lilacdulcis

[lilacdulcis]

It was startling how much the woman had an effect on her. She has only known the woman for a few minutes and she has gather a reaction out of Yen that only one other person ever had. Her ex-husband. The business woman had shut herself off to any idea of romance entirely. It was easier, keep everyone at a distance. Sure there had been certain people that had captured her attention for long enough that the raven haired woman indulged herself. It, of course, never went further than a one night stand. And Yennefer had to be incredibly worked up and in clear need of -- well a good fuck.

But with Triss, her mere presence made her insides scramble. Her scent brought up that typical alpha behavior. She wanted her, wanted to claim her with such ferociousness that it startled her. It hadn’t been like that even with the white haired alpha she had given everything to. And how can such an omega not be claimed? How is anyone allowing such a woman to just exist and not spend every second of the day loving and wooing her? The CEO blinks back to the present and sits up as she hears the knock. When the door is being pushed, she stands at seeing what Triss is carrying. “Do you need any help?” She says quickly, walking around to take her cup from the redhead woman. Their fingers brush and it sends a pleasant tingle down her spine. The alpha has to bite back a gasp and she is pulling away gently, clearing her throat and taking a sip from the coffee.

Fuck! Ah shit shit. 

The coffee is fucking hot, no shit. She manages to at the very least hold back any sounds of discomfort and pain. When she turns, she sticks her tongue out for a hot second before setting her shoulder. “I called my office to hitch a ride, I’d have to leave my car here but I trust it’ll be in good hands until it is picked up. I shall repay you for that of course.” 

blossoms of the heart, @lilacdulcis

How unforgiving the forecast appeared, cloud cover serving as an idle threat and wind speed delivering it’s victims unforgiving windburn. There was a storm upon the horizon, threatening to spill over and feed the land beneath with nurturing rain and low rumbles, grumbling echos rolled over the hills, creating a song that was, truly, gripping and accompanied by a feast for the eyes as the sky danced with light.

Signs of life were minuscule, only the odd vehicle and it’s gleaming headlights passing along a stretch of road not yet awoken at the most unsuspecting times, telling a tale to the unfortunate who had to work while their loved ones slumbered. Said vehicles were seen pausing, stopping in on the only shop that dared to be awake at such an early hour and receiving their fuel for the day given joyously by a courteous woman who simply shouldn’t be so chipper at hours as early as this. Small the establishment was but the bakery held an endearing charm, an ode to the old world as sandstone brick and polished wood remained steadfast beneath the ticking arm of time. One couldn’t help but fall in love, unable to pass by without peering in at least once and discovering not only tasteful food, beautiful flowers and handmade items but an comfortable, jovial atmosphere that radiated warmth.

Triss Merigold had arrived at the challenging decision to move from her home in Maribor to the City of Vengerberg that laid in the neighbouring state of Aedirn only two years prior to this tempestuous morning and feverishly moved a few months later in an hopeful attempt at starting over. She had opened this quaint, picturesque store on a whim, blithely abandoning her work as a Public Affairs Consultant and acting out in favour of herself and her newly discovered freedom, finally allowing herself to use her hard-earned savings and knowledge towards something that the woman had always wanted instead of following what those around her thought she should do. Flowers & Flour combined the wonderful scent and beauty of pulchritudinous flowers at the very peak of their bloom with warm, buttery pastries of both savoury and sweet. There was the odds and ends sold in the store, organic items that fed the body and soul and ranged from organic shampoos and soaps to slaves and tender-smelling creams. It had become tastefully popular, a small hole in the wall where customers repeatedly returned and the working man or woman had found immense satisfaction as there was always a warm meal and a hot coffee to be offered when most shops were closed, uninterested in the faithful customers on offer if they dared to open a few hours earlier.

The sun’s rays had not begun to peak through and the weather served only to worsen, rain colliding against the windows of the establishment and earning an curious gaze from the Temerian as her attention was, momentarily, turned from her determined but gentle kneading to the loud crackle of thunder. Stalwart hands were wiped upon that of a stray cloth, an attempt to save the woman’s colourful sundress and equally vibrant sweater from spots of flour as the sound of a bell pulled her from the depths of her mind and signalled the arrival of a new customer. A beguiling smile leaped upon ample lips with natural-born ease as the woman turned merrily, completely and utterly prepared to serve her customer with joy that came to Triss naturally only for orbs of shimmering blue to arrive upon a truly beautiful woman that appeared to be a whirlwind of passionate and sheer determination, dressed only in shades of white and black with skin so delicately pale as if it was pure porcelain itself and lavish, obsidian tresses that blended in effortlessly with the shadows of the night. Suddenly, Triss felt unprepared and lacking the correct outfit, underdressed for an moment unexpected and that should have be paid little attention instead of this utter and complete concentration. There was this agonising desperation to please this woman, to impress her in any way, shape or form possible. This woman was, to be frank, painfully prepossessing, haunting and beguiling all at once tastefully enveloped in a power suit that hugged indulgently at succulent curves in a prideful display and smelling wondrously of such potent, sweet-smelling alpha pheromones that left her inner omega quivering and unable to ignore. Gods. Control of her fingers was non-existent as they grew a mind of their own and begun to mindlessly fix pieces of her display, burying herself and her mind in an attempt to try and play blissful ignorance to this angelic beauty that walked into her midst.

Spherules were wild, chaotic and tresses disheveled by the harsh swipes of the rain and wind, tender timbre resonating with passion as the both the weather and her car were brutally destroyed by a stream of unforgiving words, a sight that truly left the Omega breathless in an instant and utterly struck with wonderment. Triss silently reminded herself of the virtues, of one’s control and that she was far better than that of a typical, stereotypical Omega, far better than her inner workings. This woman was simply another customer and was in no way, shape or form any different to her and should be treated with respect, no ogled upon as if she was some poor, hopeless animal captured in a zoo for the amusement of others.

