#vanbredevoort

Sorceresses are far from human, but they share the same roots as the branching tree that is humanity, so this one puts no less of a vile taste in Isengrim's throat, amended only by the fact that this one is, as far as he knows, currently working for his benefit.

Not that he really trusts that. The sorcerer she is never seen without---Vilgefortz---only seems like an honest person. No man is without their desparate itch to stab their own allies in the back. For all those humans who wield magic like to imagine themselves above and beyond their humanity, Isengrim has often considered them to be among the very worst.

This one, however, is more tolerable than most. Her silence is appealing, from the standpoint of someone who can no longer stand the sound of any of humanity's languages.

she  was  young  ,    this  lydia  @vanbredevoort  .    not  far  out  of  aretuza  ,    he  imagined  ,    though  he  had  not  asked  for  her  age  nor  her  reason  for  following  .    only  her  name  .    the  rest  ,    he  could  ascertain  on  his  own  ,    and  then  ,    perhaps  ,    she  wouldn't  find  him  quite  so  detestable  as  the  other  mages  .    he  shouldn't  have  allowed  her  to  come  in  the  first  place  ,    but  there  gleamed  in  her  eye  something  optimistic  that  he  was  loathe  to  simply    …    subdue  .

❛        it  is  not  that  i  doubt  your  magic  ,        ❜        said  the  witcher  suddenly  ,    after  long  saying  nothing  at  all  ,        ❛        but  that  i  don't  know  what  your  ability  entails  .    forgive  me  that  i  don't  .    but  it  is  not  within  my  custom  to  affiliate  myself  with  the  alumni  of  your  school  .        ❜        he  gazed  forward  ,    knowing  ,    already  ,    that  he  had  probably  said  too  much  .    though  he  had  once  taken  an  interest  in  magic,    he  cared  little  now  for  getting  to  know  great  leaps  of  magic  .    the  consequences  were  usually  disastrous  ,    and  he  would  rather  stay  out  of  conflict  he  couldn't  fight  against  .    even  a  witcher's  expertise  could  be  outrivaled  even  by  some  novice  mages  .        ❛        have  you  practised  on  anything  other  than  your  fellow  mages'  spells and illusions  ?        ❜

𐎟܆᭝゜ plotted  !                𝚊𝚕𝚠𝚊𝚢𝚜  𝚘𝚙𝚎𝚗 .

Run! she screamed over the roaring of her furious magic as they leapt through another portal from a castle to dark, cold woods, feeling her blood pound in her ears and her vision blur as they were violently spat out with Ciri tumbling forcibly against the bark of a tree and someone leaping at her, the only one remaining of their pursuers (surely, another mage to have made it this far). Yennefer felt her heart rise in her throat, and in a breathless, furious moment of panicked fear, she leapt forwards, throwing herself at them.

The sorceress violently raised a hand and screamed a spell. Forceful spirals shot from her hands with a furious hiss, bursting into flames that powerfully shot forward as she tumbled with them onto the ground, fighting for control. No! she hissed menacingly, like a cornered viper, her hands trembling as she bared her teeth in a display of frantic, intense intention, meaning to fully and wholly annihilate this threat. Nothing would touch her daughter; she would gladly die if she had to, but first she would snuff out the very breath from their lungs, making sure not even a hair upon Cirilla's head was touched. Pathetic, twisted little witch! thought she maliciously, anger flaring in every curve and angle of her face, terribly flushed and malefic in the shadows that were cast upon it from her own fire as she looked down upon the witch, swiftly recognizing her. She gasped maliciously, struggling for control as she ruthlessly moved her hand—flaming with her Chaos— towards her face, hissed, darkly, breathlessly, ❝ You would fight me? You?❞ her words spat like venom through her teeth as she used all of her power to keep her pressed to the ground beneath her, hearing as Ciri scuffled away in a hurry, hearing her little fearful breaths as she screamed her name, panic in her throat.

"Ah, Lydia," Philippa says, her voice dripping with confidence as she leans in, not quite nose to nose, but close enough to make the situation uncomfortable, her piercing gaze fixed on Lydia's bright eyes. "Always so determined to keep your secrets close." She mutters, raising an eyebrow, a faint smile playing at the corners of her lips. "But do remember, my dear," she continues, her fingers idly tracing the pattern on @vanbredevoort's dress on her arm, "that time has a way of wearing down even the staunchest of defenses."

She paints her lips red. Blood-bright, glistening, theperfect shade to match her skin. The sorceress parts her lips in a smile as sheplaces the brush aside, admiring her work in the mirror.

F l a w l e s s. 

She takes note of the door swinging open behind her and nodsbriefly, raising a sharply defined, perfectly shaped eyebrow.  

The sorceress opens her mind, deliberately, obviously, aninvitation for Lydia to communicate. And Lydia does.

You make a fool of death with your beauty.

The compliment is well received, there is no mockery in it,no sarcasm, no challenge. Lydia has never been interested in playing suchgames. Her honesty is frequently jarring, awkward, so out of place in thisempire of lies. But tonight, it is appreciated.She replies telepathically, touching Lydia’s mind gently, almost with respect.

Why, thank you Lydia. You’re very kind to say so.