was Raven and it stopped my heart at the thought of you possibly naming her that because of me.”

Yennefer had always been possessive, something that the older woman had truly enjoyed for the most part of their relationship. Perhaps, the enjoyment came from a twisted sense of wanting to feel wanted, as if she belonged and that possessiveness answered to it in some way, shape or form. Perhaps, she had enjoyed that in spite of being possessive, Amara had never felt owned by Yennefer and that her moments of possession arose from love. It was something that the women shared, the possessiveness and it had never seemed to fade in spite of the way that destiny constantly interviewed, the decades that had passed between them and the momentarily lovers they knew of but had chosen to simply ignore.

Faye expressed little consideration in loosening her grip upon the younger woman, preventing the family from parting even the slightest. Gods. Such proximity to Yennefer was hard as the woman, knowingly or unknowingly, invaded all of her senses as the Sorceress of Gors Velen was, as she had always been, painfully aware of the woman and everything that came with her. She inhaled slowly, trying to silence the slight shake that threatened as silver orbs took Yennefer’s concentration upon their child to her advantage and granted herself the ability to watch, observe each of those breathtaking features. Yennefer hadn’t changed, remained as she had when they first met and by the gods, how it left her breathless and weakened as her beauty swept her utterly and completely from her feet as it always had. Amara was torn from the emotions, the fantasies that arose in her mind and returned to life as it was, her attention purposely turned from the quarter-elf in favour of anything else. “Someone has to keep you on your toes.” And the jest had soon crumbled away, giving way beneath the seriousness that Yennefer bestowed upon them in the name of her need to understand the meaning that was behind Amara’s child and just what significance it held to the Temerian.

Gods. How her jaw threatened to shatter beneath the sheer force that was knowingly applied to it as the older woman’s strength was called upon. Was Yennefer truly so clueless? Did she not realise the importance she held within the half-elf’s life? “I chose it for it’s translation of Raven, Yennefer. I think the rest of the answer has already fallen into place.” Three centuries old and the concept of talking of emotions, confessing them from her own lips in an admittance of spoken word was still one that had her at a loss and especially with Yennefer. She hated how vulnerable, how easily broken she was in Yennefer’s presence and how it only took one word from the woman to be shattered. The gaze was not broken, fingers trembling as the Sorceress of Gors Velen kept steady and dared not to glance elsewhere but tried not to get hopelessly lost in a sea of amethyst. Yennefer had ruined her from the moment the younger woman dared to strike conversation, answering to fate’s call.

She was not clueless to the importance she held in Amara’s life, her heart. She just needed to hear confirmation rather than making speculations. She needed to know, needed to understand — well perhaps not the why. As she said, she knew the importance she held in Amara’s life. However if she had a child with another, why name her after her? Does the father know about it? The meaning behind it? The person that inspired it and what they are to each other? But before any of those question can be thought about deeper, perhaps even be voice and demand a response the baby fusses and Amara suggest stepping inside.

“Excuse the messes.” Not that there was one. Amara was the type of woman that was painfully clean, constantly ensuring that her home was spotless and without even the slightest of messes. It came from her line of work, one could say. If your home was clean and in proper order, even the slightest of modifications could be noticed and in turn, acts of intrusions could be easily spotted, not that documents and other valuable or sensitive items were ever left outside of the safety of her workrooms. She had easily fallen into the role of a mother, the role simply radiating from her naturally and now that they were inside her home, her body had begun careful rocking as the baby remained in her arms and those chaotic locks continued to stroked in such a soothing manner, lulling the baby into the deepest of slumbers while silver orbs watched on as if the child was the only object near and dear.

They step into the house and Amara apologizes for the mess. It makes the sorceress from Vengerberg roll her eyes, quite typical of her it was. There was never a single thing out of place in the Temerian’s home. If there was ever any mess, it was quickly cleaned up. If it wasn’t, well it was simply because it was the fun kind of mess. The lilac eyed mage watched as her beloved rocks the little bundle of joy in her arms and well Yennefer sort of had to follow it up because her finger is still very much still being held by the baby. “There is never any mess in your house, Amara.”

“There is always a mess.” She murmured with a slight roll of her silver orbs almost as if the Half-Elf was silently, gently informing Yennefer of her miscalculation and the ability to use her arms once more was used to her advantage now that Faye was safety buried within the warmth of Yennefer’s arms and seemingly invisible fluff was wiped away with a distasteful swipe of her hand. “Shall I get you a fresh pitcher of apple juice, Yen?” It had become that of a staple in her life since her pregnancy and the cravings that came with it, the women’s child bestowing constant cravings upon the Temerian throughout the entirety of those long yet blissful nine-months and even now, loved nothing more than having the golden liquid applied to the end of her pacifiers or upon her gums almost as much as Yennefer herself enjoyed drinking it by the gallon. Amara removed the cotton wrap from her body, beginning to fold it neatly but had ended up placing it carelessly on the dining table as her concentration was captured, the Temerian enthralled by the sight of her child and the woman she loved, that of a emotionally-gripped simper curling at the edge of supple brims as her heart pounded, fluttered with potent emotions and energised love.

Gods… It was truly the beautiful sight to behold, the sight of her beloved daughter content and ever so happy in her ex-partner’s arms as if this was not the first meeting and they had done this a thousand times, healthy little hands gripping, holding at Yennefer’s dress as Faye’s body turned to settle against the warmth that radiated from her mother and tiny, roseate lips danced with happiness. If only she was able to capture this moment, to be able to relive it once Yennefer leaves and returns to her life with Geralt. Faye was a bundle of joy that was small and light but that certainly did not mean the newborn was delicate and without sturdiness, her appetite healthy and bestowing her chunky little thighs, chubby cheeks and a tiny tummy that was often the topic of amusement during a playful game of raspberry with her mother. Amara felt her heart clench painfully the longer that she stared, teeth worrying at flesh of her inner cheek as the sight unravelled so many hidden emotions at a pace that was truly daunting and a sharp inhale was taken, forced down as tears threatened to fall and they were willed away. “You… You look beautiful with a child, Yennefer.” With our child. Words unable to be spoken, that burned at her very soul. She had yet to see Yennefer holding a child and this very moment had granted her the beauty and forced her to relive so many of her decisions, filling her with regrets and wishes that the potentional of a family was brought up in their youth and that her tentative proposal of marriage had repeatedly fallen from her lips until Yennefer’s refusal morphed into acceptance.

Yennefer gently rocks the baby, fingers lightly tracing soft features. She finds herself smiling, eyes as violent as a storm completely soft and tender when gazing upon this gentle creature. This small thing. The words from Amara causes her to look up at her and her breath quietly hitches at the sight. It seems that the half-elf was close to tears and well, the sorceress of Vengerberg felt something similar because — how long has she craved this? To hold a child, her child, her legacy, what she leaves behind in this cruel world. Someone she would be important to because nothing is as important as a mother, a good mother. She gives the Temerian a tender and loving smile but when the gaze is broken, when Amara looks away she sets her gaze upon the baby.

Silence envelopes them and it isn’t exactly uncomfortable. Not to her at the very least. She’s still quite enthralled by the baby, gently cooing and lightly rocking the babe. When she glanced up once the glass was offered to her, she could’ve choked on her own breath at the eyeful of breasts she got. She knows that pregnancy could change a woman’s body, breasts enlarging duo to the milk that is produced for the baby but by the gods —. She swallows thickly and moves her gaze to the goblet which she grabs. “Thank you” she says and takes a sip, humming in delight. Exactly how she likes it. “No darling, I’m alright for the time being.” She cradles the baby in one arm and the juice on her other hand. It was still so surreal to her that this child was Amara’s. “How is motherhood treating you so far?” She asks and moves to sit on the table, placing the cup on it so now both hands are holding the baby.

Now, as stated before, she had felt like Amara was behaving weirdly. She had passed it off as many things at first but now it felt sort of ridiculous. She had the strangest sensation that Amara was trying to keep Faye away from her. Why? “By the gods, Amara, are you afraid I’ll steal her?” She says with a quirk of her brow as she looks upon the woman and how nervous she is. How she shifts from foot to foot and her gaze flickers between herself and the baby. What was going on with her? “Why are you so nervous?” Perhaps the baby felt the tension or the mild aggravation that Yennefer was exuding at this behavior from her usually calm, confident and mischievous ex-lover. But there’s a wail, a sound of protest which makes the Vengerberg sorceress shift her gaze down to the baby. Little fists rub tiny eyes and she watched as if it were the most interesting thing on the Continent. Sees the way the baby stretches and then opens her eyes.

Time stills when eyes are revealed and she sees reflected back at her violet eyes.

𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐮𝐜𝐤?

The baby is coping, reaching for her, smiling at her. She is monetarily torn between feeling utter happiness and joy and feeling like she could conjure up a storm with the anger and hurt she feels in regards to and towards Amara. She had kept this a secret from her and form the looks of it had planned to do so for quite some time. The minutes stretch on and she doesn’t move her gaze away from the baby, not yet. She smiles back and leans into the little chubby hands which grip her cheeks.

The raven haired half-elf allows her time with Faye, which she thinks is the least she can do. She maintain her distance for the time being and deep down the Vengerberg sorceress appreciates that. When she hands the baby back to her, the lilac eyed mage observed at the woman lower dress to expose her breast and for a brief second she looks at them as a woman who, well finds deep enjoyment in them. Regaledlesss of her anger but then the baby is being fed and all sexual thoughts disappear and she’s struck by the sight. It was so — she couldn’t explain it, really. But it was beautiful, in her opinion. At some point the Aerdinian takes a seat and plays with her previous cup of juice which was still mostly full and only looks over when the Temerian speaks.

Yennefer stands and nods in the same manner that Amara had previously. She takes the baby gently into her arms once more and follows the directions the half-elf had given her. Upon arrival, she takes the room in, instantly notices tho little details, little trinkets that are hers. She was so involved in her life and yet not really. It made her ache further and she feels mildly lucky that she has discovered this now rather than years later and having missed all of the firsts. Yen looks down at the drowsy baby and smiles, humming and gently caressing her features. She watched as Faye slowly begun to drift into sleep and once the sorceress knew she was off in dreamland, she placed her down on the crib. She makes sure she is comfy before making her way out and down the stairs. Here it goes.

Motherhood… How was it something that women craved? And with such intense desperation? Why would someone sign themselves up for such a role, desire to be the world of something so pure and delicate? Put themselves in such a violate position? It was nothing more than an aspect of life that the Sorceress of Gors Velen had purposely fled from, remaining tenaciously out of reach to any and all situations that could, even in the slightest, led the pale-skinned woman into a position that saw her caring for a child, existing as a mother-figure to an innocent soul that could so easily be broken, disappointed. And such desperate avoidance, such a distasteful outlook was carved from a childhood that had been painful, horrific and lonely, spent trapped beneath a cruel caretaker in a dilapidated orphanage. Perhaps, Amara was selfish. Perhaps, Amara was weak. Perhaps, Amara still held scars, thus, was scared, frightened. And such scars had not healed, forever reopening beneath invisible strain as toxic ignorance was paid towards mental and physical wounds that had refused to leave, to ease when the victim denied facing them. Simply, to be a mother was a role she loathed the thought of, actively avoided in every sense of the word. She had been walking, existing across this Continent for over three centuries and had yet to truly keep herself together, to act in a manner that was safe and wholeheartedly mature instead of chasing a youthful, careless lifestyle that had seen her split from her loved ones, captured in moments that gifted her scars that would never fade even with the aide of magic. Pregnancy was nothing more than a fragment of life that the Sorceress had been wholeheartedly uninterested in as the belief of being a terrible, uncaring mother whispered in the back of her mind and frightening off any thoughts that dared to arise.

Yennefer of Vengerberg was her first love and had been an important, unwavering presence in the Temerian’s life from the moment that their paths crossed in the Courts of Aedirn and that soaring, passionate bond was created, forged by the likes of destiny and was unbreaking beneath the pressure of time and a whirlwind romance that was as chaotic as an untamed stallion galloping through lush fields. It was truly nothing for the women to be together one moment and apart the next, days, weeks, months or even years spent together. Now, this did not mean in any way, shape or form that their love was untrue or impure as a couple that spent their lives together, remaining attached at the hip. It simply meant that their love, however chaotic and unpredictable, was passionate, burning and unable to be mellowed, the women brought back together repeatedly by the unusual workings of fate. Violate they could be, loving in the first moment, thoroughly frustrated in the second and dripping with lust in the last. It was that very sequence that had led the Sorceress of Gors Velen into this … undesired situation, the very situation that she had never expected, envisioned herself to be in. She and Yennefer had parted ways but not without a night of passion that had left her ever so pleasurably bruised and unable to walk without limping after the Sorceress of Vengerberg experimented with a new spell that had seen her equipped with a very real, very responsive phallus.

Unforeseen, the Scholar of Rissberg had brusquely awoken one morning with the unyielding desire to empty the contents of her stomach as the organ rocked, trembled viciously, riotously and promptly lost the previous night’s meal in a bucket that had been hastily received. She hadn’t expected to have the light of life to be growing, forming within her stomach in an act of chance that was truly magical, a blessing. And why would such a thought arise? Akin to all Aretuza Sorceresses, Yennefer’s ascension had come at a painful cost that had seen her purposely left sterile and unable to have children in an act that the Brotherhood of Sorcerers had hoped pledge loyalty. Who could possibly have thought that playing around with a crude spell could create a loophole? One that ended in pregnancy, the gift of life? It had not ever been heard of, unspoken and hidden if such a discovery had been founded previously by another couple. No. Pregnancy had not been the thought that had entered Amara’s mind, in fact, the pale-skinned Temerian had simply believed that she had fallen ill. Sorceresses, after all, could still fall sick as they were wholeheartedly immune to the ways of life and had treated herself as such, believing after that of a truly agonising week of morning sickness that it was an unusual case of hay fever and was responding painfully to a new crop that her community was using, waving it off as an allergy of sorts. In fact, even the increase in the Sorceress’s eating habits had been simply shouldered off as her body trying to naturally heal itself and required the nutrition to fight the effects of the ailment that acted out upon her body.

Outrageously, the Sorceress of Gors Velen had been painfully unaware of the situation she had unknowingly found herself in as days turned into weeks and edged onto the first few months. You see, her appetite had always been that of a healthy one and ate, for the majority, to her pleasure. It wasn’t until the desire for a spontaneous bath had seen her uncovered and unprotected, argenteous orbs uncovering the startling discovery of a previously undetected bump that had seemed to have formed without her knowledge. And suddenly, the last few weeks and all those strange, unusual variations had all come crashing down upon her in unrelenting waves of emotions, finally making sense in a daunting discovery that was frightening and life-altering all in the very same second, provoking a strangled sob to tear forth from her lips as the woman fell to the ground as pale hands grasped and not at her stomach, as one would think, but the floor. One could not discover a response that could truly describe the situation the Sorceress had found herself in, the emotions and conflict which lashed out at her body. It was frightening to think of just how much was being unpacked in her mind. On one hand, she was pregnant and that was a feat she had never foreseen and she was pregnant with Yennefer’s child and that was a feat that should have been impossible given Yennefer’s inability to have children. Without a doubt, it was Yennefer’s. Amara only enjoyed the company of the same-sex and such devious acts of using chaos to conjure a magical cock on her lover’s body had only ever been done with Yennefer.

