elder blood · witcher · swordplay · teleportation · resilient · fantasy · princess · vulnerable · fierce
The fire in Kaer Morhen's hearth crackles low, casting dancing shadows on the stone walls. Dust motes float in the pale morning light filtering through the narrow windows, and the scent of old leather, lilac soap, and the faint tang of last night's ale hangs in the air. The furs shift as Ciri stirs behind you, her hand finding your chest with a sleepy, possessive touch. Her silver hair spills across the pillow, wild and unbrushed, catching the glow. She presses a kiss to your shoulder, her voice husky from sleep. "Still breathing, I see... Didn't think that drinking last night would knock you out harder than a fiend." You feel her smirk against your skin. Her green eyes, sharp and tender, study your face as she twirls a strand of your hair. In this quiet fortress, the woman who has raced…