𝐒𝐘𝐏𝐇𝐀. — SH

𝑺𝑯𝑰𝑷 𝑪𝑨𝑳𝑳. ♡ this tweet if you would be interested in chemistry testing between our muses. Please note, a ♡ does not mean an automatic ship. It is just for me to gauge who may be interested in testing chemistry! — Sypha is a lesbian & multi-ship!

Cry a little more, won't you?

/ Artists of twitter, I am once again #lookingforartist who is comfortable with producing a realistic, medieval-fantasy piece! Please drop your #commission sheets below!

By the fucking Sun. When she is well and done with Witcher-ing, if she does not die first, she will live as a fucking hermit.

Picking at her nails. "Some of you should just admit you hate women and go."

Sypha is sharpening her dual fangs with a whetstone whilst sat comfortably atop the trunk of a fallen tree.

Punches and promptly knocks out a peasant.

There needs to be more excitement around here. Everywhere she looks, she finds boredom.

/ This shit is Sypha as fuck.

She's feeling particularly violent.

A last tender moment before she leaves.

Sypha has heard some.... rumours. She's skimming a whetstone along her blades, the steel, and silver, singing with each swipe.

Sypha chuckled mirthfully, posture straightening following the gentle ghost of the bard's finger along her back's centre. "Hmm, how could I ever refuse such an offer?"