Gods… It opened a whole new pot of worms. Could she tell Yennefer? Should she tell Yennefer? Could or should she keep this life that was living inside of her? Given the violent response of both her body and mind, Amara was aware there and then that she was unable to purposely rid herself of the gift that had been created out of the love that shimmered and burned between herself and the woman she loved in a feat that was, without a doubt, a true creation of fate. And yet, she was unable to bring herself to informing Yennefer of this discovery, of the fact that the Sorceress of Gors Velen was pregnant with their child in an unbelievable outcome. Surely, the pale-skinned woman would sound insane, had finally lost the last screw as so many joked with such an admittance and had imagined an array of Yennefer’s responses that , of such that she did not want to battle with and their last communication had read that Yennefer was content, happy in her current life with Geralt, the Infamous Witcher and their child surprise, Ciri. Who was she to play god in their relationships by dropping such an emotional bomb? If Yennefer believed her that is. She had only ever wanted Yennefer to be happy in her life, to find that meaning the Aedirnian wanted and such was found as the mother to Geralt’s child surprise. Perhaps, her choice of keeping their child secret was ever so wrong, one that would see the women damaged, hurt and confused. Amara Isolda was someone who often, in the opinion of those that surrounded her, chose the wrong choice, even if it was chosen for the right reason and for the health of those she cared for. Was another wrong choice truly going to be so bad? When she had so many already trailing behind her? It was one that she regretted with each passing day, with each letter received from Yennefer and had forced herself to live with.

Amara had, surprisingly, eased into the aspect of having a child ever so swiftly, with such effortlessness that had left her debating on her previous beliefs of her ability in the world of motherhood and was truly loving, attentive to the unborn child that grew in her stomach, showering it in constant acts of affection and love throughout the day, ensuring that she only ever digested the best quality of foods and ensured that it was family with her voice, talking, singing and reading to the bundle of joy as the days passed on and her belly grew larger, signalling that her child was healthy and nurtured, blossoming beneath her love. In fact, the Sorceress had even departed from her birth town of Gors Velen, leaving behind a life that she had loved living for one far slower and settled down in a tasteful Manor discovered not far from the smaller settlement of Oxenfurt, a piece of the continent that was quieter, without conflict and was absent of the hustle and bustle that came with the likes of an overpopulated city that was brimming with factions, businesses and opportunities.

When the birth came, it was a challenge as any childbirth was but after hours of intense labour guided by a close friend and confidant, the Continent was made brighter, better by the birth of a beautiful baby girl. And a beauty she was, blessed with skin that was as delicate as porcelain and a gentle button nose, generous little eyebrows and tresses as dark as the night, chaotic and wild as Yennefer’s and features that paired Amara and Yennefer together tastefully but most important of all, little orbs which danced vividly with an array of amethyst shades that was identical to her mother. And such an emotional discovery that was, a stream of tears staining alabaster cheeks as the woman she loved more than life itself was so very present in the gift they had created. Yennefer was, without a single doubt, lovingly present in their daughter as her demanding yet gentle natured personality was more akin to her Mother’s rather than Amara’s. And just as the Sorceress of Gors Velen had been whilst their baby grew, blossomed in her stomach, Amara was ever so loving and affectionate towards her bundle of joy, passionately proud and ardently protective of the gift fate had given her.

The months spent training the little ugly one had seen them grow closer. Sharing a room at some point and having the girl curled up at her side in her protective, motherly hold had a love blossoming within her chest for the young girl. It was only solidified and made stronger when the girl referred to her as mother. And from then on, Yennefer swore that no matter what, she will always be Ciri’s mother.

Her path with Geralt obviously was further intertwined now and it was no surprise when they got back together. Traveling across the continent, keeping the ashen haired girl safe and hidden from all those who wished to harm her or use her for power. It was on their travels, at a tavern where they run into Dandelion — whom they always seem to run into at some point and really how is this bard still living? — that she learns about Amara and apparently the state she was last in when the bard saw her. Pregnant? Amara had always been against motherhood. The lilac eyed sorceress couldn’t quite explain the array of emotions that coursed through her chest.

“I wonder who the father is” he says with a light snort.

“You best keep your mouth shut, Dandelion” the raven haired woman snapped lightly. “It is none of your concern.”

He knew, they all knew of her history with the Temerian sorceress. But no one said a thing and if the bard said anything at all afterwards, it wasn’t in front of her. Yen had gone to her room which she shared with Geralt and of course had been unable to think of anything else but Amara. She was with child? Whose? Since when? Why hadn’t she said anything in her letters? Was she perhaps afraid Yen would resent her for her ability to have children? Surely she knows that the raven haired woman would never.

She lasted all of a day before she had told Geralt she needed to make a detour and that she will meet them at their destination within a week tops. If there happens to be any delays, she will let him know. He knew where she was going and perhaps that was the reason he did not asked and she, being Yen, did not give any further details. The lilac eyed sorceress heads on then towards the city of Oxenfurt, locating the sorceress from Rissberg with an easy locating spell. She could not believe her eyes when she sets her gaze upon the house the woman resided within. It isn’t that Amara has never had the best of the when it came to her homes and the way they looked — it was more on the fact the woman was… gardening.

If the half-elf had caught wind of Dandelion’s movements in Oxenfurt and his newly earned duty as a Lecturer at Oxenfurt’s Acadamy, Amara would have ensured that she had moved elsewhere. She knew him more than enough to be painfully aware of his mouth and it’s inability to remain silenced, the aspect of gossip and being paid attention for even the smallest of seconds causing his thoughts to simply vanish and his mouth to open and pour with rumours and stories similar to that of a waterfall. And if Amara was to hear of his admittance and that it was his running mouth that informed Yennefer of her situation, the Bard would find himself cursed.

She had heard the sounds of steps waltzing across the path that guided one into the garden and paid little attention towards who owned them as few now paid spontaneous visits upon her, simply expecting it to be the beloved Astraea or one of her friends from her years spent at Rissberg. Expect, when the visitor dared to speak, the Sorceress’s body reacted almost violently in an concoction of emotions, hairs rising to attention at the excitement, the utter joy that was always present whenever Yennefer of Vengerberg was near and blood was ran cold, her heart immediately beginning to pound away desperately within it’s cage. “When they told me you were off living a quiet life… I couldn’t believe it. And yet here you are…” There was only one person across the entire continent with a voice that was so heavenly, that could send her on a blissful journey with a single word. What… What on Earth was she doing here? How had she managed to track her down? She was practically a worlds away from Gors Velen, from anything that linked to the Temerian. Amara thought back to their last letters, to the mention of a visit that she could have missed and came up with, well, nothing. Yennefer hadn’t mentioned visiting. And that only caused worry to burn in the back of her mind, creating a path for questions to arise upon her tongue.

There’s a breathiness to her voice as she says her name, not that Yennefer minds. It is a testimony to the effects she has upon the sorceress of Gors Velen. It takes her a second to rise, the Aerdinian notices this as well but when she does, she turns to look at her and gods, she is lovely as ever. Sharp features, silver hues, absolutely breathtaking in all of her motherly glory. Speaking of which, lilac hues flicker to the little bundle all wrapped around against Amara’s chest. It is true, what Dandelion said. Amara had been with child. She couldn’t explain the feelings which coursed through her being at the sight.

When the half-elf speaks, the lilac eyed mage flickers her gaze back towards her. A well defined brow quirks at the words and her head tilts. “No, nothing is the matter, Cirilla is in perfect health, thank the gods. Need there to be something wrong for me to visit you?” She asks, stepping forth just so and halting a few inches. She doesn’t think she has ever seen Amara this cautious or standoffish around her ever, it made her curious. Why was the woman behaving in such manner? Well, it could be because she had kept such huge news a secret? And now here Yen was, seeing this new picture in person.

In spite of how her questions arose out of curiosity, of worry as to why Yennefer was here and how it might have seemed to the opposing woman as they fell from pale lips, Amara’s query in regards to Cirilla’s health was genuine. Geralt might have been someone who lacked favour with the Sorceress of Gors Velen, in fact, he was someone she utterly distasted for an array of reasons but there was a soft spot for his child surprise. After her own childhood, the horrific experiences she had been brutally bestowed there was a softness, a kindred with children and young adults who had also experienced similar horrors that had been created. Not to mention, Ciri was Yennefer’s child in every sense of the word and that came with it’s own meaning to the older woman. “You are always welcome, Yennefer. I suppose I’m simply taken by surprise. You randomly visit me without sending a letter to signal your arrival. I suspect more for the fresh apple juice.” Playfully spoken, that breathlessness remained as the younger woman closed the distant and served to increase the heavy beat of her heart as teeth worried at the inside of her cheek. It had been just under a year since Yennefer was seen and being in her presence once more brought an array of emotions to the woman and her body, unable to be resisted as Yennefer was one of the only people that caused her to react so purely, without the ability to be restrained and left her painfully exposed beneath lilac hues.

The violet eyed mage loves the way the woman always reacts to her touch. The way she leans into the touch to her cheek. She ached to pull her into her arms, to kiss her a she always ached to do but she couldn’t. Not now. Yennefer understood the need to for Amara to just take a step back and process this, the woman had always had certain views on motherhood. She knows it because of how the way the Gors Velen sorceress had been orphaned so unexpectedly and brutally.

All train of thoughts cease however when her finger is taken. Her gaze lands on the little bundle in Amara’s arms. There were a handful of times where Yennefer of Vengerberg has been stunt, unable to form much of a thought. Her breath hitched slightly and she stares at the baby in absolute awe, in wonder. She couldn’t explain it, the warmth that coursed through her body at such a simple gesture from an innocent little baby. It gave her this strong feeling, like she needed to release it in tears. Could it be because the baby was Amara’s? She certainly has never reacted to any other tiny human. The pale woman wiggles her finger lightly, not enough to disturb the baby and make her release her finger but enough to make her little fist wiggle.

There was a passing shadow of disappointment, gone as quickly as it came. She wanted to kiss the younger woman, to surrender to the ache that constantly pestered at her body. If this had been any other moment, Amara would have eagerly pulled Yennefer into a bone-crushing embrace and bestowed tender lips with a breathtaking kiss and inform the Sorceress of the feelings she could never openly admit. But… Such a series of motions could not be taken, Yennefer was with Geralt in a relationship that brought her happiness and satisfaction. Amara couldn’t be the one to destroy the joy that the Sorceress of Vengerberg had finally found. She only ever wanted the best for Yennefer, even if it left her saddened, dissatisfied that such happiness wasn’t found with her. It was the price that the wish demanded and a price that Amara paid in silence since it had fallen from Geralt’s lips all those decades ago. And after all, it wasn’t Yennefer’s fault that she had been Amara’s first love.

Spherules watched on in utter and complete silent at the gripping of Yennefer’s finger. Gods. Would she be able to keep up this secret if Yennefer and her daughter repeated such purity? Concern lashed out at the back of her mind, repetitive reminders setting off in an attempt to try and silence the emotions that welled up, threatening to tip the pale-skinned woman over. The whirlwind of emotions had left her wanting to scream, cry and laugh all in the same moment. Was this the price she was forced to pay for her choice of harbouring this secret? She was forced to see these acts and remain silent, not daring to react even as her body begged. How her lungs screamed, begged for the Temerian to breathe.

The wish, what had changed everything and turned each of their lives upside down. She knows that Amara is affected as much as she and Geralt were. It couldn’t be and was not easy to have someone you love bonded to another by magic, linked together by destiny. More often than not the lilac eyed sorceress wishes it was not so, that she could just give the Temerian everything she craved. Because Yen craved it too. But with immortality came separation from time to time and taking different paths before coming together once more. Nothing was ever easy and even less so for them.

The baby tightens her grip on her finger and coos unhappily at the motion. It makes the raven haired woman smile ever so, nearly laugh actually as she watched the scene before her. Pristine teeth sink into her bottom lip as she stares solemnly at the little bundle that snuggles closer to the sorceress’ chest. Yes, she too knew how heavenly such a place was. Yennefer stills her finger but the stroking of tiny knuckles with her thumb does not cease. The name is spoken and the Aerdinian sorceress stops then. Faye, if all those lessons in Aretuza serve her right, which they did, she’s positive the name means Raven. She feels a lump form in her throat, heart clenching in her chest. Had it been deliberate, the choosing of the name? Has Amara picked the name for the baby after her in some way? The mere idea has her sentimental which knowing Yennefer es also a feat in itself.

She held bitterness towards the wish and in turn, the man that had cast it. Only a few select words and it forever altered her most precious possession. And her love was little match for the powers of a Djinn, the most powerful air elemental that could change destiny itself as if it was the smallest feat known to man. Fate had often intervened, bringing them together only for destiny to laugh and pull them apart once more, setting them on different paths that brought a new wave of heartache. How long she had spent wishing to forget the emotions Yennefer stirred inside of her? Had feverishly searched for the one that could surpass and cause her pain to subside, to prevent it from haunting her as it did? Sadly, such endeavours had brought nothing to the woman expect momentarily satisfaction after a tumble in bed. This didn’t include Astraea, of course, who had been the closest but the women had been unable to let that love blossom into it’s true complexity as even she had been ripped from Amara’s grasp and thrown into the arms of another lover. Perhaps, her destiny was not to spend her life loving someone other then herself and now her child. And all she had ever wanted was to spent this prolonged life with someone she loved and that returned that very love. It was better off, she supposes. Her touch, after time, never brought success and only ever granted poison.

The sorceress from Vengerberg watches as the woman looks at Faye with so much love, holds her so protectively. She looks every bit a protective mother and it warms the woman’s heart, feels the organ often described as like the obsidian rock on her necklace, growing in her chest with all this love begging to be poured out. But the raven haired woman keeps a tight lid upon it, is content for the time being on simply watching on. Her head tilts to the side and she released a soft laugh at the explaining behind the name, every bit an Amara reason and truth be told? Yen would’ve done the same. Her child would be every bit extraordinary and so would her name be. However now her own heart is pounding in her chest as she takes the words in. The Temerian wanted for her name to have meaning and — well, what did that mean? Why call her by a name which meant raven? The very nickname the woman has called her for decades?

Surprisingly, Yennefer hadn’t yet dared to ask who else had aided in the creation of the bundle of joy that was snuggled up with such contentment, still gripping at her gloved finger and not granting the younger woman the ability to create distance, tightening whenever she sensed movement that she did not approve of. Oh, yes, Yennefer’s she was or the world would hear about her dislike at life going the way she desires. It was such an relief to have a moment to breathe, to think of how to answer such a question and bring satisfaction to her once lover with an answer that would inevitably given.

The baby seems adamant in letting her go. Her grip tightening on her finger the moment she felt even the slightest of movements from the Aerdinian sorceress. She was tempted so ask if she could hold the girl but refrained from it. The teasing words had her rolling her eyes lightly as she smiles ever so. “No knowledges whatsoever has begun to fade, I’m insulted you’ve even jumped to such a conclusion” she says with a mild, playful huff. However it turns serious, the mood, the atmosphere — at the very least for her it does. “I know the many meanings, I simply need you to tell me the meaning it holds for you.” The words are soft spoken, “see I knew one of them was Raven and it stopped my heart at the thought of you possibly naming her that because of me.”

Yennefer had always been possessive, something that the older woman had truly enjoyed for the most part of their relationship. Perhaps, the enjoyment came from a twisted sense of wanting to feel wanted, as if she belonged and that possessiveness answered to it in some way, shape or form. Perhaps, she had enjoyed that in spite of being possessive, Amara had never felt owned by Yennefer and that her moments of possession arose from love. It was something that the women shared, the possessiveness and it had never seemed to fade in spite of the way that destiny constantly interviewed, the decades that had passed between them and the momentarily lovers they knew of but had chosen to simply ignore.

