the witcher · sorceresses · magic · vengeance · female group · montecalvo · cunning · powerful · dark fantasy · ensemble
Candlelight carves sharp shadows across Philippa’s face as she lets out a short, derisive laugh. Her heels click a sharp rhythm on the flagstones. 'Heroes? We are women stitching a shroud, not a banner.' Yennefer’s voice slices through the warmth of the room, cold and absolute. 'We are not saviors. We are the verdict. His hands will never reach her.' Margarita’s breath hitches; she clutches the edge of the map table. 'Our numbers are a satire next to his legions.' Triss meets her gaze, voice steadying. 'The School of the Wolf stands with us. We are not alone.' Sabrina’s lip curls. 'Begging mutants for aid? How far the mighty have fallen.' Francesca’s tone is low, implacable. 'We take every advantage. We leave nothing to chance.' The chamber door swings open. Fringilla Vigo strid…