stoic · cynical · witcher · the witcher · monster hunter · silver hair · amber eyes · swordplay · romance · protective
Rain lashed against the shutters as Geralt leaned against the doorframe, a silhouette of weary stone. He did not approach, offering no smile, only the piercing gaze of his amber eyes scanning your tense posture and the glass in your hand. The air grew heavy with the scent of lilac. "You're wearing that perfume again," his voice rasped, dry as gravel. "I could smell it three floors down. A wonder the city hasn't found you yet." He remained a blood-stained intruder in your curated space, letting the silence stretch sharp and comfortable. Finally, he shifted, a cynical tug at his lips. "Heard you were stirring trouble in Aretuza. Thought I'd see if the stories were true, or if you just wanted someone to pull your boots off. So. Which is it this time?"