Faye expressed little consideration in loosening her grip upon the younger woman, preventing the family from parting even the slightest. Gods. Such proximity to Yennefer was hard as the woman, knowingly or unknowingly, invaded all of her senses as the Sorceress of Gors Velen was, as she had always been, painfully aware of the woman and everything that came with her. She inhaled slowly, trying to silence the slight shake that threatened as silver orbs took Yennefer’s concentration upon their child to her advantage and granted herself the ability to watch, observe each of those breathtaking features. Yennefer hadn’t changed, remained as she had when they first met and by the gods, how it left her breathless and weakened as her beauty swept her utterly and completely from her feet as it always had. Amara was torn from the emotions, the fantasies that arose in her mind and returned to life as it was, her attention purposely turned from the quarter-elf in favour of anything else. “Someone has to keep you on your toes.” And the jest had soon crumbled away, giving way beneath the seriousness that Yennefer bestowed upon them in the name of her need to understand the meaning that was behind Amara’s child and just what significance it held to the Temerian.

Gods. How her jaw threatened to shatter beneath the sheer force that was knowingly applied to it as the older woman’s strength was called upon. Was Yennefer truly so clueless? Did she not realise the importance she held within the half-elf’s life? “I chose it for it’s translation of Raven, Yennefer. I think the rest of the answer has already fallen into place.” Three centuries old and the concept of talking of emotions, confessing them from her own lips in an admittance of spoken word was still one that had her at a loss and especially with Yennefer. She hated how vulnerable, how easily broken she was in Yennefer’s presence and how it only took one word from the woman to be shattered. The gaze was not broken, fingers trembling as the Sorceress of Gors Velen kept steady and dared not to glance elsewhere but tried not to get hopelessly lost in a sea of amethyst. Yennefer had ruined her from the moment the younger woman dared to strike conversation, answering to fate’s call.

She was not clueless to the importance she held in Amara’s life, her heart. She just needed to hear confirmation rather than making speculations. She needed to know, needed to understand — well perhaps not the why. As she said, she knew the importance she held in Amara’s life. However if she had a child with another, why name her after her? Does the father know about it? The meaning behind it? The person that inspired it and what they are to each other? But before any of those question can be thought about deeper, perhaps even be voice and demand a response the baby fusses and Amara suggest stepping inside.

“Excuse the messes.” Not that there was one. Amara was the type of woman that was painfully clean, constantly ensuring that her home was spotless and without even the slightest of messes. It came from her line of work, one could say. If your home was clean and in proper order, even the slightest of modifications could be noticed and in turn, acts of intrusions could be easily spotted, not that documents and other valuable or sensitive items were ever left outside of the safety of her workrooms. She had easily fallen into the role of a mother, the role simply radiating from her naturally and now that they were inside her home, her body had begun careful rocking as the baby remained in her arms and those chaotic locks continued to stroked in such a soothing manner, lulling the baby into the deepest of slumbers while silver orbs watched on as if the child was the only object near and dear.

They step into the house and Amara apologizes for the mess. It makes the sorceress from Vengerberg roll her eyes, quite typical of her it was. There was never a single thing out of place in the Temerian’s home. If there was ever any mess, it was quickly cleaned up. If it wasn’t, well it was simply because it was the fun kind of mess. The lilac eyed mage watched as her beloved rocks the little bundle of joy in her arms and well Yennefer sort of had to follow it up because her finger is still very much still being held by the baby. “There is never any mess in your house, Amara.”

“There is always a mess.” She murmured with a slight roll of her silver orbs almost as if the Half-Elf was silently, gently informing Yennefer of her miscalculation and the ability to use her arms once more was used to her advantage now that Faye was safety buried within the warmth of Yennefer’s arms and seemingly invisible fluff was wiped away with a distasteful swipe of her hand. “Shall I get you a fresh pitcher of apple juice, Yen?” It had become that of a staple in her life since her pregnancy and the cravings that came with it, the women’s child bestowing constant cravings upon the Temerian throughout the entirety of those long yet blissful nine-months and even now, loved nothing more than having the golden liquid applied to the end of her pacifiers or upon her gums almost as much as Yennefer herself enjoyed drinking it by the gallon. Amara removed the cotton wrap from her body, beginning to fold it neatly but had ended up placing it carelessly on the dining table as her concentration was captured, the Temerian enthralled by the sight of her child and the woman she loved, that of a emotionally-gripped simper curling at the edge of supple brims as her heart pounded, fluttered with potent emotions and energised love.

Gods… It was truly the beautiful sight to behold, the sight of her beloved daughter content and ever so happy in her ex-partner’s arms as if this was not the first meeting and they had done this a thousand times, healthy little hands gripping, holding at Yennefer’s dress as Faye’s body turned to settle against the warmth that radiated from her mother and tiny, roseate lips danced with happiness. If only she was able to capture this moment, to be able to relive it once Yennefer leaves and returns to her life with Geralt. Faye was a bundle of joy that was small and light but that certainly did not mean the newborn was delicate and without sturdiness, her appetite healthy and bestowing her chunky little thighs, chubby cheeks and a tiny tummy that was often the topic of amusement during a playful game of raspberry with her mother. Amara felt her heart clench painfully the longer that she stared, teeth worrying at flesh of her inner cheek as the sight unravelled so many hidden emotions at a pace that was truly daunting and a sharp inhale was taken, forced down as tears threatened to fall and they were willed away. “You… You look beautiful with a child, Yennefer.” With our child. Words unable to be spoken, that burned at her very soul. She had yet to see Yennefer holding a child and this very moment had granted her the beauty and forced her to relive so many of her decisions, filling her with regrets and wishes that the potentional of a family was brought up in their youth and that her tentative proposal of marriage had repeatedly fallen from her lips until Yennefer’s refusal morphed into acceptance.

Yennefer gently rocks the baby, fingers lightly tracing soft features. She finds herself smiling, eyes as violent as a storm completely soft and tender when gazing upon this gentle creature. This small thing. The words from Amara causes her to look up at her and her breath quietly hitches at the sight. It seems that the half-elf was close to tears and well, the sorceress of Vengerberg felt something similar because — how long has she craved this? To hold a child, her child, her legacy, what she leaves behind in this cruel world. Someone she would be important to because nothing is as important as a mother, a good mother. She gives the Temerian a tender and loving smile but when the gaze is broken, when Amara looks away she sets her gaze upon the baby.

Silence envelopes them and it isn’t exactly uncomfortable. Not to her at the very least. She’s still quite enthralled by the baby, gently cooing and lightly rocking the babe. When she glanced up once the glass was offered to her, she could’ve choked on her own breath at the eyeful of breasts she got. She knows that pregnancy could change a woman’s body, breasts enlarging duo to the milk that is produced for the baby but by the gods —. She swallows thickly and moves her gaze to the goblet which she grabs. “Thank you” she says and takes a sip, humming in delight. Exactly how she likes it. “No darling, I’m alright for the time being.” She cradles the baby in one arm and the juice on her other hand. It was still so surreal to her that this child was Amara’s. “How is motherhood treating you so far?” She asks and moves to sit on the table, placing the cup on it so now both hands are holding the baby.

Now, as stated before, she had felt like Amara was behaving weirdly. She had passed it off as many things at first but now it felt sort of ridiculous. She had the strangest sensation that Amara was trying to keep Faye away from her. Why? “By the gods, Amara, are you afraid I’ll steal her?” She says with a quirk of her brow as she looks upon the woman and how nervous she is. How she shifts from foot to foot and her gaze flickers between herself and the baby. What was going on with her? “Why are you so nervous?” Perhaps the baby felt the tension or the mild aggravation that Yennefer was exuding at this behavior from her usually calm, confident and mischievous ex-lover. But there’s a wail, a sound of protest which makes the Vengerberg sorceress shift her gaze down to the baby. Little fists rub tiny eyes and she watched as if it were the most interesting thing on the Continent. Sees the way the baby stretches and then opens her eyes.

Time stills when eyes are revealed and she sees reflected back at her violet eyes.

𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐮𝐜𝐤?

The baby is coping, reaching for her, smiling at her. She is monetarily torn between feeling utter happiness and joy and feeling like she could conjure up a storm with the anger and hurt she feels in regards to and towards Amara. She had kept this a secret from her and form the looks of it had planned to do so for quite some time. The minutes stretch on and she doesn’t move her gaze away from the baby, not yet. She smiles back and leans into the little chubby hands which grip her cheeks.

Motherhood… How was it something that women craved? And with such intense desperation? Why would someone sign themselves up for such a role, desire to be the world of something so pure and delicate? Put themselves in such a violate position? It was nothing more than an aspect of life that the Sorceress of Gors Velen had purposely fled from, remaining tenaciously out of reach to any and all situations that could, even in the slightest, led the pale-skinned woman into a position that saw her caring for a child, existing as a mother-figure to an innocent soul that could so easily be broken, disappointed. And such desperate avoidance, such a distasteful outlook was carved from a childhood that had been painful, horrific and lonely, spent trapped beneath a cruel caretaker in a dilapidated orphanage. Perhaps, Amara was selfish. Perhaps, Amara was weak. Perhaps, Amara still held scars, thus, was scared, frightened. And such scars had not healed, forever reopening beneath invisible strain as toxic ignorance was paid towards mental and physical wounds that had refused to leave, to ease when the victim denied facing them. Simply, to be a mother was a role she loathed the thought of, actively avoided in every sense of the word. She had been walking, existing across this Continent for over three centuries and had yet to truly keep herself together, to act in a manner that was safe and wholeheartedly mature instead of chasing a youthful, careless lifestyle that had seen her split from her loved ones, captured in moments that gifted her scars that would never fade even with the aide of magic. Pregnancy was nothing more than a fragment of life that the Sorceress had been wholeheartedly uninterested in as the belief of being a terrible, uncaring mother whispered in the back of her mind and frightening off any thoughts that dared to arise.

Yennefer of Vengerberg was her first love and had been an important, unwavering presence in the Temerian’s life from the moment that their paths crossed in the Courts of Aedirn and that soaring, passionate bond was created, forged by the likes of destiny and was unbreaking beneath the pressure of time and a whirlwind romance that was as chaotic as an untamed stallion galloping through lush fields. It was truly nothing for the women to be together one moment and apart the next, days, weeks, months or even years spent together. Now, this did not mean in any way, shape or form that their love was untrue or impure as a couple that spent their lives together, remaining attached at the hip. It simply meant that their love, however chaotic and unpredictable, was passionate, burning and unable to be mellowed, the women brought back together repeatedly by the unusual workings of fate. Violate they could be, loving in the first moment, thoroughly frustrated in the second and dripping with lust in the last. It was that very sequence that had led the Sorceress of Gors Velen into this … undesired situation, the very situation that she had never expected, envisioned herself to be in. She and Yennefer had parted ways but not without a night of passion that had left her ever so pleasurably bruised and unable to walk without limping after the Sorceress of Vengerberg experimented with a new spell that had seen her equipped with a very real, very responsive phallus.

Unforeseen, the Scholar of Rissberg had brusquely awoken one morning with the unyielding desire to empty the contents of her stomach as the organ rocked, trembled viciously, riotously and promptly lost the previous night’s meal in a bucket that had been hastily received. She hadn’t expected to have the light of life to be growing, forming within her stomach in an act of chance that was truly magical, a blessing. And why would such a thought arise? Akin to all Aretuza Sorceresses, Yennefer’s ascension had come at a painful cost that had seen her purposely left sterile and unable to have children in an act that the Brotherhood of Sorcerers had hoped pledge loyalty. Who could possibly have thought that playing around with a crude spell could create a loophole? One that ended in pregnancy, the gift of life? It had not ever been heard of, unspoken and hidden if such a discovery had been founded previously by another couple. No. Pregnancy had not been the thought that had entered Amara’s mind, in fact, the pale-skinned Temerian had simply believed that she had fallen ill. Sorceresses, after all, could still fall sick as they were wholeheartedly immune to the ways of life and had treated herself as such, believing after that of a truly agonising week of morning sickness that it was an unusual case of hay fever and was responding painfully to a new crop that her community was using, waving it off as an allergy of sorts. In fact, even the increase in the Sorceress’s eating habits had been simply shouldered off as her body trying to naturally heal itself and required the nutrition to fight the effects of the ailment that acted out upon her body.

Outrageously, the Sorceress of Gors Velen had been painfully unaware of the situation she had unknowingly found herself in as days turned into weeks and edged onto the first few months. You see, her appetite had always been that of a healthy one and ate, for the majority, to her pleasure. It wasn’t until the desire for a spontaneous bath had seen her uncovered and unprotected, argenteous orbs uncovering the startling discovery of a previously undetected bump that had seemed to have formed without her knowledge. And suddenly, the last few weeks and all those strange, unusual variations had all come crashing down upon her in unrelenting waves of emotions, finally making sense in a daunting discovery that was frightening and life-altering all in the very same second, provoking a strangled sob to tear forth from her lips as the woman fell to the ground as pale hands grasped and not at her stomach, as one would think, but the floor. One could not discover a response that could truly describe the situation the Sorceress had found herself in, the emotions and conflict which lashed out at her body. It was frightening to think of just how much was being unpacked in her mind. On one hand, she was pregnant and that was a feat she had never foreseen and she was pregnant with Yennefer’s child and that was a feat that should have been impossible given Yennefer’s inability to have children. Without a doubt, it was Yennefer’s. Amara only enjoyed the company of the same-sex and such devious acts of using chaos to conjure a magical cock on her lover’s body had only ever been done with Yennefer.

Gods… It opened a whole new pot of worms. Could she tell Yennefer? Should she tell Yennefer? Could or should she keep this life that was living inside of her? Given the violent response of both her body and mind, Amara was aware there and then that she was unable to purposely rid herself of the gift that had been created out of the love that shimmered and burned between herself and the woman she loved in a feat that was, without a doubt, a true creation of fate. And yet, she was unable to bring herself to informing Yennefer of this discovery, of the fact that the Sorceress of Gors Velen was pregnant with their child in an unbelievable outcome. Surely, the pale-skinned woman would sound insane, had finally lost the last screw as so many joked with such an admittance and had imagined an array of Yennefer’s responses that , of such that she did not want to battle with and their last communication had read that Yennefer was content, happy in her current life with Geralt, the Infamous Witcher and their child surprise, Ciri. Who was she to play god in their relationships by dropping such an emotional bomb? If Yennefer believed her that is. She had only ever wanted Yennefer to be happy in her life, to find that meaning the Aedirnian wanted and such was found as the mother to Geralt’s child surprise. Perhaps, her choice of keeping their child secret was ever so wrong, one that would see the women damaged, hurt and confused. Amara Isolda was someone who often, in the opinion of those that surrounded her, chose the wrong choice, even if it was chosen for the right reason and for the health of those she cared for. Was another wrong choice truly going to be so bad? When she had so many already trailing behind her? It was one that she regretted with each passing day, with each letter received from Yennefer and had forced herself to live with.