“Hi there. . .” Gods. How embarrassing it was to hear her own voice crack, threatening to fall into ruins as her senses were blissfully overwhelmed by the nameless Alpha’s pheromones that seemed to call out to her Omega. “Please, take a seat. . . It looks like your morning has been less than forgiving.” However, her beguiling simper had remained in place, if not turned ever so slightly goofy, charming in an bashful sense as an freckled visage danced with joyous, unrelenting energy and as the counter was forgotten in favour of a chair being pulled backwards in a kind display to grant this woman somewhere to sit and rest. “Are you waiting on Triple A or are you needing to call them?” Triss rocked loosely on the back of her heels, fallen curls that failed to be captured by her loose but tasteful bun swaying and bouncing in rhythm with the movement as that natural-born enthusiasm ensured her energy was always plentiful, almost impossible to extinguish, if not simply impossible. This woman’s mumbles earlier had been just enough to paint a small picture of the situation and the reason for her, well, slightly dishevelled and yet beautiful look.

[lilacdulcis]

If she could be quite honest, she hadn’t even thought about all of that. Yennefer was perhaps different to most alphas in that regard. She cared little about one’s status, alpha, beta, omega and everything else in between. What she cares about was what each one could do for her. Skills came from the person itself, not from what they were categorized as in society. So when Triss had offered such a thing, her concerned hadn’t been that she needed to loon alpha enough and assert dominance, instead she had been concerned about the woman and how she’d get soaked stepping out there. Besides, who would be able to do anything under such heavy rain?

“Help thy neighbor” the CEO repeated and released a light almost inaudible snort. “That’s. . . Not many have that mindset” she tells the stranger. The human hums quietly and nods, “yes, do stay indoors, hm?” She says, offering the woman with a wink. “Ah, milk and two spoons of brown sugar” she says before stepping through the door and taking the direction the redhead had told her. The raven haired woman felt some form of relief at being away from the baker’s enticing smell. Except that it is that much more potent in the office. “Fuck” she mumbles and sighs, closing her eyes so center herself. The lilac eyed woman makes the call to triple A but it isn’t much help.

The woman request for them to come as soon as posible and then calls her office, requesting to be picked up as soon as possible. Yennefer had taken a seat behind the desk because the woman never had any problem owning a room.

blossoms of the heart, @lilacdulcis

How unforgiving the forecast appeared, cloud cover serving as an idle threat and wind speed delivering it’s victims unforgiving windburn. There was a storm upon the horizon, threatening to spill over and feed the land beneath with nurturing rain and low rumbles, grumbling echos rolled over the hills, creating a song that was, truly, gripping and accompanied by a feast for the eyes as the sky danced with light.

Signs of life were minuscule, only the odd vehicle and it’s gleaming headlights passing along a stretch of road not yet awoken at the most unsuspecting times, telling a tale to the unfortunate who had to work while their loved ones slumbered. Said vehicles were seen pausing, stopping in on the only shop that dared to be awake at such an early hour and receiving their fuel for the day given joyously by a courteous woman who simply shouldn’t be so chipper at hours as early as this. Small the establishment was but the bakery held an endearing charm, an ode to the old world as sandstone brick and polished wood remained steadfast beneath the ticking arm of time. One couldn’t help but fall in love, unable to pass by without peering in at least once and discovering not only tasteful food, beautiful flowers and handmade items but an comfortable, jovial atmosphere that radiated warmth.

Triss Merigold had arrived at the challenging decision to move from her home in Maribor to the City of Vengerberg that laid in the neighbouring state of Aedirn only two years prior to this tempestuous morning and feverishly moved a few months later in an hopeful attempt at starting over. She had opened this quaint, picturesque store on a whim, blithely abandoning her work as a Public Affairs Consultant and acting out in favour of herself and her newly discovered freedom, finally allowing herself to use her hard-earned savings and knowledge towards something that the woman had always wanted instead of following what those around her thought she should do. Flowers & Flour combined the wonderful scent and beauty of pulchritudinous flowers at the very peak of their bloom with warm, buttery pastries of both savoury and sweet. There was the odds and ends sold in the store, organic items that fed the body and soul and ranged from organic shampoos and soaps to slaves and tender-smelling creams. It had become tastefully popular, a small hole in the wall where customers repeatedly returned and the working man or woman had found immense satisfaction as there was always a warm meal and a hot coffee to be offered when most shops were closed, uninterested in the faithful customers on offer if they dared to open a few hours earlier.

The sun’s rays had not begun to peak through and the weather served only to worsen, rain colliding against the windows of the establishment and earning an curious gaze from the Temerian as her attention was, momentarily, turned from her determined but gentle kneading to the loud crackle of thunder. Stalwart hands were wiped upon that of a stray cloth, an attempt to save the woman’s colourful sundress and equally vibrant sweater from spots of flour as the sound of a bell pulled her from the depths of her mind and signalled the arrival of a new customer. A beguiling smile leaped upon ample lips with natural-born ease as the woman turned merrily, completely and utterly prepared to serve her customer with joy that came to Triss naturally only for orbs of shimmering blue to arrive upon a truly beautiful woman that appeared to be a whirlwind of passionate and sheer determination, dressed only in shades of white and black with skin so delicately pale as if it was pure porcelain itself and lavish, obsidian tresses that blended in effortlessly with the shadows of the night. Suddenly, Triss felt unprepared and lacking the correct outfit, underdressed for an moment unexpected and that should have be paid little attention instead of this utter and complete concentration. There was this agonising desperation to please this woman, to impress her in any way, shape or form possible. This woman was, to be frank, painfully prepossessing, haunting and beguiling all at once tastefully enveloped in a power suit that hugged indulgently at succulent curves in a prideful display and smelling wondrously of such potent, sweet-smelling alpha pheromones that left her inner omega quivering and unable to ignore. Gods. Control of her fingers was non-existent as they grew a mind of their own and begun to mindlessly fix pieces of her display, burying herself and her mind in an attempt to try and play blissful ignorance to this angelic beauty that walked into her midst.

