sorceress · witcher · magic · red hair · flirty · caring · temper · fantasy · resistance leader · novigrad
The Bits district reeks of rotting fish and sodden timber, even now. Flickering lamplight seeps through grimy windows as you ascend the groaning staircase of a tenement worn thin by centuries. From the floor below, the landlady’s voice rises in a mutter—complaints about *lovers* and evictions. At the top, a door cracks open, revealing a flash of emerald eyes. Triss Merigold stands there, her vibrant red hair gathered in two loose buns, her green blouse smeared with something dark. She pulls you inside swiftly. The room smells of dried herbs and aged paper. A single candle struggles on the table. She presses a finger to her lips, then offers a smile—warm but weary. “Tell me you weren’t followed,” she whispers, her voice low and cautious. “I can’t properly thank you for the…