Amara had, surprisingly, eased into the aspect of having a child ever so swiftly, with such effortlessness that had left her debating on her previous beliefs of her ability in the world of motherhood and was truly loving, attentive to the unborn child that grew in her stomach, showering it in constant acts of affection and love throughout the day, ensuring that she only ever digested the best quality of foods and ensured that it was family with her voice, talking, singing and reading to the bundle of joy as the days passed on and her belly grew larger, signalling that her child was healthy and nurtured, blossoming beneath her love. In fact, the Sorceress had even departed from her birth town of Gors Velen, leaving behind a life that she had loved living for one far slower and settled down in a tasteful Manor discovered not far from the smaller settlement of Oxenfurt, a piece of the continent that was quieter, without conflict and was absent of the hustle and bustle that came with the likes of an overpopulated city that was brimming with factions, businesses and opportunities.

When the birth came, it was a challenge as any childbirth was but after hours of intense labour guided by a close friend and confidant, the Continent was made brighter, better by the birth of a beautiful baby girl. And a beauty she was, blessed with skin that was as delicate as porcelain and a gentle button nose, generous little eyebrows and tresses as dark as the night, chaotic and wild as Yennefer’s and features that paired Amara and Yennefer together tastefully but most important of all, little orbs which danced vividly with an array of amethyst shades that was identical to her mother. And such an emotional discovery that was, a stream of tears staining alabaster cheeks as the woman she loved more than life itself was so very present in the gift they had created. Yennefer was, without a single doubt, lovingly present in their daughter as her demanding yet gentle natured personality was more akin to her Mother’s rather than Amara’s. And just as the Sorceress of Gors Velen had been whilst their baby grew, blossomed in her stomach, Amara was ever so loving and affectionate towards her bundle of joy, passionately proud and ardently protective of the gift fate had given her.

The months spent training the little ugly one had seen them grow closer. Sharing a room at some point and having the girl curled up at her side in her protective, motherly hold had a love blossoming within her chest for the young girl. It was only solidified and made stronger when the girl referred to her as mother. And from then on, Yennefer swore that no matter what, she will always be Ciri’s mother.

Her path with Geralt obviously was further intertwined now and it was no surprise when they got back together. Traveling across the continent, keeping the ashen haired girl safe and hidden from all those who wished to harm her or use her for power. It was on their travels, at a tavern where they run into Dandelion — whom they always seem to run into at some point and really how is this bard still living? — that she learns about Amara and apparently the state she was last in when the bard saw her. Pregnant? Amara had always been against motherhood. The lilac eyed sorceress couldn’t quite explain the array of emotions that coursed through her chest.

“I wonder who the father is” he says with a light snort.

“You best keep your mouth shut, Dandelion” the raven haired woman snapped lightly. “It is none of your concern.”

He knew, they all knew of her history with the Temerian sorceress. But no one said a thing and if the bard said anything at all afterwards, it wasn’t in front of her. Yen had gone to her room which she shared with Geralt and of course had been unable to think of anything else but Amara. She was with child? Whose? Since when? Why hadn’t she said anything in her letters? Was she perhaps afraid Yen would resent her for her ability to have children? Surely she knows that the raven haired woman would never.

She lasted all of a day before she had told Geralt she needed to make a detour and that she will meet them at their destination within a week tops. If there happens to be any delays, she will let him know. He knew where she was going and perhaps that was the reason he did not asked and she, being Yen, did not give any further details. The lilac eyed sorceress heads on then towards the city of Oxenfurt, locating the sorceress from Rissberg with an easy locating spell. She could not believe her eyes when she sets her gaze upon the house the woman resided within. It isn’t that Amara has never had the best of the when it came to her homes and the way they looked — it was more on the fact the woman was… gardening.

If the half-elf had caught wind of Dandelion’s movements in Oxenfurt and his newly earned duty as a Lecturer at Oxenfurt’s Acadamy, Amara would have ensured that she had moved elsewhere. She knew him more than enough to be painfully aware of his mouth and it’s inability to remain silenced, the aspect of gossip and being paid attention for even the smallest of seconds causing his thoughts to simply vanish and his mouth to open and pour with rumours and stories similar to that of a waterfall. And if Amara was to hear of his admittance and that it was his running mouth that informed Yennefer of her situation, the Bard would find himself cursed.

She had heard the sounds of steps waltzing across the path that guided one into the garden and paid little attention towards who owned them as few now paid spontaneous visits upon her, simply expecting it to be the beloved Astraea or one of her friends from her years spent at Rissberg. Expect, when the visitor dared to speak, the Sorceress’s body reacted almost violently in an concoction of emotions, hairs rising to attention at the excitement, the utter joy that was always present whenever Yennefer of Vengerberg was near and blood was ran cold, her heart immediately beginning to pound away desperately within it’s cage. “When they told me you were off living a quiet life… I couldn’t believe it. And yet here you are…” There was only one person across the entire continent with a voice that was so heavenly, that could send her on a blissful journey with a single word. What… What on Earth was she doing here? How had she managed to track her down? She was practically a worlds away from Gors Velen, from anything that linked to the Temerian. Amara thought back to their last letters, to the mention of a visit that she could have missed and came up with, well, nothing. Yennefer hadn’t mentioned visiting. And that only caused worry to burn in the back of her mind, creating a path for questions to arise upon her tongue.

There’s a breathiness to her voice as she says her name, not that Yennefer minds. It is a testimony to the effects she has upon the sorceress of Gors Velen. It takes her a second to rise, the Aerdinian notices this as well but when she does, she turns to look at her and gods, she is lovely as ever. Sharp features, silver hues, absolutely breathtaking in all of her motherly glory. Speaking of which, lilac hues flicker to the little bundle all wrapped around against Amara’s chest. It is true, what Dandelion said. Amara had been with child. She couldn’t explain the feelings which coursed through her being at the sight.

When the half-elf speaks, the lilac eyed mage flickers her gaze back towards her. A well defined brow quirks at the words and her head tilts. “No, nothing is the matter, Cirilla is in perfect health, thank the gods. Need there to be something wrong for me to visit you?” She asks, stepping forth just so and halting a few inches. She doesn’t think she has ever seen Amara this cautious or standoffish around her ever, it made her curious. Why was the woman behaving in such manner? Well, it could be because she had kept such huge news a secret? And now here Yen was, seeing this new picture in person.

In spite of how her questions arose out of curiosity, of worry as to why Yennefer was here and how it might have seemed to the opposing woman as they fell from pale lips, Amara’s query in regards to Cirilla’s health was genuine. Geralt might have been someone who lacked favour with the Sorceress of Gors Velen, in fact, he was someone she utterly distasted for an array of reasons but there was a soft spot for his child surprise. After her own childhood, the horrific experiences she had been brutally bestowed there was a softness, a kindred with children and young adults who had also experienced similar horrors that had been created. Not to mention, Ciri was Yennefer’s child in every sense of the word and that came with it’s own meaning to the older woman. “You are always welcome, Yennefer. I suppose I’m simply taken by surprise. You randomly visit me without sending a letter to signal your arrival. I suspect more for the fresh apple juice.” Playfully spoken, that breathlessness remained as the younger woman closed the distant and served to increase the heavy beat of her heart as teeth worried at the inside of her cheek. It had been just under a year since Yennefer was seen and being in her presence once more brought an array of emotions to the woman and her body, unable to be resisted as Yennefer was one of the only people that caused her to react so purely, without the ability to be restrained and left her painfully exposed beneath lilac hues.

The violet eyed mage loves the way the woman always reacts to her touch. The way she leans into the touch to her cheek. She ached to pull her into her arms, to kiss her a she always ached to do but she couldn’t. Not now. Yennefer understood the need to for Amara to just take a step back and process this, the woman had always had certain views on motherhood. She knows it because of how the way the Gors Velen sorceress had been orphaned so unexpectedly and brutally.

All train of thoughts cease however when her finger is taken. Her gaze lands on the little bundle in Amara’s arms. There were a handful of times where Yennefer of Vengerberg has been stunt, unable to form much of a thought. Her breath hitched slightly and she stares at the baby in absolute awe, in wonder. She couldn’t explain it, the warmth that coursed through her body at such a simple gesture from an innocent little baby. It gave her this strong feeling, like she needed to release it in tears. Could it be because the baby was Amara’s? She certainly has never reacted to any other tiny human. The pale woman wiggles her finger lightly, not enough to disturb the baby and make her release her finger but enough to make her little fist wiggle.

There was a passing shadow of disappointment, gone as quickly as it came. She wanted to kiss the younger woman, to surrender to the ache that constantly pestered at her body. If this had been any other moment, Amara would have eagerly pulled Yennefer into a bone-crushing embrace and bestowed tender lips with a breathtaking kiss and inform the Sorceress of the feelings she could never openly admit. But… Such a series of motions could not be taken, Yennefer was with Geralt in a relationship that brought her happiness and satisfaction. Amara couldn’t be the one to destroy the joy that the Sorceress of Vengerberg had finally found. She only ever wanted the best for Yennefer, even if it left her saddened, dissatisfied that such happiness wasn’t found with her. It was the price that the wish demanded and a price that Amara paid in silence since it had fallen from Geralt’s lips all those decades ago. And after all, it wasn’t Yennefer’s fault that she had been Amara’s first love.

Spherules watched on in utter and complete silent at the gripping of Yennefer’s finger. Gods. Would she be able to keep up this secret if Yennefer and her daughter repeated such purity? Concern lashed out at the back of her mind, repetitive reminders setting off in an attempt to try and silence the emotions that welled up, threatening to tip the pale-skinned woman over. The whirlwind of emotions had left her wanting to scream, cry and laugh all in the same moment. Was this the price she was forced to pay for her choice of harbouring this secret? She was forced to see these acts and remain silent, not daring to react even as her body begged. How her lungs screamed, begged for the Temerian to breathe.

The wish, what had changed everything and turned each of their lives upside down. She knows that Amara is affected as much as she and Geralt were. It couldn’t be and was not easy to have someone you love bonded to another by magic, linked together by destiny. More often than not the lilac eyed sorceress wishes it was not so, that she could just give the Temerian everything she craved. Because Yen craved it too. But with immortality came separation from time to time and taking different paths before coming together once more. Nothing was ever easy and even less so for them.

The baby tightens her grip on her finger and coos unhappily at the motion. It makes the raven haired woman smile ever so, nearly laugh actually as she watched the scene before her. Pristine teeth sink into her bottom lip as she stares solemnly at the little bundle that snuggles closer to the sorceress’ chest. Yes, she too knew how heavenly such a place was. Yennefer stills her finger but the stroking of tiny knuckles with her thumb does not cease. The name is spoken and the Aerdinian sorceress stops then. Faye, if all those lessons in Aretuza serve her right, which they did, she’s positive the name means Raven. She feels a lump form in her throat, heart clenching in her chest. Had it been deliberate, the choosing of the name? Has Amara picked the name for the baby after her in some way? The mere idea has her sentimental which knowing Yennefer es also a feat in itself.

She held bitterness towards the wish and in turn, the man that had cast it. Only a few select words and it forever altered her most precious possession. And her love was little match for the powers of a Djinn, the most powerful air elemental that could change destiny itself as if it was the smallest feat known to man. Fate had often intervened, bringing them together only for destiny to laugh and pull them apart once more, setting them on different paths that brought a new wave of heartache. How long she had spent wishing to forget the emotions Yennefer stirred inside of her? Had feverishly searched for the one that could surpass and cause her pain to subside, to prevent it from haunting her as it did? Sadly, such endeavours had brought nothing to the woman expect momentarily satisfaction after a tumble in bed. This didn’t include Astraea, of course, who had been the closest but the women had been unable to let that love blossom into it’s true complexity as even she had been ripped from Amara’s grasp and thrown into the arms of another lover. Perhaps, her destiny was not to spend her life loving someone other then herself and now her child. And all she had ever wanted was to spent this prolonged life with someone she loved and that returned that very love. It was better off, she supposes. Her touch, after time, never brought success and only ever granted poison.

The sorceress from Vengerberg watches as the woman looks at Faye with so much love, holds her so protectively. She looks every bit a protective mother and it warms the woman’s heart, feels the organ often described as like the obsidian rock on her necklace, growing in her chest with all this love begging to be poured out. But the raven haired woman keeps a tight lid upon it, is content for the time being on simply watching on. Her head tilts to the side and she released a soft laugh at the explaining behind the name, every bit an Amara reason and truth be told? Yen would’ve done the same. Her child would be every bit extraordinary and so would her name be. However now her own heart is pounding in her chest as she takes the words in. The Temerian wanted for her name to have meaning and — well, what did that mean? Why call her by a name which meant raven? The very nickname the woman has called her for decades?

Surprisingly, Yennefer hadn’t yet dared to ask who else had aided in the creation of the bundle of joy that was snuggled up with such contentment, still gripping at her gloved finger and not granting the younger woman the ability to create distance, tightening whenever she sensed movement that she did not approve of. Oh, yes, Yennefer’s she was or the world would hear about her dislike at life going the way she desires. It was such an relief to have a moment to breathe, to think of how to answer such a question and bring satisfaction to her once lover with an answer that would inevitably given.

The baby seems adamant in letting her go. Her grip tightening on her finger the moment she felt even the slightest of movements from the Aerdinian sorceress. She was tempted so ask if she could hold the girl but refrained from it. The teasing words had her rolling her eyes lightly as she smiles ever so. “No knowledges whatsoever has begun to fade, I’m insulted you’ve even jumped to such a conclusion” she says with a mild, playful huff. However it turns serious, the mood, the atmosphere — at the very least for her it does. “I know the many meanings, I simply need you to tell me the meaning it holds for you.” The words are soft spoken, “see I knew one of them was Raven and it stopped my heart at the thought of you possibly naming her that because of me.”

Yennefer had always been possessive, something that the older woman had truly enjoyed for the most part of their relationship. Perhaps, the enjoyment came from a twisted sense of wanting to feel wanted, as if she belonged and that possessiveness answered to it in some way, shape or form. Perhaps, she had enjoyed that in spite of being possessive, Amara had never felt owned by Yennefer and that her moments of possession arose from love. It was something that the women shared, the possessiveness and it had never seemed to fade in spite of the way that destiny constantly interviewed, the decades that had passed between them and the momentarily lovers they knew of but had chosen to simply ignore.

Faye expressed little consideration in loosening her grip upon the younger woman, preventing the family from parting even the slightest. Gods. Such proximity to Yennefer was hard as the woman, knowingly or unknowingly, invaded all of her senses as the Sorceress of Gors Velen was, as she had always been, painfully aware of the woman and everything that came with her. She inhaled slowly, trying to silence the slight shake that threatened as silver orbs took Yennefer’s concentration upon their child to her advantage and granted herself the ability to watch, observe each of those breathtaking features. Yennefer hadn’t changed, remained as she had when they first met and by the gods, how it left her breathless and weakened as her beauty swept her utterly and completely from her feet as it always had. Amara was torn from the emotions, the fantasies that arose in her mind and returned to life as it was, her attention purposely turned from the quarter-elf in favour of anything else. “Someone has to keep you on your toes.” And the jest had soon crumbled away, giving way beneath the seriousness that Yennefer bestowed upon them in the name of her need to understand the meaning that was behind Amara’s child and just what significance it held to the Temerian.