Spherules were wild, chaotic and tresses disheveled by the harsh swipes of the rain and wind, tender timbre resonating with passion as the both the weather and her car were brutally destroyed by a stream of unforgiving words, a sight that truly left the Omega breathless in an instant and utterly struck with wonderment. Triss silently reminded herself of the virtues, of one’s control and that she was far better than that of a typical, stereotypical Omega, far better than her inner workings. This woman was simply another customer and was in no way, shape or form any different to her and should be treated with respect, no ogled upon as if she was some poor, hopeless animal captured in a zoo for the amusement of others.

“Hi there. . .” Gods. How embarrassing it was to hear her own voice crack, threatening to fall into ruins as her senses were blissfully overwhelmed by the nameless Alpha’s pheromones that seemed to call out to her Omega. “Please, take a seat. . . It looks like your morning has been less than forgiving.” However, her beguiling simper had remained in place, if not turned ever so slightly goofy, charming in an bashful sense as an freckled visage danced with joyous, unrelenting energy and as the counter was forgotten in favour of a chair being pulled backwards in a kind display to grant this woman somewhere to sit and rest. “Are you waiting on Triple A or are you needing to call them?” Triss rocked loosely on the back of her heels, fallen curls that failed to be captured by her loose but tasteful bun swaying and bouncing in rhythm with the movement as that natural-born enthusiasm ensured her energy was always plentiful, almost impossible to extinguish, if not simply impossible. This woman’s mumbles earlier had been just enough to paint a small picture of the situation and the reason for her, well, slightly dishevelled and yet beautiful look.

[lilacdulcis]

Little one, she could scoff but then again that would show that her words affect her in any way. Yennefer instead cocks her head to the side, observing the rather crude act the woman does. Briefly, just ever so briefly the bounty Hunter allows herself to think how that mouth would look sucking something else. What a pity it is that this was her target. “Ah” she says at the words, violet orbs taking in the sharp jawline, the slight hollow of the cheeks and high cheekbones. “Well I do love causing scenes — and I like showing off my skills on multiple targets. See I don’t need the rest of these outlaws alive, just you and I have a quick trigger finger.” She’s that confident in her abilities to take the rest of them out, she’s done it before.

Yennefer leans forward, hats slightly making contact as their faces come inches closer than before. “How insulting” she says, “ to be reduced to a pretty face.” This was a home to the woman, the comfort in which she carries herself, the ease she holds upon her shoulders lets the bounty hunter know that the woman feels untouchable here. Perhaps there’s a spect of truth to it. The raven haired woman wasn’t careless enough to walk into this establishment without knowing where exactly she was setting foot on. The hunter takes out a premium cigarette pack from her pocket, taking one out and setting between her lips. She did not smoke, she did things with reason. “If things are to go down between you and I do tell your men to stand down” she begins, lighting the match with the counter before shielding the flame with her hand and bringing it to the cigarette. She lights it, lilac eyes lazily upon it and when it lights up, the woman extinguishes it with a shake of her hand. She tilts her head back, blowing the smoke out slowly towards the feeling. “Or I’ll light this whole damn place on fire and kill us all.” Before entering she had poured some gasoline around the place and even if she’s on her dying breath, she’ll flick that cigarette and make sure it catches fire.

just how wild is our love, @lilacdulcis

One simply couldn’t deny that the 1800s truly was the time for a life of invention, opportunity and freedom. There was an array of lifestyles ripe for the taking, suiting the array of souls that walked across the country and tailored to their preferences to the type of life that they wanted to live. Granted that the safety of others were not gravely endangered and well, that those with power and influence were not bothered. Previously, such lives had been denied beneath the prejudice of gender, class and education. Inventions were birthed constantly, creating another path for an adventurous soul to follow and create a life that previously never been experienced. You see, the creation of the telegraph instantly connected humans across thousands of miles; the construction of railroads had been the death of some towns while it had been the birth of others and the invention of the gun promptly established settlers’ dominance among each other. It had created the possibility for money, authority and adventure to be achieved in an array of ways. Soon, an array of criminals, both silent and boisterous, had been birthed and alongside them, bounty hunters. And were all criminals, criminals? Or did they simply fight back those who had taken from them? Those who were in such positions that couldn’t be fought?

It was no secret that a lawman, whether they were a magistrate, sheriff or revenue collector, could be corrupt. In fact, there was little surprise when members of the law were discovered hidden among the ranks of gangs to earn that of a pretty penny amongst their already generous pay. You see, conversation amongst the people spread like a wildfire amongst the thick undergrowth and couldn’t be stopped, well, unless fear was ignited in their hearts. And it was no surprise when those involved in the law used their position to silence those that dared to talk, framing them for a sickening crime or simply making them disappear without a trace among an array of other colourful options. Jessep Hixon was, perhaps, the worst of the worst and was one of those corrupt men of the law and was not only thick as a thief within the likes of a barbarous gang but was the cruel and ever so calculated leader of it. He was responsible for countless of cruel and careless deaths of men, women and children all in the name of deepening his pockets. His crimes were nothing but savage, crueler than the demons that hide in the bottom of a whiskey bottle.

To be wanted in such times as the rough and tumble Wild West was no easy feat, especially when the offered bounty was truly deserved. Amara Isolda led a life of crime and had earned each of her charges proudly, earning her spot as a most wanted outlaw with ease. There was no reason to try and deny such a fact. Her list of crimes ranged from the simple misdemeanours to minor and major felonies to frightening hanging offences but none of them had been birthed from malice or pure darkness and instead, arose from revenge. She was the fierce rival to Jessep Hixon, the corrupt man of the law that had murdered her entire family over her father’s refusal to trade. And Amara had, sadly, been the sole survivor of the massacre, sent off by her oldest brother to a secret basement where she had listened to the brutal murders that had taken place. It had been an frightening experience, the memories haunting her across her childhood and even to this very day and leaving her in a stalemate, unable to move on with her life until Hixon saw his empire shattered, broken and then buried six feet beneath the dirt and until that guilt of being a survivor had long left. She had become a Good Samaritan of sorts among Hixon’s victims, taking in those that were struck by his unforgiving hand and giving them somewhere safe to live, to hide and begin to get back on their feet, grant them an education, money, a carriage and a powerful steed so that they could disappear into a far away city and start a new life.

