⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀𝒯͟𝖱͟𝖠͟𝖣͟𝖨͟𝖳͟𝖨͟𝖮͟𝖭͟𝖲 ⠀no ⠀always ⠀w𖦹rth ⠀clingin’ ⠀tae. ⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Not⠀when⠀it⠀ᔆᴱᴿⱽᴱᔆ⠀nae⠀one⠀but⠀the⠀𝖉𝖊𝖆𝖉. ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
Joined June 2023
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Blood soaked the snow beneath her boots. Her braid stuck to her cheek where a blade had caught her. She spat, wiped her face, and motioned the next challenger forward. “Come on, then. Let’s see if yer spine’s as stiff as yer tongue.”
The fire crackled behind her as she tightened the leather strap around her bracer. Her crown sat beside her sword on the stone ledge—both untouched.
⠀⠀⠀⠀Green—tinted irises flow
⠀⠀⠀⠀rampantly with an innocuous
⠀⠀⠀⠀mischief, fingers splaying out
⠀⠀⠀⠀across a slender stomach.
⠀⠀⠀⠀“You dinnae friten me." Cerys’
⠀⠀⠀⠀lips settle against a shoulder,
⠀⠀⠀⠀peppering it in a wave of true
⠀⠀⠀⠀affection.
𝓢𝙿𝙰𝚁𝚁𝙾𝚆𝙷𝙰𝚆𝙺 retweeted
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⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ᝰ ⁎ 𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝗂 𝗁𝖺𝖽 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗆𝗒 𝗌𝗐𝗈𝗋𝖽
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ 𝗂 𝗁𝖺𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝗠͟𝗔͟𝗡͟𝗔͟𝗚͟𝗘 ༝ ⌖˛
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⠀⠀⠀⠀“That’s whit ah said, isnae it?”
⠀⠀⠀⠀Boisterous laughter escorts
⠀⠀⠀⠀her words, seeping from rosy
⠀⠀⠀⠀lips akin to a rushing brook.
⠀⠀⠀⠀“Come 'ere, Princess.” Ciri is
⠀⠀⠀⠀easily brought closer by Cerys’
⠀⠀⠀⠀eager hands. “I missed ye.”
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀“I suppose the sentiment is
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀shared.” Speaks lips which
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀coil with a tender devilry,
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀fingers stroking in a lazed
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀rhythm. Platinum curls are
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀buried within, a small sigh
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀escaping her lips.
𝓢𝙿𝙰𝚁𝚁𝙾𝚆𝙷𝙰𝚆𝙺 retweeted
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⠀⠀⠀⠀𝓣𝖱𝖨𝖲𝖲 𝓜𝖤𝖱𝖨𝖦𝖮𝖫𝖣 𝖮𝖥 𝓜𝙰𝚁𝙸𝙱𝙾𝚁
⠀⠀⠀⠀Are you a witch? Guessed again.
⠀⠀⠀⠀Although I prefer to be called an
⠀⠀⠀⠀* ℰnchantress. To avoid getting
⠀⠀⠀⠀it wrong, call me by my name . . .
⠀⠀⠀⠀Triss. Just Triss.
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⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Cirilla’s petite waist is circled,
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀labour—strained hands ever
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀so tenderly settling on a soft
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀stomach. Sweet kisses press
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀to a pale temple.
𝓢𝙿𝙰𝚁𝚁𝙾𝚆𝙷𝙰𝚆𝙺 retweeted
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⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀𝓨𝖤𝖭𝖭𝖤𝖥𝖤𝖱⠀ OF⠀ 𝓥𝖤𝖭𝖦𝖤𝖱𝖡𝖤𝖱𝖦
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Everything about her is ravishing.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀And menacing. Those colours
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀of hers; that contrast of black
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀and white. 𝗕𝗘𝗔𝗨𝗧𝗬 & 𝗠𝗘𝗡𝗔𝗡𝗖𝗘.
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There’s another ball already being formed, the art of snowball making gained from a youth spent in the snow. “Losing isnae in mah vocabulary.” She feels free, far more than she has felt in the last few months with everyone and everything piling up with few people to turn to. +
Curls which have long been graced from fire’s branding sway within the cold, whipping winds of the Skellige Isles. Hands are perched against lacquered wood, piercing emeralds watching snowy mountains that lie below.
Boisterous laughter trickles freely from her lips, piercing gems of green shimmering with mischief and a step is taken upon her heel, preparing for an inevitable response. “It’s ainlie a wee gam, lass.” She manages to dodge Ciri’s retaliation, smirk pridefully +
Gathers a hefty handful of fresh snow which fell the night before, forming it into a makeshift ball and flings it into the back of @cintranwoes.