Gods. How her jaw threatened to shatter beneath the sheer force that was knowingly applied to it as the older woman’s strength was called upon. Was Yennefer truly so clueless? Did she not realise the importance she held within the half-elf’s life? “I chose it for it’s translation of Raven, Yennefer. I think the rest of the answer has already fallen into place.” Three centuries old and the concept of talking of emotions, confessing them from her own lips in an admittance of spoken word was still one that had her at a loss and especially with Yennefer. She hated how vulnerable, how easily broken she was in Yennefer’s presence and how it only took one word from the woman to be shattered. The gaze was not broken, fingers trembling as the Sorceress of Gors Velen kept steady and dared not to glance elsewhere but tried not to get hopelessly lost in a sea of amethyst. Yennefer had ruined her from the moment the younger woman dared to strike conversation, answering to fate’s call.

She was not clueless to the importance she held in Amara’s life, her heart. She just needed to hear confirmation rather than making speculations. She needed to know, needed to understand — well perhaps not the why. As she said, she knew the importance she held in Amara’s life. However if she had a child with another, why name her after her? Does the father know about it? The meaning behind it? The person that inspired it and what they are to each other? But before any of those question can be thought about deeper, perhaps even be voice and demand a response the baby fusses and Amara suggest stepping inside.

“Excuse the messes.” Not that there was one. Amara was the type of woman that was painfully clean, constantly ensuring that her home was spotless and without even the slightest of messes. It came from her line of work, one could say. If your home was clean and in proper order, even the slightest of modifications could be noticed and in turn, acts of intrusions could be easily spotted, not that documents and other valuable or sensitive items were ever left outside of the safety of her workrooms. She had easily fallen into the role of a mother, the role simply radiating from her naturally and now that they were inside her home, her body had begun careful rocking as the baby remained in her arms and those chaotic locks continued to stroked in such a soothing manner, lulling the baby into the deepest of slumbers while silver orbs watched on as if the child was the only object near and dear.

They step into the house and Amara apologizes for the mess. It makes the sorceress from Vengerberg roll her eyes, quite typical of her it was. There was never a single thing out of place in the Temerian’s home. If there was ever any mess, it was quickly cleaned up. If it wasn’t, well it was simply because it was the fun kind of mess. The lilac eyed mage watched as her beloved rocks the little bundle of joy in her arms and well Yennefer sort of had to follow it up because her finger is still very much still being held by the baby. “There is never any mess in your house, Amara.”

“There is always a mess.” She murmured with a slight roll of her silver orbs almost as if the Half-Elf was silently, gently informing Yennefer of her miscalculation and the ability to use her arms once more was used to her advantage now that Faye was safety buried within the warmth of Yennefer’s arms and seemingly invisible fluff was wiped away with a distasteful swipe of her hand. “Shall I get you a fresh pitcher of apple juice, Yen?” It had become that of a staple in her life since her pregnancy and the cravings that came with it, the women’s child bestowing constant cravings upon the Temerian throughout the entirety of those long yet blissful nine-months and even now, loved nothing more than having the golden liquid applied to the end of her pacifiers or upon her gums almost as much as Yennefer herself enjoyed drinking it by the gallon. Amara removed the cotton wrap from her body, beginning to fold it neatly but had ended up placing it carelessly on the dining table as her concentration was captured, the Temerian enthralled by the sight of her child and the woman she loved, that of a emotionally-gripped simper curling at the edge of supple brims as her heart pounded, fluttered with potent emotions and energised love.

Gods… It was truly the beautiful sight to behold, the sight of her beloved daughter content and ever so happy in her ex-partner’s arms as if this was not the first meeting and they had done this a thousand times, healthy little hands gripping, holding at Yennefer’s dress as Faye’s body turned to settle against the warmth that radiated from her mother and tiny, roseate lips danced with happiness. If only she was able to capture this moment, to be able to relive it once Yennefer leaves and returns to her life with Geralt. Faye was a bundle of joy that was small and light but that certainly did not mean the newborn was delicate and without sturdiness, her appetite healthy and bestowing her chunky little thighs, chubby cheeks and a tiny tummy that was often the topic of amusement during a playful game of raspberry with her mother. Amara felt her heart clench painfully the longer that she stared, teeth worrying at flesh of her inner cheek as the sight unravelled so many hidden emotions at a pace that was truly daunting and a sharp inhale was taken, forced down as tears threatened to fall and they were willed away. “You… You look beautiful with a child, Yennefer.” With our child. Words unable to be spoken, that burned at her very soul. She had yet to see Yennefer holding a child and this very moment had granted her the beauty and forced her to relive so many of her decisions, filling her with regrets and wishes that the potentional of a family was brought up in their youth and that her tentative proposal of marriage had repeatedly fallen from her lips until Yennefer’s refusal morphed into acceptance.

Yennefer gently rocks the baby, fingers lightly tracing soft features. She finds herself smiling, eyes as violent as a storm completely soft and tender when gazing upon this gentle creature. This small thing. The words from Amara causes her to look up at her and her breath quietly hitches at the sight. It seems that the half-elf was close to tears and well, the sorceress of Vengerberg felt something similar because — how long has she craved this? To hold a child, her child, her legacy, what she leaves behind in this cruel world. Someone she would be important to because nothing is as important as a mother, a good mother. She gives the Temerian a tender and loving smile but when the gaze is broken, when Amara looks away she sets her gaze upon the baby.

Silence envelopes them and it isn’t exactly uncomfortable. Not to her at the very least. She’s still quite enthralled by the baby, gently cooing and lightly rocking the babe. When she glanced up once the glass was offered to her, she could’ve choked on her own breath at the eyeful of breasts she got. She knows that pregnancy could change a woman’s body, breasts enlarging duo to the milk that is produced for the baby but by the gods —. She swallows thickly and moves her gaze to the goblet which she grabs. “Thank you” she says and takes a sip, humming in delight. Exactly how she likes it. “No darling, I’m alright for the time being.” She cradles the baby in one arm and the juice on her other hand. It was still so surreal to her that this child was Amara’s. “How is motherhood treating you so far?” She asks and moves to sit on the table, placing the cup on it so now both hands are holding the baby.

Now, as stated before, she had felt like Amara was behaving weirdly. She had passed it off as many things at first but now it felt sort of ridiculous. She had the strangest sensation that Amara was trying to keep Faye away from her. Why? “By the gods, Amara, are you afraid I’ll steal her?” She says with a quirk of her brow as she looks upon the woman and how nervous she is. How she shifts from foot to foot and her gaze flickers between herself and the baby. What was going on with her? “Why are you so nervous?” Perhaps the baby felt the tension or the mild aggravation that Yennefer was exuding at this behavior from her usually calm, confident and mischievous ex-lover. But there’s a wail, a sound of protest which makes the Vengerberg sorceress shift her gaze down to the baby. Little fists rub tiny eyes and she watched as if it were the most interesting thing on the Continent. Sees the way the baby stretches and then opens her eyes.

Time stills when eyes are revealed and she sees reflected back at her violet eyes.

𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐮𝐜𝐤?

Motherhood… How was it something that women craved? And with such intense desperation? Why would someone sign themselves up for such a role, desire to be the world of something so pure and delicate? Put themselves in such a violate position? It was nothing more than an aspect of life that the Sorceress of Gors Velen had purposely fled from, remaining tenaciously out of reach to any and all situations that could, even in the slightest, led the pale-skinned woman into a position that saw her caring for a child, existing as a mother-figure to an innocent soul that could so easily be broken, disappointed. And such desperate avoidance, such a distasteful outlook was carved from a childhood that had been painful, horrific and lonely, spent trapped beneath a cruel caretaker in a dilapidated orphanage. Perhaps, Amara was selfish. Perhaps, Amara was weak. Perhaps, Amara still held scars, thus, was scared, frightened. And such scars had not healed, forever reopening beneath invisible strain as toxic ignorance was paid towards mental and physical wounds that had refused to leave, to ease when the victim denied facing them. Simply, to be a mother was a role she loathed the thought of, actively avoided in every sense of the word. She had been walking, existing across this Continent for over three centuries and had yet to truly keep herself together, to act in a manner that was safe and wholeheartedly mature instead of chasing a youthful, careless lifestyle that had seen her split from her loved ones, captured in moments that gifted her scars that would never fade even with the aide of magic. Pregnancy was nothing more than a fragment of life that the Sorceress had been wholeheartedly uninterested in as the belief of being a terrible, uncaring mother whispered in the back of her mind and frightening off any thoughts that dared to arise.

Yennefer of Vengerberg was her first love and had been an important, unwavering presence in the Temerian’s life from the moment that their paths crossed in the Courts of Aedirn and that soaring, passionate bond was created, forged by the likes of destiny and was unbreaking beneath the pressure of time and a whirlwind romance that was as chaotic as an untamed stallion galloping through lush fields. It was truly nothing for the women to be together one moment and apart the next, days, weeks, months or even years spent together. Now, this did not mean in any way, shape or form that their love was untrue or impure as a couple that spent their lives together, remaining attached at the hip. It simply meant that their love, however chaotic and unpredictable, was passionate, burning and unable to be mellowed, the women brought back together repeatedly by the unusual workings of fate. Violate they could be, loving in the first moment, thoroughly frustrated in the second and dripping with lust in the last. It was that very sequence that had led the Sorceress of Gors Velen into this … undesired situation, the very situation that she had never expected, envisioned herself to be in. She and Yennefer had parted ways but not without a night of passion that had left her ever so pleasurably bruised and unable to walk without limping after the Sorceress of Vengerberg experimented with a new spell that had seen her equipped with a very real, very responsive phallus.

Unforeseen, the Scholar of Rissberg had brusquely awoken one morning with the unyielding desire to empty the contents of her stomach as the organ rocked, trembled viciously, riotously and promptly lost the previous night’s meal in a bucket that had been hastily received. She hadn’t expected to have the light of life to be growing, forming within her stomach in an act of chance that was truly magical, a blessing. And why would such a thought arise? Akin to all Aretuza Sorceresses, Yennefer’s ascension had come at a painful cost that had seen her purposely left sterile and unable to have children in an act that the Brotherhood of Sorcerers had hoped pledge loyalty. Who could possibly have thought that playing around with a crude spell could create a loophole? One that ended in pregnancy, the gift of life? It had not ever been heard of, unspoken and hidden if such a discovery had been founded previously by another couple. No. Pregnancy had not been the thought that had entered Amara’s mind, in fact, the pale-skinned Temerian had simply believed that she had fallen ill. Sorceresses, after all, could still fall sick as they were wholeheartedly immune to the ways of life and had treated herself as such, believing after that of a truly agonising week of morning sickness that it was an unusual case of hay fever and was responding painfully to a new crop that her community was using, waving it off as an allergy of sorts. In fact, even the increase in the Sorceress’s eating habits had been simply shouldered off as her body trying to naturally heal itself and required the nutrition to fight the effects of the ailment that acted out upon her body.

Outrageously, the Sorceress of Gors Velen had been painfully unaware of the situation she had unknowingly found herself in as days turned into weeks and edged onto the first few months. You see, her appetite had always been that of a healthy one and ate, for the majority, to her pleasure. It wasn’t until the desire for a spontaneous bath had seen her uncovered and unprotected, argenteous orbs uncovering the startling discovery of a previously undetected bump that had seemed to have formed without her knowledge. And suddenly, the last few weeks and all those strange, unusual variations had all come crashing down upon her in unrelenting waves of emotions, finally making sense in a daunting discovery that was frightening and life-altering all in the very same second, provoking a strangled sob to tear forth from her lips as the woman fell to the ground as pale hands grasped and not at her stomach, as one would think, but the floor. One could not discover a response that could truly describe the situation the Sorceress had found herself in, the emotions and conflict which lashed out at her body. It was frightening to think of just how much was being unpacked in her mind. On one hand, she was pregnant and that was a feat she had never foreseen and she was pregnant with Yennefer’s child and that was a feat that should have been impossible given Yennefer’s inability to have children. Without a doubt, it was Yennefer’s. Amara only enjoyed the company of the same-sex and such devious acts of using chaos to conjure a magical cock on her lover’s body had only ever been done with Yennefer.

Gods… It opened a whole new pot of worms. Could she tell Yennefer? Should she tell Yennefer? Could or should she keep this life that was living inside of her? Given the violent response of both her body and mind, Amara was aware there and then that she was unable to purposely rid herself of the gift that had been created out of the love that shimmered and burned between herself and the woman she loved in a feat that was, without a doubt, a true creation of fate. And yet, she was unable to bring herself to informing Yennefer of this discovery, of the fact that the Sorceress of Gors Velen was pregnant with their child in an unbelievable outcome. Surely, the pale-skinned woman would sound insane, had finally lost the last screw as so many joked with such an admittance and had imagined an array of Yennefer’s responses that , of such that she did not want to battle with and their last communication had read that Yennefer was content, happy in her current life with Geralt, the Infamous Witcher and their child surprise, Ciri. Who was she to play god in their relationships by dropping such an emotional bomb? If Yennefer believed her that is. She had only ever wanted Yennefer to be happy in her life, to find that meaning the Aedirnian wanted and such was found as the mother to Geralt’s child surprise. Perhaps, her choice of keeping their child secret was ever so wrong, one that would see the women damaged, hurt and confused. Amara Isolda was someone who often, in the opinion of those that surrounded her, chose the wrong choice, even if it was chosen for the right reason and for the health of those she cared for. Was another wrong choice truly going to be so bad? When she had so many already trailing behind her? It was one that she regretted with each passing day, with each letter received from Yennefer and had forced herself to live with.

Amara had, surprisingly, eased into the aspect of having a child ever so swiftly, with such effortlessness that had left her debating on her previous beliefs of her ability in the world of motherhood and was truly loving, attentive to the unborn child that grew in her stomach, showering it in constant acts of affection and love throughout the day, ensuring that she only ever digested the best quality of foods and ensured that it was family with her voice, talking, singing and reading to the bundle of joy as the days passed on and her belly grew larger, signalling that her child was healthy and nurtured, blossoming beneath her love. In fact, the Sorceress had even departed from her birth town of Gors Velen, leaving behind a life that she had loved living for one far slower and settled down in a tasteful Manor discovered not far from the smaller settlement of Oxenfurt, a piece of the continent that was quieter, without conflict and was absent of the hustle and bustle that came with the likes of an overpopulated city that was brimming with factions, businesses and opportunities.

When the birth came, it was a challenge as any childbirth was but after hours of intense labour guided by a close friend and confidant, the Continent was made brighter, better by the birth of a beautiful baby girl. And a beauty she was, blessed with skin that was as delicate as porcelain and a gentle button nose, generous little eyebrows and tresses as dark as the night, chaotic and wild as Yennefer’s and features that paired Amara and Yennefer together tastefully but most important of all, little orbs which danced vividly with an array of amethyst shades that was identical to her mother. And such an emotional discovery that was, a stream of tears staining alabaster cheeks as the woman she loved more than life itself was so very present in the gift they had created. Yennefer was, without a single doubt, lovingly present in their daughter as her demanding yet gentle natured personality was more akin to her Mother’s rather than Amara’s. And just as the Sorceress of Gors Velen had been whilst their baby grew, blossomed in her stomach, Amara was ever so loving and affectionate towards her bundle of joy, passionately proud and ardently protective of the gift fate had given her.

The months spent training the little ugly one had seen them grow closer. Sharing a room at some point and having the girl curled up at her side in her protective, motherly hold had a love blossoming within her chest for the young girl. It was only solidified and made stronger when the girl referred to her as mother. And from then on, Yennefer swore that no matter what, she will always be Ciri’s mother.