She had a strict set of rules that acted as her moral compass, kept her upon a road that she believe that could be returned from.

1. There was, by no means, killing of women or children.

2. Stealing from the poor was simply out of the question and such acts of thievery were kept only ever for the rich and the deserving.

3. Those that were the unfortunate victims of Hixon and his unforgiving violence were given a home and safety far from his reach.

4. Hixon and his beloved empire were nothing more than free, deserving game that could easily fend for themselves and could be struck wherever and whenever was possible.

5. Those who worked for Hixon, those that supported him were just as worthy to her wrath as he was.

Bounty hunters, revenue agents and those alike all inevitably came to collect the array of prices that lingered over her head but most hoped to collect the 10,000 bounty that was ordered by Jessop Hixon himself. And just as they came, they were dispatched in a manner of ways. Whether it was a bribe, death or simple survival was their choice. There had been a heavy stream of the greedy bastards these last few weeks, the 5,000 addition to her price making her the highest paying bounty currently on offer. Who didn’t want to try and collect such a wage? It was more than enough to purchase a home and settle into a easy life with retirement coming early. But, an easy feat it was not. Today was that of a simple day. Amara had little plans other than divulge in some hard-earned pleasure and well, this saw her comfortable in a saloon that was, in fact, owned by one of her more esteemed alias, with a glass of whiskey cradled in her hand and the brim of her hat cast across the brim of her brows. She was well aware of those that surrounded her and the movement of someone slipping inside of the establishment but paid little attention to them and instead, listened idly to the stream of music that echoed throughout the establishment by an older woman with a talent for playing the piano.

[lilacdulcis]

Yennefer was a woman of principal, one could say. She isn’t by any means no Virgin Mary, no Saint. She is not free of sin herself but she can say that she lives by the code. She earns her money earnestly. The lilac eyed woman, known as the horsewoman of war in the Wild West for her outstanding track with her bounties, had fled from home at a young age. Her father had been abusive and her mother had simply allowed it because she felt like she couldn’t live without him. And perhaps she was right, her mother had no skills outside of being the dutiful wife to a cunt. That didn’t mean she had to endure any of it. One day she stole a large coin purse from her father as well as he best steed and took off in the middle of the night.

She never looked back. Of course to survive out in the world she had to know how to defend herself, how to haggle. She had stumbled about a woman called Tissaia and to this day Yen wonders how she had been fortunate enough for that. Tissaia had taught her everything she knew, from shooting to lassoing and forming great knots, everything which she now used to her advantage as a bounty Hunter.

In her line she has seen all sorts of criminals. They seem to grow as she does, their crimes becoming worse and worse but that also meant higher pay. But none, none have ever reached the heights that a particular one has; Amara Isolda. She seems to be in ever wanted board and each time the lilac eyed bounty Hunter set her eyes upon the parchment the prize seems higher. It left the raven haired woman questioning exactly what such a woman could’ve done to earn such a price on her head. Whatever it is must be atrocious and unspeakable. How shameful it was because if the image upon said paper was anything to go by, she was lovely. She looked like an angel, incapable of harming a soul.

But she supposed that those were the most dangerous ones, weren’t they?

Finally, after months of seeing her all over the state and seeing now how much money they offered, well she decided to take her go at it. It was good money, she could settle down with this, buy a home. Perhaps she wouldn’t stop hunting, there’s always something so accelerating about it but to know she’ll have a home of her own where she could retire to once she does grow tired of it? Sounded nice. Grabbing the paper, she folds it neatly and slips it into her satchel. Time to hunt.

Yennefer tracks her down for weeks, searching in last known locations of the woman until all of it leads her to a saloon. Nice music is playing, the atmosphere feels nice even before the bounty Hunter sets foot inside the establishment. The spurs of her boots make noise with each sure step she takes upon the wooden floors of the establishment. Her entire outfit is black, the sun wrecks havoc at times on her wardrobe but somehow she managed. Perhaps it was the white laces within the black here and there on the seams. The woman arrives at the bar, taking off her black hat and shaking wild curls slightly. Setting the hat down, a gloved hand signals for a drinks.

“Whiskey” she says in a low timbre. Casually lilac eyes scan the place, takes it in while all too aware that her target was just a few places down the bar. So comfortably and calm as if she didn’t have a large price on her head. The bartender sets the drink down and Yennefer takes out a ten, slamming it gently on the counter and sliding it over. “Keep the change as a tip” she says simply before grabbing the whiskey and tossing it back. A mild hiss of pleasure escapes her at the burn before setting the empty tumbler down. Picking her hat, Yennefer slips it onto her head again and finally she makes her way down the bar.

“So tell me” she says as a conversation opener, “how crazy must one be to sit at a saloon so calmly while having such a price on one’s head?” Turning, her violet eyes settle on the bounty. Gods she was even more beautiful in person, how utterly unfair that was.

just how wild is our love, @lilacdulcis

One simply couldn’t deny that the 1800s truly was the time for a life of invention, opportunity and freedom. There was an array of lifestyles ripe for the taking, suiting the array of souls that walked across the country and tailored to their preferences to the type of life that they wanted to live. Granted that the safety of others were not gravely endangered and well, that those with power and influence were not bothered. Previously, such lives had been denied beneath the prejudice of gender, class and education. Inventions were birthed constantly, creating another path for an adventurous soul to follow and create a life that previously never been experienced. You see, the creation of the telegraph instantly connected humans across thousands of miles; the construction of railroads had been the death of some towns while it had been the birth of others and the invention of the gun promptly established settlers’ dominance among each other. It had created the possibility for money, authority and adventure to be achieved in an array of ways. Soon, an array of criminals, both silent and boisterous, had been birthed and alongside them, bounty hunters. And were all criminals, criminals? Or did they simply fight back those who had taken from them? Those who were in such positions that couldn’t be fought?

