celine never trusting that anyone isn’t a vampire again

     𝙏𝙃𝙀𝙄𝙍 𝙃𝙊𝙈𝙀 𝙄𝙎 𝙁𝙄𝙇𝙇𝙀𝘿 with the rich scents of wood and herbs now, paint and flowers and ink. as she lifts a cup of tea to her lips, the sorceress reflects that it good and truly is a home now, something more than a space in which they both are fortunate to inhabit together. it is their’s, not something borrowed or temporary, and for that celine holds it sacred. “may i see what you’re working on?” bare feet pad across a wooden floor as her gaze lifts from her notes to the small pile of wood shavings near dettlaff’s feet, his brow furrowed in concentration. “is it something new?”

    𝙊𝙁 𝙏𝙃𝙀 𝙂𝙍𝙀𝘼𝙏 𝙈𝘼𝙉𝙔 criticisms one might level at the empire, celine has to admit that one can’t accuse them of the inability to throw an exceptional fete. the gatherings held at the nilfgaardian embassy are amongst the few she finds she genuinely looks forward to, though it usually accompanies an evening in which she must consider every word and action carefully. slipping gracefully past a diplomat and a group of knight errants, the sorceress makes her way to the duchess’ side with a small. but decidedly warm, smile. “enjoying the evening, your grace?” goblet is lifted to her lips as dark gaze surveys the gilded room, passing over familiar faces from both the court and city, “if you’re not, you’re masking it exceptionally well, if i may say so.”

     "𝙁𝙀𝙒 𝙒𝙊𝙐𝙇𝘿 𝙃𝘼𝙑𝙀 been able to stand their ground in so formidable a room,” delicate hand lightly swirls a glass of wine, words pensive, “much less stood with such composure.” it’s a dreadful wine, truthfully, and to even compare it to those of the sansretour would be to do the valley a disservice, but such things are to be expected of the north. the sorceress holds it more as a routine than anything else, a familiar motion in this unfamiliar, dangerous place filled with unfamiliar, dangerous faces. “but i’d have expected no less from one taught by yennefer of vengerberg.” 

seeing ur two favs be annoyingly talented on the dash