Her path with Geralt obviously was further intertwined now and it was no surprise when they got back together. Traveling across the continent, keeping the ashen haired girl safe and hidden from all those who wished to harm her or use her for power. It was on their travels, at a tavern where they run into Dandelion — whom they always seem to run into at some point and really how is this bard still living? — that she learns about Amara and apparently the state she was last in when the bard saw her. Pregnant? Amara had always been against motherhood. The lilac eyed sorceress couldn’t quite explain the array of emotions that coursed through her chest.

“I wonder who the father is” he says with a light snort.

“You best keep your mouth shut, Dandelion” the raven haired woman snapped lightly. “It is none of your concern.”

He knew, they all knew of her history with the Temerian sorceress. But no one said a thing and if the bard said anything at all afterwards, it wasn’t in front of her. Yen had gone to her room which she shared with Geralt and of course had been unable to think of anything else but Amara. She was with child? Whose? Since when? Why hadn’t she said anything in her letters? Was she perhaps afraid Yen would resent her for her ability to have children? Surely she knows that the raven haired woman would never.

She lasted all of a day before she had told Geralt she needed to make a detour and that she will meet them at their destination within a week tops. If there happens to be any delays, she will let him know. He knew where she was going and perhaps that was the reason he did not asked and she, being Yen, did not give any further details. The lilac eyed sorceress heads on then towards the city of Oxenfurt, locating the sorceress from Rissberg with an easy locating spell. She could not believe her eyes when she sets her gaze upon the house the woman resided within. It isn’t that Amara has never had the best of the when it came to her homes and the way they looked — it was more on the fact the woman was… gardening.

If the half-elf had caught wind of Dandelion’s movements in Oxenfurt and his newly earned duty as a Lecturer at Oxenfurt’s Acadamy, Amara would have ensured that she had moved elsewhere. She knew him more than enough to be painfully aware of his mouth and it’s inability to remain silenced, the aspect of gossip and being paid attention for even the smallest of seconds causing his thoughts to simply vanish and his mouth to open and pour with rumours and stories similar to that of a waterfall. And if Amara was to hear of his admittance and that it was his running mouth that informed Yennefer of her situation, the Bard would find himself cursed.

She had heard the sounds of steps waltzing across the path that guided one into the garden and paid little attention towards who owned them as few now paid spontaneous visits upon her, simply expecting it to be the beloved Astraea or one of her friends from her years spent at Rissberg. Expect, when the visitor dared to speak, the Sorceress’s body reacted almost violently in an concoction of emotions, hairs rising to attention at the excitement, the utter joy that was always present whenever Yennefer of Vengerberg was near and blood was ran cold, her heart immediately beginning to pound away desperately within it’s cage. “When they told me you were off living a quiet life… I couldn’t believe it. And yet here you are…” There was only one person across the entire continent with a voice that was so heavenly, that could send her on a blissful journey with a single word. What… What on Earth was she doing here? How had she managed to track her down? She was practically a worlds away from Gors Velen, from anything that linked to the Temerian. Amara thought back to their last letters, to the mention of a visit that she could have missed and came up with, well, nothing. Yennefer hadn’t mentioned visiting. And that only caused worry to burn in the back of her mind, creating a path for questions to arise upon her tongue.

There’s a breathiness to her voice as she says her name, not that Yennefer minds. It is a testimony to the effects she has upon the sorceress of Gors Velen. It takes her a second to rise, the Aerdinian notices this as well but when she does, she turns to look at her and gods, she is lovely as ever. Sharp features, silver hues, absolutely breathtaking in all of her motherly glory. Speaking of which, lilac hues flicker to the little bundle all wrapped around against Amara’s chest. It is true, what Dandelion said. Amara had been with child. She couldn’t explain the feelings which coursed through her being at the sight.

When the half-elf speaks, the lilac eyed mage flickers her gaze back towards her. A well defined brow quirks at the words and her head tilts. “No, nothing is the matter, Cirilla is in perfect health, thank the gods. Need there to be something wrong for me to visit you?” She asks, stepping forth just so and halting a few inches. She doesn’t think she has ever seen Amara this cautious or standoffish around her ever, it made her curious. Why was the woman behaving in such manner? Well, it could be because she had kept such huge news a secret? And now here Yen was, seeing this new picture in person.

In spite of how her questions arose out of curiosity, of worry as to why Yennefer was here and how it might have seemed to the opposing woman as they fell from pale lips, Amara’s query in regards to Cirilla’s health was genuine. Geralt might have been someone who lacked favour with the Sorceress of Gors Velen, in fact, he was someone she utterly distasted for an array of reasons but there was a soft spot for his child surprise. After her own childhood, the horrific experiences she had been brutally bestowed there was a softness, a kindred with children and young adults who had also experienced similar horrors that had been created. Not to mention, Ciri was Yennefer’s child in every sense of the word and that came with it’s own meaning to the older woman. “You are always welcome, Yennefer. I suppose I’m simply taken by surprise. You randomly visit me without sending a letter to signal your arrival. I suspect more for the fresh apple juice.” Playfully spoken, that breathlessness remained as the younger woman closed the distant and served to increase the heavy beat of her heart as teeth worried at the inside of her cheek. It had been just under a year since Yennefer was seen and being in her presence once more brought an array of emotions to the woman and her body, unable to be resisted as Yennefer was one of the only people that caused her to react so purely, without the ability to be restrained and left her painfully exposed beneath lilac hues.

The violet eyed mage loves the way the woman always reacts to her touch. The way she leans into the touch to her cheek. She ached to pull her into her arms, to kiss her a she always ached to do but she couldn’t. Not now. Yennefer understood the need to for Amara to just take a step back and process this, the woman had always had certain views on motherhood. She knows it because of how the way the Gors Velen sorceress had been orphaned so unexpectedly and brutally.

All train of thoughts cease however when her finger is taken. Her gaze lands on the little bundle in Amara’s arms. There were a handful of times where Yennefer of Vengerberg has been stunt, unable to form much of a thought. Her breath hitched slightly and she stares at the baby in absolute awe, in wonder. She couldn’t explain it, the warmth that coursed through her body at such a simple gesture from an innocent little baby. It gave her this strong feeling, like she needed to release it in tears. Could it be because the baby was Amara’s? She certainly has never reacted to any other tiny human. The pale woman wiggles her finger lightly, not enough to disturb the baby and make her release her finger but enough to make her little fist wiggle.

There was a passing shadow of disappointment, gone as quickly as it came. She wanted to kiss the younger woman, to surrender to the ache that constantly pestered at her body. If this had been any other moment, Amara would have eagerly pulled Yennefer into a bone-crushing embrace and bestowed tender lips with a breathtaking kiss and inform the Sorceress of the feelings she could never openly admit. But… Such a series of motions could not be taken, Yennefer was with Geralt in a relationship that brought her happiness and satisfaction. Amara couldn’t be the one to destroy the joy that the Sorceress of Vengerberg had finally found. She only ever wanted the best for Yennefer, even if it left her saddened, dissatisfied that such happiness wasn’t found with her. It was the price that the wish demanded and a price that Amara paid in silence since it had fallen from Geralt’s lips all those decades ago. And after all, it wasn’t Yennefer’s fault that she had been Amara’s first love.

Spherules watched on in utter and complete silent at the gripping of Yennefer’s finger. Gods. Would she be able to keep up this secret if Yennefer and her daughter repeated such purity? Concern lashed out at the back of her mind, repetitive reminders setting off in an attempt to try and silence the emotions that welled up, threatening to tip the pale-skinned woman over. The whirlwind of emotions had left her wanting to scream, cry and laugh all in the same moment. Was this the price she was forced to pay for her choice of harbouring this secret? She was forced to see these acts and remain silent, not daring to react even as her body begged. How her lungs screamed, begged for the Temerian to breathe.

The wish, what had changed everything and turned each of their lives upside down. She knows that Amara is affected as much as she and Geralt were. It couldn’t be and was not easy to have someone you love bonded to another by magic, linked together by destiny. More often than not the lilac eyed sorceress wishes it was not so, that she could just give the Temerian everything she craved. Because Yen craved it too. But with immortality came separation from time to time and taking different paths before coming together once more. Nothing was ever easy and even less so for them.

The baby tightens her grip on her finger and coos unhappily at the motion. It makes the raven haired woman smile ever so, nearly laugh actually as she watched the scene before her. Pristine teeth sink into her bottom lip as she stares solemnly at the little bundle that snuggles closer to the sorceress’ chest. Yes, she too knew how heavenly such a place was. Yennefer stills her finger but the stroking of tiny knuckles with her thumb does not cease. The name is spoken and the Aerdinian sorceress stops then. Faye, if all those lessons in Aretuza serve her right, which they did, she’s positive the name means Raven. She feels a lump form in her throat, heart clenching in her chest. Had it been deliberate, the choosing of the name? Has Amara picked the name for the baby after her in some way? The mere idea has her sentimental which knowing Yennefer es also a feat in itself.

She held bitterness towards the wish and in turn, the man that had cast it. Only a few select words and it forever altered her most precious possession. And her love was little match for the powers of a Djinn, the most powerful air elemental that could change destiny itself as if it was the smallest feat known to man. Fate had often intervened, bringing them together only for destiny to laugh and pull them apart once more, setting them on different paths that brought a new wave of heartache. How long she had spent wishing to forget the emotions Yennefer stirred inside of her? Had feverishly searched for the one that could surpass and cause her pain to subside, to prevent it from haunting her as it did? Sadly, such endeavours had brought nothing to the woman expect momentarily satisfaction after a tumble in bed. This didn’t include Astraea, of course, who had been the closest but the women had been unable to let that love blossom into it’s true complexity as even she had been ripped from Amara’s grasp and thrown into the arms of another lover. Perhaps, her destiny was not to spend her life loving someone other then herself and now her child. And all she had ever wanted was to spent this prolonged life with someone she loved and that returned that very love. It was better off, she supposes. Her touch, after time, never brought success and only ever granted poison.

The sorceress from Vengerberg watches as the woman looks at Faye with so much love, holds her so protectively. She looks every bit a protective mother and it warms the woman’s heart, feels the organ often described as like the obsidian rock on her necklace, growing in her chest with all this love begging to be poured out. But the raven haired woman keeps a tight lid upon it, is content for the time being on simply watching on. Her head tilts to the side and she released a soft laugh at the explaining behind the name, every bit an Amara reason and truth be told? Yen would’ve done the same. Her child would be every bit extraordinary and so would her name be. However now her own heart is pounding in her chest as she takes the words in. The Temerian wanted for her name to have meaning and — well, what did that mean? Why call her by a name which meant raven? The very nickname the woman has called her for decades?

Surprisingly, Yennefer hadn’t yet dared to ask who else had aided in the creation of the bundle of joy that was snuggled up with such contentment, still gripping at her gloved finger and not granting the younger woman the ability to create distance, tightening whenever she sensed movement that she did not approve of. Oh, yes, Yennefer’s she was or the world would hear about her dislike at life going the way she desires. It was such an relief to have a moment to breathe, to think of how to answer such a question and bring satisfaction to her once lover with an answer that would inevitably given.

The baby seems adamant in letting her go. Her grip tightening on her finger the moment she felt even the slightest of movements from the Aerdinian sorceress. She was tempted so ask if she could hold the girl but refrained from it. The teasing words had her rolling her eyes lightly as she smiles ever so. “No knowledges whatsoever has begun to fade, I’m insulted you’ve even jumped to such a conclusion” she says with a mild, playful huff. However it turns serious, the mood, the atmosphere — at the very least for her it does. “I know the many meanings, I simply need you to tell me the meaning it holds for you.” The words are soft spoken, “see I knew one of them was Raven and it stopped my heart at the thought of you possibly naming her that because of me.”

Yennefer had always been possessive, something that the older woman had truly enjoyed for the most part of their relationship. Perhaps, the enjoyment came from a twisted sense of wanting to feel wanted, as if she belonged and that possessiveness answered to it in some way, shape or form. Perhaps, she had enjoyed that in spite of being possessive, Amara had never felt owned by Yennefer and that her moments of possession arose from love. It was something that the women shared, the possessiveness and it had never seemed to fade in spite of the way that destiny constantly interviewed, the decades that had passed between them and the momentarily lovers they knew of but had chosen to simply ignore.

Faye expressed little consideration in loosening her grip upon the younger woman, preventing the family from parting even the slightest. Gods. Such proximity to Yennefer was hard as the woman, knowingly or unknowingly, invaded all of her senses as the Sorceress of Gors Velen was, as she had always been, painfully aware of the woman and everything that came with her. She inhaled slowly, trying to silence the slight shake that threatened as silver orbs took Yennefer’s concentration upon their child to her advantage and granted herself the ability to watch, observe each of those breathtaking features. Yennefer hadn’t changed, remained as she had when they first met and by the gods, how it left her breathless and weakened as her beauty swept her utterly and completely from her feet as it always had. Amara was torn from the emotions, the fantasies that arose in her mind and returned to life as it was, her attention purposely turned from the quarter-elf in favour of anything else. “Someone has to keep you on your toes.” And the jest had soon crumbled away, giving way beneath the seriousness that Yennefer bestowed upon them in the name of her need to understand the meaning that was behind Amara’s child and just what significance it held to the Temerian.

Gods. How her jaw threatened to shatter beneath the sheer force that was knowingly applied to it as the older woman’s strength was called upon. Was Yennefer truly so clueless? Did she not realise the importance she held within the half-elf’s life? “I chose it for it’s translation of Raven, Yennefer. I think the rest of the answer has already fallen into place.” Three centuries old and the concept of talking of emotions, confessing them from her own lips in an admittance of spoken word was still one that had her at a loss and especially with Yennefer. She hated how vulnerable, how easily broken she was in Yennefer’s presence and how it only took one word from the woman to be shattered. The gaze was not broken, fingers trembling as the Sorceress of Gors Velen kept steady and dared not to glance elsewhere but tried not to get hopelessly lost in a sea of amethyst. Yennefer had ruined her from the moment the younger woman dared to strike conversation, answering to fate’s call.

She was not clueless to the importance she held in Amara’s life, her heart. She just needed to hear confirmation rather than making speculations. She needed to know, needed to understand — well perhaps not the why. As she said, she knew the importance she held in Amara’s life. However if she had a child with another, why name her after her? Does the father know about it? The meaning behind it? The person that inspired it and what they are to each other? But before any of those question can be thought about deeper, perhaps even be voice and demand a response the baby fusses and Amara suggest stepping inside.

“Excuse the messes.” Not that there was one. Amara was the type of woman that was painfully clean, constantly ensuring that her home was spotless and without even the slightest of messes. It came from her line of work, one could say. If your home was clean and in proper order, even the slightest of modifications could be noticed and in turn, acts of intrusions could be easily spotted, not that documents and other valuable or sensitive items were ever left outside of the safety of her workrooms. She had easily fallen into the role of a mother, the role simply radiating from her naturally and now that they were inside her home, her body had begun careful rocking as the baby remained in her arms and those chaotic locks continued to stroked in such a soothing manner, lulling the baby into the deepest of slumbers while silver orbs watched on as if the child was the only object near and dear.

They step into the house and Amara apologizes for the mess. It makes the sorceress from Vengerberg roll her eyes, quite typical of her it was. There was never a single thing out of place in the Temerian’s home. If there was ever any mess, it was quickly cleaned up. If it wasn’t, well it was simply because it was the fun kind of mess. The lilac eyed mage watched as her beloved rocks the little bundle of joy in her arms and well Yennefer sort of had to follow it up because her finger is still very much still being held by the baby. “There is never any mess in your house, Amara.”