It was no secret that a lawman, whether they were a magistrate, sheriff or revenue collector, could be corrupt. In fact, there was little surprise when members of the law were discovered hidden among the ranks of gangs to earn that of a pretty penny amongst their already generous pay. You see, conversation amongst the people spread like a wildfire amongst the thick undergrowth and couldn’t be stopped, well, unless fear was ignited in their hearts. And it was no surprise when those involved in the law used their position to silence those that dared to talk, framing them for a sickening crime or simply making them disappear without a trace among an array of other colourful options. Jessep Hixon was, perhaps, the worst of the worst and was one of those corrupt men of the law and was not only thick as a thief within the likes of a barbarous gang but was the cruel and ever so calculated leader of it. He was responsible for countless of cruel and careless deaths of men, women and children all in the name of deepening his pockets. His crimes were nothing but savage, crueler than the demons that hide in the bottom of a whiskey bottle.

To be wanted in such times as the rough and tumble Wild West was no easy feat, especially when the offered bounty was truly deserved. Amara Isolda led a life of crime and had earned each of her charges proudly, earning her spot as a most wanted outlaw with ease. There was no reason to try and deny such a fact. Her list of crimes ranged from the simple misdemeanours to minor and major felonies to frightening hanging offences but none of them had been birthed from malice or pure darkness and instead, arose from revenge. She was the fierce rival to Jessep Hixon, the corrupt man of the law that had murdered her entire family over her father’s refusal to trade. And Amara had, sadly, been the sole survivor of the massacre, sent off by her oldest brother to a secret basement where she had listened to the brutal murders that had taken place. It had been an frightening experience, the memories haunting her across her childhood and even to this very day and leaving her in a stalemate, unable to move on with her life until Hixon saw his empire shattered, broken and then buried six feet beneath the dirt and until that guilt of being a survivor had long left. She had become a Good Samaritan of sorts among Hixon’s victims, taking in those that were struck by his unforgiving hand and giving them somewhere safe to live, to hide and begin to get back on their feet, grant them an education, money, a carriage and a powerful steed so that they could disappear into a far away city and start a new life.

She had a strict set of rules that acted as her moral compass, kept her upon a road that she believe that could be returned from.

1. There was, by no means, killing of women or children.

2. Stealing from the poor was simply out of the question and such acts of thievery were kept only ever for the rich and the deserving.

3. Those that were the unfortunate victims of Hixon and his unforgiving violence were given a home and safety far from his reach.

4. Hixon and his beloved empire were nothing more than free, deserving game that could easily fend for themselves and could be struck wherever and whenever was possible.

5. Those who worked for Hixon, those that supported him were just as worthy to her wrath as he was.

Bounty hunters, revenue agents and those alike all inevitably came to collect the array of prices that lingered over her head but most hoped to collect the 10,000 bounty that was ordered by Jessop Hixon himself. And just as they came, they were dispatched in a manner of ways. Whether it was a bribe, death or simple survival was their choice. There had been a heavy stream of the greedy bastards these last few weeks, the 5,000 addition to her price making her the highest paying bounty currently on offer. Who didn’t want to try and collect such a wage? It was more than enough to purchase a home and settle into a easy life with retirement coming early. But, an easy feat it was not. Today was that of a simple day. Amara had little plans other than divulge in some hard-earned pleasure and well, this saw her comfortable in a saloon that was, in fact, owned by one of her more esteemed alias, with a glass of whiskey cradled in her hand and the brim of her hat cast across the brim of her brows. She was well aware of those that surrounded her and the movement of someone slipping inside of the establishment but paid little attention to them and instead, listened idly to the stream of music that echoed throughout the establishment by an older woman with a talent for playing the piano.

[lilacdulcis]

Things were never simple with them and perhaps it was because either woman was not simple on their own let alone when they came together. Often than not words are said between them in thoughtless but all of the night prior felt so different and so many ways. How has it gotten to this?

The door opens to reveal Amara with their daughter. Under normal circumstances she would’ve taken the time to take the half-elf in. How beautiful she looks even in such simple attire. How her ears are on display, Yennefer had always loved to see them but Amara kept them hidden from the rest of the world. The sorceress from Vengerberg couldn’t blame her of course, the content was not a safe place for anyone that was non-human. They both already were at risk for simply being sorceresses, thought of as the worse of people for it. Amara had been capture by witch hunters on several occasions, she didn’t need to be persecuted because she had elven blood within her. And it isn’t to say she didn’t take a second of time to appreciate it all before reminders of their circumstances crashed into her mind.

“Hello little raven” the mage says with a tender smile. Lilac eyes which mirror her own look at her. Faye releases a happy squeal at seeing her and babblers, chubby hands extending towards her. By gods how the sight and the actions warmth her entire being. “Hi” she coos, picking the little bundle up from her place in Amara’s arms.

oh to speak of the aches and pains, @lilacdulcis

Motherhood… How was it something that women craved? And with such intense desperation? Why would someone sign themselves up for such a role, desire to be the world of something so pure and delicate? Put themselves in such a violate position? It was nothing more than an aspect of life that the Sorceress of Gors Velen had purposely fled from, remaining tenaciously out of reach to any and all situations that could, even in the slightest, led the pale-skinned woman into a position that saw her caring for a child, existing as a mother-figure to an innocent soul that could so easily be broken, disappointed. And such desperate avoidance, such a distasteful outlook was carved from a childhood that had been painful, horrific and lonely, spent trapped beneath a cruel caretaker in a dilapidated orphanage. Perhaps, Amara was selfish. Perhaps, Amara was weak. Perhaps, Amara still held scars, thus, was scared, frightened. And such scars had not healed, forever reopening beneath invisible strain as toxic ignorance was paid towards mental and physical wounds that had refused to leave, to ease when the victim denied facing them. Simply, to be a mother was a role she loathed the thought of, actively avoided in every sense of the word. She had been walking, existing across this Continent for over three centuries and had yet to truly keep herself together, to act in a manner that was safe and wholeheartedly mature instead of chasing a youthful, careless lifestyle that had seen her split from her loved ones, captured in moments that gifted her scars that would never fade even with the aide of magic. Pregnancy was nothing more than a fragment of life that the Sorceress had been wholeheartedly uninterested in as the belief of being a terrible, uncaring mother whispered in the back of her mind and frightening off any thoughts that dared to arise.