“There is always a mess.” She murmured with a slight roll of her silver orbs almost as if the Half-Elf was silently, gently informing Yennefer of her miscalculation and the ability to use her arms once more was used to her advantage now that Faye was safety buried within the warmth of Yennefer’s arms and seemingly invisible fluff was wiped away with a distasteful swipe of her hand. “Shall I get you a fresh pitcher of apple juice, Yen?” It had become that of a staple in her life since her pregnancy and the cravings that came with it, the women’s child bestowing constant cravings upon the Temerian throughout the entirety of those long yet blissful nine-months and even now, loved nothing more than having the golden liquid applied to the end of her pacifiers or upon her gums almost as much as Yennefer herself enjoyed drinking it by the gallon. Amara removed the cotton wrap from her body, beginning to fold it neatly but had ended up placing it carelessly on the dining table as her concentration was captured, the Temerian enthralled by the sight of her child and the woman she loved, that of a emotionally-gripped simper curling at the edge of supple brims as her heart pounded, fluttered with potent emotions and energised love.

Gods… It was truly the beautiful sight to behold, the sight of her beloved daughter content and ever so happy in her ex-partner’s arms as if this was not the first meeting and they had done this a thousand times, healthy little hands gripping, holding at Yennefer’s dress as Faye’s body turned to settle against the warmth that radiated from her mother and tiny, roseate lips danced with happiness. If only she was able to capture this moment, to be able to relive it once Yennefer leaves and returns to her life with Geralt. Faye was a bundle of joy that was small and light but that certainly did not mean the newborn was delicate and without sturdiness, her appetite healthy and bestowing her chunky little thighs, chubby cheeks and a tiny tummy that was often the topic of amusement during a playful game of raspberry with her mother. Amara felt her heart clench painfully the longer that she stared, teeth worrying at flesh of her inner cheek as the sight unravelled so many hidden emotions at a pace that was truly daunting and a sharp inhale was taken, forced down as tears threatened to fall and they were willed away. “You… You look beautiful with a child, Yennefer.” With our child. Words unable to be spoken, that burned at her very soul. She had yet to see Yennefer holding a child and this very moment had granted her the beauty and forced her to relive so many of her decisions, filling her with regrets and wishes that the potentional of a family was brought up in their youth and that her tentative proposal of marriage had repeatedly fallen from her lips until Yennefer’s refusal morphed into acceptance.

Yennefer gently rocks the baby, fingers lightly tracing soft features. She finds herself smiling, eyes as violent as a storm completely soft and tender when gazing upon this gentle creature. This small thing. The words from Amara causes her to look up at her and her breath quietly hitches at the sight. It seems that the half-elf was close to tears and well, the sorceress of Vengerberg felt something similar because — how long has she craved this? To hold a child, her child, her legacy, what she leaves behind in this cruel world. Someone she would be important to because nothing is as important as a mother, a good mother. She gives the Temerian a tender and loving smile but when the gaze is broken, when Amara looks away she sets her gaze upon the baby.

Silence envelopes them and it isn’t exactly uncomfortable. Not to her at the very least. She’s still quite enthralled by the baby, gently cooing and lightly rocking the babe. When she glanced up once the glass was offered to her, she could’ve choked on her own breath at the eyeful of breasts she got. She knows that pregnancy could change a woman’s body, breasts enlarging duo to the milk that is produced for the baby but by the gods —. She swallows thickly and moves her gaze to the goblet which she grabs. “Thank you” she says and takes a sip, humming in delight. Exactly how she likes it. “No darling, I’m alright for the time being.” She cradles the baby in one arm and the juice on her other hand. It was still so surreal to her that this child was Amara’s. “How is motherhood treating you so far?” She asks and moves to sit on the table, placing the cup on it so now both hands are holding the baby.

Motherhood… How was it something that women craved? And with such intense desperation? Why would someone sign themselves up for such a role, desire to be the world of something so pure and delicate? Put themselves in such a violate position? It was nothing more than an aspect of life that the Sorceress of Gors Velen had purposely fled from, remaining tenaciously out of reach to any and all situations that could, even in the slightest, led the pale-skinned woman into a position that saw her caring for a child, existing as a mother-figure to an innocent soul that could so easily be broken, disappointed. And such desperate avoidance, such a distasteful outlook was carved from a childhood that had been painful, horrific and lonely, spent trapped beneath a cruel caretaker in a dilapidated orphanage. Perhaps, Amara was selfish. Perhaps, Amara was weak. Perhaps, Amara still held scars, thus, was scared, frightened. And such scars had not healed, forever reopening beneath invisible strain as toxic ignorance was paid towards mental and physical wounds that had refused to leave, to ease when the victim denied facing them. Simply, to be a mother was a role she loathed the thought of, actively avoided in every sense of the word. She had been walking, existing across this Continent for over three centuries and had yet to truly keep herself together, to act in a manner that was safe and wholeheartedly mature instead of chasing a youthful, careless lifestyle that had seen her split from her loved ones, captured in moments that gifted her scars that would never fade even with the aide of magic. Pregnancy was nothing more than a fragment of life that the Sorceress had been wholeheartedly uninterested in as the belief of being a terrible, uncaring mother whispered in the back of her mind and frightening off any thoughts that dared to arise.

Yennefer of Vengerberg was her first love and had been an important, unwavering presence in the Temerian’s life from the moment that their paths crossed in the Courts of Aedirn and that soaring, passionate bond was created, forged by the likes of destiny and was unbreaking beneath the pressure of time and a whirlwind romance that was as chaotic as an untamed stallion galloping through lush fields. It was truly nothing for the women to be together one moment and apart the next, days, weeks, months or even years spent together. Now, this did not mean in any way, shape or form that their love was untrue or impure as a couple that spent their lives together, remaining attached at the hip. It simply meant that their love, however chaotic and unpredictable, was passionate, burning and unable to be mellowed, the women brought back together repeatedly by the unusual workings of fate. Violate they could be, loving in the first moment, thoroughly frustrated in the second and dripping with lust in the last. It was that very sequence that had led the Sorceress of Gors Velen into this … undesired situation, the very situation that she had never expected, envisioned herself to be in. She and Yennefer had parted ways but not without a night of passion that had left her ever so pleasurably bruised and unable to walk without limping after the Sorceress of Vengerberg experimented with a new spell that had seen her equipped with a very real, very responsive phallus.

Unforeseen, the Scholar of Rissberg had brusquely awoken one morning with the unyielding desire to empty the contents of her stomach as the organ rocked, trembled viciously, riotously and promptly lost the previous night’s meal in a bucket that had been hastily received. She hadn’t expected to have the light of life to be growing, forming within her stomach in an act of chance that was truly magical, a blessing. And why would such a thought arise? Akin to all Aretuza Sorceresses, Yennefer’s ascension had come at a painful cost that had seen her purposely left sterile and unable to have children in an act that the Brotherhood of Sorcerers had hoped pledge loyalty. Who could possibly have thought that playing around with a crude spell could create a loophole? One that ended in pregnancy, the gift of life? It had not ever been heard of, unspoken and hidden if such a discovery had been founded previously by another couple. No. Pregnancy had not been the thought that had entered Amara’s mind, in fact, the pale-skinned Temerian had simply believed that she had fallen ill. Sorceresses, after all, could still fall sick as they were wholeheartedly immune to the ways of life and had treated herself as such, believing after that of a truly agonising week of morning sickness that it was an unusual case of hay fever and was responding painfully to a new crop that her community was using, waving it off as an allergy of sorts. In fact, even the increase in the Sorceress’s eating habits had been simply shouldered off as her body trying to naturally heal itself and required the nutrition to fight the effects of the ailment that acted out upon her body.

Outrageously, the Sorceress of Gors Velen had been painfully unaware of the situation she had unknowingly found herself in as days turned into weeks and edged onto the first few months. You see, her appetite had always been that of a healthy one and ate, for the majority, to her pleasure. It wasn’t until the desire for a spontaneous bath had seen her uncovered and unprotected, argenteous orbs uncovering the startling discovery of a previously undetected bump that had seemed to have formed without her knowledge. And suddenly, the last few weeks and all those strange, unusual variations had all come crashing down upon her in unrelenting waves of emotions, finally making sense in a daunting discovery that was frightening and life-altering all in the very same second, provoking a strangled sob to tear forth from her lips as the woman fell to the ground as pale hands grasped and not at her stomach, as one would think, but the floor. One could not discover a response that could truly describe the situation the Sorceress had found herself in, the emotions and conflict which lashed out at her body. It was frightening to think of just how much was being unpacked in her mind. On one hand, she was pregnant and that was a feat she had never foreseen and she was pregnant with Yennefer’s child and that was a feat that should have been impossible given Yennefer’s inability to have children. Without a doubt, it was Yennefer’s. Amara only enjoyed the company of the same-sex and such devious acts of using chaos to conjure a magical cock on her lover’s body had only ever been done with Yennefer.

Gods… It opened a whole new pot of worms. Could she tell Yennefer? Should she tell Yennefer? Could or should she keep this life that was living inside of her? Given the violent response of both her body and mind, Amara was aware there and then that she was unable to purposely rid herself of the gift that had been created out of the love that shimmered and burned between herself and the woman she loved in a feat that was, without a doubt, a true creation of fate. And yet, she was unable to bring herself to informing Yennefer of this discovery, of the fact that the Sorceress of Gors Velen was pregnant with their child in an unbelievable outcome. Surely, the pale-skinned woman would sound insane, had finally lost the last screw as so many joked with such an admittance and had imagined an array of Yennefer’s responses that , of such that she did not want to battle with and their last communication had read that Yennefer was content, happy in her current life with Geralt, the Infamous Witcher and their child surprise, Ciri. Who was she to play god in their relationships by dropping such an emotional bomb? If Yennefer believed her that is. She had only ever wanted Yennefer to be happy in her life, to find that meaning the Aedirnian wanted and such was found as the mother to Geralt’s child surprise. Perhaps, her choice of keeping their child secret was ever so wrong, one that would see the women damaged, hurt and confused. Amara Isolda was someone who often, in the opinion of those that surrounded her, chose the wrong choice, even if it was chosen for the right reason and for the health of those she cared for. Was another wrong choice truly going to be so bad? When she had so many already trailing behind her? It was one that she regretted with each passing day, with each letter received from Yennefer and had forced herself to live with.

Amara had, surprisingly, eased into the aspect of having a child ever so swiftly, with such effortlessness that had left her debating on her previous beliefs of her ability in the world of motherhood and was truly loving, attentive to the unborn child that grew in her stomach, showering it in constant acts of affection and love throughout the day, ensuring that she only ever digested the best quality of foods and ensured that it was family with her voice, talking, singing and reading to the bundle of joy as the days passed on and her belly grew larger, signalling that her child was healthy and nurtured, blossoming beneath her love. In fact, the Sorceress had even departed from her birth town of Gors Velen, leaving behind a life that she had loved living for one far slower and settled down in a tasteful Manor discovered not far from the smaller settlement of Oxenfurt, a piece of the continent that was quieter, without conflict and was absent of the hustle and bustle that came with the likes of an overpopulated city that was brimming with factions, businesses and opportunities.

When the birth came, it was a challenge as any childbirth was but after hours of intense labour guided by a close friend and confidant, the Continent was made brighter, better by the birth of a beautiful baby girl. And a beauty she was, blessed with skin that was as delicate as porcelain and a gentle button nose, generous little eyebrows and tresses as dark as the night, chaotic and wild as Yennefer’s and features that paired Amara and Yennefer together tastefully but most important of all, little orbs which danced vividly with an array of amethyst shades that was identical to her mother. And such an emotional discovery that was, a stream of tears staining alabaster cheeks as the woman she loved more than life itself was so very present in the gift they had created. Yennefer was, without a single doubt, lovingly present in their daughter as her demanding yet gentle natured personality was more akin to her Mother’s rather than Amara’s. And just as the Sorceress of Gors Velen had been whilst their baby grew, blossomed in her stomach, Amara was ever so loving and affectionate towards her bundle of joy, passionately proud and ardently protective of the gift fate had given her.

The months spent training the little ugly one had seen them grow closer. Sharing a room at some point and having the girl curled up at her side in her protective, motherly hold had a love blossoming within her chest for the young girl. It was only solidified and made stronger when the girl referred to her as mother. And from then on, Yennefer swore that no matter what, she will always be Ciri’s mother.

Her path with Geralt obviously was further intertwined now and it was no surprise when they got back together. Traveling across the continent, keeping the ashen haired girl safe and hidden from all those who wished to harm her or use her for power. It was on their travels, at a tavern where they run into Dandelion — whom they always seem to run into at some point and really how is this bard still living? — that she learns about Amara and apparently the state she was last in when the bard saw her. Pregnant? Amara had always been against motherhood. The lilac eyed sorceress couldn’t quite explain the array of emotions that coursed through her chest.

“I wonder who the father is” he says with a light snort.

“You best keep your mouth shut, Dandelion” the raven haired woman snapped lightly. “It is none of your concern.”

He knew, they all knew of her history with the Temerian sorceress. But no one said a thing and if the bard said anything at all afterwards, it wasn’t in front of her. Yen had gone to her room which she shared with Geralt and of course had been unable to think of anything else but Amara. She was with child? Whose? Since when? Why hadn’t she said anything in her letters? Was she perhaps afraid Yen would resent her for her ability to have children? Surely she knows that the raven haired woman would never.

She lasted all of a day before she had told Geralt she needed to make a detour and that she will meet them at their destination within a week tops. If there happens to be any delays, she will let him know. He knew where she was going and perhaps that was the reason he did not asked and she, being Yen, did not give any further details. The lilac eyed sorceress heads on then towards the city of Oxenfurt, locating the sorceress from Rissberg with an easy locating spell. She could not believe her eyes when she sets her gaze upon the house the woman resided within. It isn’t that Amara has never had the best of the when it came to her homes and the way they looked — it was more on the fact the woman was… gardening.

If the half-elf had caught wind of Dandelion’s movements in Oxenfurt and his newly earned duty as a Lecturer at Oxenfurt’s Acadamy, Amara would have ensured that she had moved elsewhere. She knew him more than enough to be painfully aware of his mouth and it’s inability to remain silenced, the aspect of gossip and being paid attention for even the smallest of seconds causing his thoughts to simply vanish and his mouth to open and pour with rumours and stories similar to that of a waterfall. And if Amara was to hear of his admittance and that it was his running mouth that informed Yennefer of her situation, the Bard would find himself cursed.

She had heard the sounds of steps waltzing across the path that guided one into the garden and paid little attention towards who owned them as few now paid spontaneous visits upon her, simply expecting it to be the beloved Astraea or one of her friends from her years spent at Rissberg. Expect, when the visitor dared to speak, the Sorceress’s body reacted almost violently in an concoction of emotions, hairs rising to attention at the excitement, the utter joy that was always present whenever Yennefer of Vengerberg was near and blood was ran cold, her heart immediately beginning to pound away desperately within it’s cage. “When they told me you were off living a quiet life… I couldn’t believe it. And yet here you are…” There was only one person across the entire continent with a voice that was so heavenly, that could send her on a blissful journey with a single word. What… What on Earth was she doing here? How had she managed to track her down? She was practically a worlds away from Gors Velen, from anything that linked to the Temerian. Amara thought back to their last letters, to the mention of a visit that she could have missed and came up with, well, nothing. Yennefer hadn’t mentioned visiting. And that only caused worry to burn in the back of her mind, creating a path for questions to arise upon her tongue.