Yennefer of Vengerberg was her first love and had been an important, unwavering presence in the Temerian’s life from the moment that their paths crossed in the Courts of Aedirn and that soaring, passionate bond was created, forged by the likes of destiny and was unbreaking beneath the pressure of time and a whirlwind romance that was as chaotic as an untamed stallion galloping through lush fields. It was truly nothing for the women to be together one moment and apart the next, days, weeks, months or even years spent together. Now, this did not mean in any way, shape or form that their love was untrue or impure as a couple that spent their lives together, remaining attached at the hip. It simply meant that their love, however chaotic and unpredictable, was passionate, burning and unable to be mellowed, the women brought back together repeatedly by the unusual workings of fate. Violate they could be, loving in the first moment, thoroughly frustrated in the second and dripping with lust in the last. It was that very sequence that had led the Sorceress of Gors Velen into this … undesired situation, the very situation that she had never expected, envisioned herself to be in. She and Yennefer had parted ways but not without a night of passion that had left her ever so pleasurably bruised and unable to walk without limping after the Sorceress of Vengerberg experimented with a new spell that had seen her equipped with a very real, very responsive phallus.

Unforeseen, the Scholar of Rissberg had brusquely awoken one morning with the unyielding desire to empty the contents of her stomach as the organ rocked, trembled viciously, riotously and promptly lost the previous night’s meal in a bucket that had been hastily received. She hadn’t expected to have the light of life to be growing, forming within her stomach in an act of chance that was truly magical, a blessing. And why would such a thought arise? Akin to all Aretuza Sorceresses, Yennefer’s ascension had come at a painful cost that had seen her purposely left sterile and unable to have children in an act that the Brotherhood of Sorcerers had hoped pledge loyalty. Who could possibly have thought that playing around with a crude spell could create a loophole? One that ended in pregnancy, the gift of life? It had not ever been heard of, unspoken and hidden if such a discovery had been founded previously by another couple. No. Pregnancy had not been the thought that had entered Amara’s mind, in fact, the pale-skinned Temerian had simply believed that she had fallen ill. Sorceresses, after all, could still fall sick as they were wholeheartedly immune to the ways of life and had treated herself as such, believing after that of a truly agonising week of morning sickness that it was an unusual case of hay fever and was responding painfully to a new crop that her community was using, waving it off as an allergy of sorts. In fact, even the increase in the Sorceress’s eating habits had been simply shouldered off as her body trying to naturally heal itself and required the nutrition to fight the effects of the ailment that acted out upon her body.

Outrageously, the Sorceress of Gors Velen had been painfully unaware of the situation she had unknowingly found herself in as days turned into weeks and edged onto the first few months. You see, her appetite had always been that of a healthy one and ate, for the majority, to her pleasure. It wasn’t until the desire for a spontaneous bath had seen her uncovered and unprotected, argenteous orbs uncovering the startling discovery of a previously undetected bump that had seemed to have formed without her knowledge. And suddenly, the last few weeks and all those strange, unusual variations had all come crashing down upon her in unrelenting waves of emotions, finally making sense in a daunting discovery that was frightening and life-altering all in the very same second, provoking a strangled sob to tear forth from her lips as the woman fell to the ground as pale hands grasped and not at her stomach, as one would think, but the floor. One could not discover a response that could truly describe the situation the Sorceress had found herself in, the emotions and conflict which lashed out at her body. It was frightening to think of just how much was being unpacked in her mind. On one hand, she was pregnant and that was a feat she had never foreseen and she was pregnant with Yennefer’s child and that was a feat that should have been impossible given Yennefer’s inability to have children. Without a doubt, it was Yennefer’s. Amara only enjoyed the company of the same-sex and such devious acts of using chaos to conjure a magical cock on her lover’s body had only ever been done with Yennefer.

Gods… It opened a whole new pot of worms. Could she tell Yennefer? Should she tell Yennefer? Could or should she keep this life that was living inside of her? Given the violent response of both her body and mind, Amara was aware there and then that she was unable to purposely rid herself of the gift that had been created out of the love that shimmered and burned between herself and the woman she loved in a feat that was, without a doubt, a true creation of fate. And yet, she was unable to bring herself to informing Yennefer of this discovery, of the fact that the Sorceress of Gors Velen was pregnant with their child in an unbelievable outcome. Surely, the pale-skinned woman would sound insane, had finally lost the last screw as so many joked with such an admittance and had imagined an array of Yennefer’s responses that , of such that she did not want to battle with and their last communication had read that Yennefer was content, happy in her current life with Geralt, the Infamous Witcher and their child surprise, Ciri. Who was she to play god in their relationships by dropping such an emotional bomb? If Yennefer believed her that is. She had only ever wanted Yennefer to be happy in her life, to find that meaning the Aedirnian wanted and such was found as the mother to Geralt’s child surprise. Perhaps, her choice of keeping their child secret was ever so wrong, one that would see the women damaged, hurt and confused. Amara Isolda was someone who often, in the opinion of those that surrounded her, chose the wrong choice, even if it was chosen for the right reason and for the health of those she cared for. Was another wrong choice truly going to be so bad? When she had so many already trailing behind her? It was one that she regretted with each passing day, with each letter received from Yennefer and had forced herself to live with.

Amara had, surprisingly, eased into the aspect of having a child ever so swiftly, with such effortlessness that had left her debating on her previous beliefs of her ability in the world of motherhood and was truly loving, attentive to the unborn child that grew in her stomach, showering it in constant acts of affection and love throughout the day, ensuring that she only ever digested the best quality of foods and ensured that it was family with her voice, talking, singing and reading to the bundle of joy as the days passed on and her belly grew larger, signalling that her child was healthy and nurtured, blossoming beneath her love. In fact, the Sorceress had even departed from her birth town of Gors Velen, leaving behind a life that she had loved living for one far slower and settled down in a tasteful Manor discovered not far from the smaller settlement of Oxenfurt, a piece of the continent that was quieter, without conflict and was absent of the hustle and bustle that came with the likes of an overpopulated city that was brimming with factions, businesses and opportunities.

When the birth came, it was a challenge as any childbirth was but after hours of intense labour guided by a close friend and confidant, the Continent was made brighter, better by the birth of a beautiful baby girl. And a beauty she was, blessed with skin that was as delicate as porcelain and a gentle button nose, generous little eyebrows and tresses as dark as the night, chaotic and wild as Yennefer’s and features that paired Amara and Yennefer together tastefully but most important of all, little orbs which danced vividly with an array of amethyst shades that was identical to her mother. And such an emotional discovery that was, a stream of tears staining alabaster cheeks as the woman she loved more than life itself was so very present in the gift they had created. Yennefer was, without a single doubt, lovingly present in their daughter as her demanding yet gentle natured personality was more akin to her Mother’s rather than Amara’s. And just as the Sorceress of Gors Velen had been whilst their baby grew, blossomed in her stomach, Amara was ever so loving and affectionate towards her bundle of joy, passionately proud and ardently protective of the gift fate had given her.

It was a simple day, her beloved daughter just a few days shy of turning two months and was currently cradled in a linen cloth against Amara’s chest, fast asleep in the world of dreams and ever so content snuggled up against her mother’s ample breasts as the Emissary worked silently, dutifully in one of her gardens, knees pressed into the damp, fertile soil as pale flesh vanished within brown particles, returning stained by the soil as small holes were made for the series of vegetables that would be soon planted and a stream of low hums would rumble away in the depths of her chest as she worked with gentle devotion. If only Amara had the slightest of inklings, a warning of the whirlwind that would soon fall upon her doorstep bestow a life-altering swirl of emotions for herself, her child and her unexpected visitor. The Rissberg Sorceress was ever so painfully unaware of Yennefer’s discovery, of the tale that the troublesome bard, Dandelion, had told to Geralt in ear shot of the Sorceress of Vengerberg in regards of seeing the pale-skinned woman heavily pregnant at the Oxenfurt markets on more than one occasion and carried forth with gossip in regards to whom the father could be. How painfully unaware of the situation that would soon be unfolding she was, of the life-changing visit that was going to rain down upon her.

[lilacdulcis]

Yennefer’s gaze took her in, finally. Noticing the way she dressed, the way she carried herself. It was oddly adorable, endearing even. For the briefest of seconds she found herself thinking like a typical alpha and wondering how such a petite frame would look without the somewhat large sweater and loose sundress. She had no idea that beneath it all laid soft but solid muscles. The CEO blinks a few times, slowly so it looks as though she were merely blinking rather than pushing away certain thoughts.

It was — odd, being so intensely looked upon in a not so menacing way. She was used to studied, yes, observed as a means to find some form of weakness. She’s never been looked at like this, as if this stranger was trying to capture every singular detail about her. Not even her ex-mate and husband, Geralt, looked at her like this. At least he hadn’t after years of being together. The alpha was already struck by how the simple smell of the omega seemed to call viciously to her, she couldn’t allow herself to fall under that gaze either. A dark brown arches up at the words, “combative, really?” She couldn’t picture it, bakers or florists going tooth and nail for the success of their business. But then again, if it’s a business, isn’t there always competition? Actually everything in life is. “That shouldn’t surprise me, really, everything in life is. I suppose perhaps the idea of you being competitive is what surprises me. I’ve only just met you, not properly I may add, but you don’t seem like that sort of person. . . You’re too sweet” she says thoughtfully, head cocking to the side.

Yennefer then nods at the directions, heels clicking away on the tiles when she moves towards it with the phone in hand. It is right as she is by the door, pale hand upon the handle that the next words reach her. Her body turns slightly towards the redhead, both brows rising at that. “As a matter of fact it is my tire” she says, leaning slightly on the door. “However it is pouring outside, dear, I couldn’t possibly ask such a favor of you.”

blossoms of the heart, @lilacdulcis

How unforgiving the forecast appeared, cloud cover serving as an idle threat and wind speed delivering it’s victims unforgiving windburn. There was a storm upon the horizon, threatening to spill over and feed the land beneath with nurturing rain and low rumbles, grumbling echos rolled over the hills, creating a song that was, truly, gripping and accompanied by a feast for the eyes as the sky danced with light.

Signs of life were minuscule, only the odd vehicle and it’s gleaming headlights passing along a stretch of road not yet awoken at the most unsuspecting times, telling a tale to the unfortunate who had to work while their loved ones slumbered. Said vehicles were seen pausing, stopping in on the only shop that dared to be awake at such an early hour and receiving their fuel for the day given joyously by a courteous woman who simply shouldn’t be so chipper at hours as early as this. Small the establishment was but the bakery held an endearing charm, an ode to the old world as sandstone brick and polished wood remained steadfast beneath the ticking arm of time. One couldn’t help but fall in love, unable to pass by without peering in at least once and discovering not only tasteful food, beautiful flowers and handmade items but an comfortable, jovial atmosphere that radiated warmth.

Triss Merigold had arrived at the challenging decision to move from her home in Maribor to the City of Vengerberg that laid in the neighbouring state of Aedirn only two years prior to this tempestuous morning and feverishly moved a few months later in an hopeful attempt at starting over. She had opened this quaint, picturesque store on a whim, blithely abandoning her work as a Public Affairs Consultant and acting out in favour of herself and her newly discovered freedom, finally allowing herself to use her hard-earned savings and knowledge towards something that the woman had always wanted instead of following what those around her thought she should do. Flowers & Flour combined the wonderful scent and beauty of pulchritudinous flowers at the very peak of their bloom with warm, buttery pastries of both savoury and sweet. There was the odds and ends sold in the store, organic items that fed the body and soul and ranged from organic shampoos and soaps to slaves and tender-smelling creams. It had become tastefully popular, a small hole in the wall where customers repeatedly returned and the working man or woman had found immense satisfaction as there was always a warm meal and a hot coffee to be offered when most shops were closed, uninterested in the faithful customers on offer if they dared to open a few hours earlier.