There’s a breathiness to her voice as she says her name, not that Yennefer minds. It is a testimony to the effects she has upon the sorceress of Gors Velen. It takes her a second to rise, the Aerdinian notices this as well but when she does, she turns to look at her and gods, she is lovely as ever. Sharp features, silver hues, absolutely breathtaking in all of her motherly glory. Speaking of which, lilac hues flicker to the little bundle all wrapped around against Amara’s chest. It is true, what Dandelion said. Amara had been with child. She couldn’t explain the feelings which coursed through her being at the sight.

When the half-elf speaks, the lilac eyed mage flickers her gaze back towards her. A well defined brow quirks at the words and her head tilts. “No, nothing is the matter, Cirilla is in perfect health, thank the gods. Need there to be something wrong for me to visit you?” She asks, stepping forth just so and halting a few inches. She doesn’t think she has ever seen Amara this cautious or standoffish around her ever, it made her curious. Why was the woman behaving in such manner? Well, it could be because she had kept such huge news a secret? And now here Yen was, seeing this new picture in person.

In spite of how her questions arose out of curiosity, of worry as to why Yennefer was here and how it might have seemed to the opposing woman as they fell from pale lips, Amara’s query in regards to Cirilla’s health was genuine. Geralt might have been someone who lacked favour with the Sorceress of Gors Velen, in fact, he was someone she utterly distasted for an array of reasons but there was a soft spot for his child surprise. After her own childhood, the horrific experiences she had been brutally bestowed there was a softness, a kindred with children and young adults who had also experienced similar horrors that had been created. Not to mention, Ciri was Yennefer’s child in every sense of the word and that came with it’s own meaning to the older woman. “You are always welcome, Yennefer. I suppose I’m simply taken by surprise. You randomly visit me without sending a letter to signal your arrival. I suspect more for the fresh apple juice.” Playfully spoken, that breathlessness remained as the younger woman closed the distant and served to increase the heavy beat of her heart as teeth worried at the inside of her cheek. It had been just under a year since Yennefer was seen and being in her presence once more brought an array of emotions to the woman and her body, unable to be resisted as Yennefer was one of the only people that caused her to react so purely, without the ability to be restrained and left her painfully exposed beneath lilac hues.

The violet eyed mage loves the way the woman always reacts to her touch. The way she leans into the touch to her cheek. She ached to pull her into her arms, to kiss her a she always ached to do but she couldn’t. Not now. Yennefer understood the need to for Amara to just take a step back and process this, the woman had always had certain views on motherhood. She knows it because of how the way the Gors Velen sorceress had been orphaned so unexpectedly and brutally.

All train of thoughts cease however when her finger is taken. Her gaze lands on the little bundle in Amara’s arms. There were a handful of times where Yennefer of Vengerberg has been stunt, unable to form much of a thought. Her breath hitched slightly and she stares at the baby in absolute awe, in wonder. She couldn’t explain it, the warmth that coursed through her body at such a simple gesture from an innocent little baby. It gave her this strong feeling, like she needed to release it in tears. Could it be because the baby was Amara’s? She certainly has never reacted to any other tiny human. The pale woman wiggles her finger lightly, not enough to disturb the baby and make her release her finger but enough to make her little fist wiggle.

There was a passing shadow of disappointment, gone as quickly as it came. She wanted to kiss the younger woman, to surrender to the ache that constantly pestered at her body. If this had been any other moment, Amara would have eagerly pulled Yennefer into a bone-crushing embrace and bestowed tender lips with a breathtaking kiss and inform the Sorceress of the feelings she could never openly admit. But… Such a series of motions could not be taken, Yennefer was with Geralt in a relationship that brought her happiness and satisfaction. Amara couldn’t be the one to destroy the joy that the Sorceress of Vengerberg had finally found. She only ever wanted the best for Yennefer, even if it left her saddened, dissatisfied that such happiness wasn’t found with her. It was the price that the wish demanded and a price that Amara paid in silence since it had fallen from Geralt’s lips all those decades ago. And after all, it wasn’t Yennefer’s fault that she had been Amara’s first love.

Spherules watched on in utter and complete silent at the gripping of Yennefer’s finger. Gods. Would she be able to keep up this secret if Yennefer and her daughter repeated such purity? Concern lashed out at the back of her mind, repetitive reminders setting off in an attempt to try and silence the emotions that welled up, threatening to tip the pale-skinned woman over. The whirlwind of emotions had left her wanting to scream, cry and laugh all in the same moment. Was this the price she was forced to pay for her choice of harbouring this secret? She was forced to see these acts and remain silent, not daring to react even as her body begged. How her lungs screamed, begged for the Temerian to breathe.

The wish, what had changed everything and turned each of their lives upside down. She knows that Amara is affected as much as she and Geralt were. It couldn’t be and was not easy to have someone you love bonded to another by magic, linked together by destiny. More often than not the lilac eyed sorceress wishes it was not so, that she could just give the Temerian everything she craved. Because Yen craved it too. But with immortality came separation from time to time and taking different paths before coming together once more. Nothing was ever easy and even less so for them.

The baby tightens her grip on her finger and coos unhappily at the motion. It makes the raven haired woman smile ever so, nearly laugh actually as she watched the scene before her. Pristine teeth sink into her bottom lip as she stares solemnly at the little bundle that snuggles closer to the sorceress’ chest. Yes, she too knew how heavenly such a place was. Yennefer stills her finger but the stroking of tiny knuckles with her thumb does not cease. The name is spoken and the Aerdinian sorceress stops then. Faye, if all those lessons in Aretuza serve her right, which they did, she’s positive the name means Raven. She feels a lump form in her throat, heart clenching in her chest. Had it been deliberate, the choosing of the name? Has Amara picked the name for the baby after her in some way? The mere idea has her sentimental which knowing Yennefer es also a feat in itself.

She held bitterness towards the wish and in turn, the man that had cast it. Only a few select words and it forever altered her most precious possession. And her love was little match for the powers of a Djinn, the most powerful air elemental that could change destiny itself as if it was the smallest feat known to man. Fate had often intervened, bringing them together only for destiny to laugh and pull them apart once more, setting them on different paths that brought a new wave of heartache. How long she had spent wishing to forget the emotions Yennefer stirred inside of her? Had feverishly searched for the one that could surpass and cause her pain to subside, to prevent it from haunting her as it did? Sadly, such endeavours had brought nothing to the woman expect momentarily satisfaction after a tumble in bed. This didn’t include Astraea, of course, who had been the closest but the women had been unable to let that love blossom into it’s true complexity as even she had been ripped from Amara’s grasp and thrown into the arms of another lover. Perhaps, her destiny was not to spend her life loving someone other then herself and now her child. And all she had ever wanted was to spent this prolonged life with someone she loved and that returned that very love. It was better off, she supposes. Her touch, after time, never brought success and only ever granted poison.

The sorceress from Vengerberg watches as the woman looks at Faye with so much love, holds her so protectively. She looks every bit a protective mother and it warms the woman’s heart, feels the organ often described as like the obsidian rock on her necklace, growing in her chest with all this love begging to be poured out. But the raven haired woman keeps a tight lid upon it, is content for the time being on simply watching on. Her head tilts to the side and she released a soft laugh at the explaining behind the name, every bit an Amara reason and truth be told? Yen would’ve done the same. Her child would be every bit extraordinary and so would her name be. However now her own heart is pounding in her chest as she takes the words in. The Temerian wanted for her name to have meaning and — well, what did that mean? Why call her by a name which meant raven? The very nickname the woman has called her for decades?

Surprisingly, Yennefer hadn’t yet dared to ask who else had aided in the creation of the bundle of joy that was snuggled up with such contentment, still gripping at her gloved finger and not granting the younger woman the ability to create distance, tightening whenever she sensed movement that she did not approve of. Oh, yes, Yennefer’s she was or the world would hear about her dislike at life going the way she desires. It was such an relief to have a moment to breathe, to think of how to answer such a question and bring satisfaction to her once lover with an answer that would inevitably given.

The baby seems adamant in letting her go. Her grip tightening on her finger the moment she felt even the slightest of movements from the Aerdinian sorceress. She was tempted so ask if she could hold the girl but refrained from it. The teasing words had her rolling her eyes lightly as she smiles ever so. “No knowledges whatsoever has begun to fade, I’m insulted you’ve even jumped to such a conclusion” she says with a mild, playful huff. However it turns serious, the mood, the atmosphere — at the very least for her it does. “I know the many meanings, I simply need you to tell me the meaning it holds for you.” The words are soft spoken, “see I knew one of them was Raven and it stopped my heart at the thought of you possibly naming her that because of me.”

Yennefer had always been possessive, something that the older woman had truly enjoyed for the most part of their relationship. Perhaps, the enjoyment came from a twisted sense of wanting to feel wanted, as if she belonged and that possessiveness answered to it in some way, shape or form. Perhaps, she had enjoyed that in spite of being possessive, Amara had never felt owned by Yennefer and that her moments of possession arose from love. It was something that the women shared, the possessiveness and it had never seemed to fade in spite of the way that destiny constantly interviewed, the decades that had passed between them and the momentarily lovers they knew of but had chosen to simply ignore.

Faye expressed little consideration in loosening her grip upon the younger woman, preventing the family from parting even the slightest. Gods. Such proximity to Yennefer was hard as the woman, knowingly or unknowingly, invaded all of her senses as the Sorceress of Gors Velen was, as she had always been, painfully aware of the woman and everything that came with her. She inhaled slowly, trying to silence the slight shake that threatened as silver orbs took Yennefer’s concentration upon their child to her advantage and granted herself the ability to watch, observe each of those breathtaking features. Yennefer hadn’t changed, remained as she had when they first met and by the gods, how it left her breathless and weakened as her beauty swept her utterly and completely from her feet as it always had. Amara was torn from the emotions, the fantasies that arose in her mind and returned to life as it was, her attention purposely turned from the quarter-elf in favour of anything else. “Someone has to keep you on your toes.” And the jest had soon crumbled away, giving way beneath the seriousness that Yennefer bestowed upon them in the name of her need to understand the meaning that was behind Amara’s child and just what significance it held to the Temerian.

Gods. How her jaw threatened to shatter beneath the sheer force that was knowingly applied to it as the older woman’s strength was called upon. Was Yennefer truly so clueless? Did she not realise the importance she held within the half-elf’s life? “I chose it for it’s translation of Raven, Yennefer. I think the rest of the answer has already fallen into place.” Three centuries old and the concept of talking of emotions, confessing them from her own lips in an admittance of spoken word was still one that had her at a loss and especially with Yennefer. She hated how vulnerable, how easily broken she was in Yennefer’s presence and how it only took one word from the woman to be shattered. The gaze was not broken, fingers trembling as the Sorceress of Gors Velen kept steady and dared not to glance elsewhere but tried not to get hopelessly lost in a sea of amethyst. Yennefer had ruined her from the moment the younger woman dared to strike conversation, answering to fate’s call.

She was not clueless to the importance she held in Amara’s life, her heart. She just needed to hear confirmation rather than making speculations. She needed to know, needed to understand — well perhaps not the why. As she said, she knew the importance she held in Amara’s life. However if she had a child with another, why name her after her? Does the father know about it? The meaning behind it? The person that inspired it and what they are to each other? But before any of those question can be thought about deeper, perhaps even be voice and demand a response the baby fusses and Amara suggest stepping inside.

“Excuse the messes.” Not that there was one. Amara was the type of woman that was painfully clean, constantly ensuring that her home was spotless and without even the slightest of messes. It came from her line of work, one could say. If your home was clean and in proper order, even the slightest of modifications could be noticed and in turn, acts of intrusions could be easily spotted, not that documents and other valuable or sensitive items were ever left outside of the safety of her workrooms. She had easily fallen into the role of a mother, the role simply radiating from her naturally and now that they were inside her home, her body had begun careful rocking as the baby remained in her arms and those chaotic locks continued to stroked in such a soothing manner, lulling the baby into the deepest of slumbers while silver orbs watched on as if the child was the only object near and dear.

They step into the house and Amara apologizes for the mess. It makes the sorceress from Vengerberg roll her eyes, quite typical of her it was. There was never a single thing out of place in the Temerian’s home. If there was ever any mess, it was quickly cleaned up. If it wasn’t, well it was simply because it was the fun kind of mess. The lilac eyed mage watched as her beloved rocks the little bundle of joy in her arms and well Yennefer sort of had to follow it up because her finger is still very much still being held by the baby. “There is never any mess in your house, Amara.”

“There is always a mess.” She murmured with a slight roll of her silver orbs almost as if the Half-Elf was silently, gently informing Yennefer of her miscalculation and the ability to use her arms once more was used to her advantage now that Faye was safety buried within the warmth of Yennefer’s arms and seemingly invisible fluff was wiped away with a distasteful swipe of her hand. “Shall I get you a fresh pitcher of apple juice, Yen?” It had become that of a staple in her life since her pregnancy and the cravings that came with it, the women’s child bestowing constant cravings upon the Temerian throughout the entirety of those long yet blissful nine-months and even now, loved nothing more than having the golden liquid applied to the end of her pacifiers or upon her gums almost as much as Yennefer herself enjoyed drinking it by the gallon. Amara removed the cotton wrap from her body, beginning to fold it neatly but had ended up placing it carelessly on the dining table as her concentration was captured, the Temerian enthralled by the sight of her child and the woman she loved, that of a emotionally-gripped simper curling at the edge of supple brims as her heart pounded, fluttered with potent emotions and energised love.

Gods… It was truly the beautiful sight to behold, the sight of her beloved daughter content and ever so happy in her ex-partner’s arms as if this was not the first meeting and they had done this a thousand times, healthy little hands gripping, holding at Yennefer’s dress as Faye’s body turned to settle against the warmth that radiated from her mother and tiny, roseate lips danced with happiness. If only she was able to capture this moment, to be able to relive it once Yennefer leaves and returns to her life with Geralt. Faye was a bundle of joy that was small and light but that certainly did not mean the newborn was delicate and without sturdiness, her appetite healthy and bestowing her chunky little thighs, chubby cheeks and a tiny tummy that was often the topic of amusement during a playful game of raspberry with her mother. Amara felt her heart clench painfully the longer that she stared, teeth worrying at flesh of her inner cheek as the sight unravelled so many hidden emotions at a pace that was truly daunting and a sharp inhale was taken, forced down as tears threatened to fall and they were willed away. “You… You look beautiful with a child, Yennefer.” With our child. Words unable to be spoken, that burned at her very soul. She had yet to see Yennefer holding a child and this very moment had granted her the beauty and forced her to relive so many of her decisions, filling her with regrets and wishes that the potentional of a family was brought up in their youth and that her tentative proposal of marriage had repeatedly fallen from her lips until Yennefer’s refusal morphed into acceptance.

Yennefer gently rocks the baby, fingers lightly tracing soft features. She finds herself smiling, eyes as violent as a storm completely soft and tender when gazing upon this gentle creature. This small thing. The words from Amara causes her to look up at her and her breath quietly hitches at the sight. It seems that the half-elf was close to tears and well, the sorceress of Vengerberg felt something similar because — how long has she craved this? To hold a child, her child, her legacy, what she leaves behind in this cruel world. Someone she would be important to because nothing is as important as a mother, a good mother. She gives the Temerian a tender and loving smile but when the gaze is broken, when Amara looks away she sets her gaze upon the baby.