The sun’s rays had not begun to peak through and the weather served only to worsen, rain colliding against the windows of the establishment and earning an curious gaze from the Temerian as her attention was, momentarily, turned from her determined but gentle kneading to the loud crackle of thunder. Stalwart hands were wiped upon that of a stray cloth, an attempt to save the woman’s colourful sundress and equally vibrant sweater from spots of flour as the sound of a bell pulled her from the depths of her mind and signalled the arrival of a new customer. A beguiling smile leaped upon ample lips with natural-born ease as the woman turned merrily, completely and utterly prepared to serve her customer with joy that came to Triss naturally only for orbs of shimmering blue to arrive upon a truly beautiful woman that appeared to be a whirlwind of passionate and sheer determination, dressed only in shades of white and black with skin so delicately pale as if it was pure porcelain itself and lavish, obsidian tresses that blended in effortlessly with the shadows of the night. Suddenly, Triss felt unprepared and lacking the correct outfit, underdressed for an moment unexpected and that should have be paid little attention instead of this utter and complete concentration. There was this agonising desperation to please this woman, to impress her in any way, shape or form possible. This woman was, to be frank, painfully prepossessing, haunting and beguiling all at once tastefully enveloped in a power suit that hugged indulgently at succulent curves in a prideful display and smelling wondrously of such potent, sweet-smelling alpha pheromones that left her inner omega quivering and unable to ignore. Gods. Control of her fingers was non-existent as they grew a mind of their own and begun to mindlessly fix pieces of her display, burying herself and her mind in an attempt to try and play blissful ignorance to this angelic beauty that walked into her midst.

Spherules were wild, chaotic and tresses disheveled by the harsh swipes of the rain and wind, tender timbre resonating with passion as the both the weather and her car were brutally destroyed by a stream of unforgiving words, a sight that truly left the Omega breathless in an instant and utterly struck with wonderment. Triss silently reminded herself of the virtues, of one’s control and that she was far better than that of a typical, stereotypical Omega, far better than her inner workings. This woman was simply another customer and was in no way, shape or form any different to her and should be treated with respect, no ogled upon as if she was some poor, hopeless animal captured in a zoo for the amusement of others.

“Hi there. . .” Gods. How embarrassing it was to hear her own voice crack, threatening to fall into ruins as her senses were blissfully overwhelmed by the nameless Alpha’s pheromones that seemed to call out to her Omega. “Please, take a seat. . . It looks like your morning has been less than forgiving.” However, her beguiling simper had remained in place, if not turned ever so slightly goofy, charming in an bashful sense as an freckled visage danced with joyous, unrelenting energy and as the counter was forgotten in favour of a chair being pulled backwards in a kind display to grant this woman somewhere to sit and rest. “Are you waiting on Triple A or are you needing to call them?” Triss rocked loosely on the back of her heels, fallen curls that failed to be captured by her loose but tasteful bun swaying and bouncing in rhythm with the movement as that natural-born enthusiasm ensured her energy was always plentiful, almost impossible to extinguish, if not simply impossible. This woman’s mumbles earlier had been just enough to paint a small picture of the situation and the reason for her, well, slightly dishevelled and yet beautiful look.

[lilacdulcis]

Normally Yennefer would find the teasing words annoying, would make her roll her eyes. If she had an even greater distaste towards you, you may find yourself lashed out with her sharp tongue. However the ever so obvious jest from this stranger didn’t cause such a reaction, which Yennefer already found quite peculiar. The raven haired CEO found herself feelings a hint of amusement which made the corners of her lips twitch before she gets a hold of herself. What she gives as a response is a simple hum.

It didn’t surprise her that the mechanic that was anywhere near here was closed. Because again, who in the hell wakes up at this ungodly hours if they have a choice? “No surprise there” the lilac eyed woman comments offhandedly, the low timbers of her voice resonating through the quiet space. Quiet aside from the constant landing of drops on the windowpanes and the occasional thunder. Yennefer looks at the phone and grabs it, “thank you” she says and observes the omega which seems to be doing far more to accommodate her than she should. “That all sounds wonderful, actually” she says, looking around for a second before pointing towards a door to the side near the back. “Is that the office?”

blossoms of the heart, @lilacdulcis

How unforgiving the forecast appeared, cloud cover serving as an idle threat and wind speed delivering it’s victims unforgiving windburn. There was a storm upon the horizon, threatening to spill over and feed the land beneath with nurturing rain and low rumbles, grumbling echos rolled over the hills, creating a song that was, truly, gripping and accompanied by a feast for the eyes as the sky danced with light.

Signs of life were minuscule, only the odd vehicle and it’s gleaming headlights passing along a stretch of road not yet awoken at the most unsuspecting times, telling a tale to the unfortunate who had to work while their loved ones slumbered. Said vehicles were seen pausing, stopping in on the only shop that dared to be awake at such an early hour and receiving their fuel for the day given joyously by a courteous woman who simply shouldn’t be so chipper at hours as early as this. Small the establishment was but the bakery held an endearing charm, an ode to the old world as sandstone brick and polished wood remained steadfast beneath the ticking arm of time. One couldn’t help but fall in love, unable to pass by without peering in at least once and discovering not only tasteful food, beautiful flowers and handmade items but an comfortable, jovial atmosphere that radiated warmth.

Triss Merigold had arrived at the challenging decision to move from her home in Maribor to the City of Vengerberg that laid in the neighbouring state of Aedirn only two years prior to this tempestuous morning and feverishly moved a few months later in an hopeful attempt at starting over. She had opened this quaint, picturesque store on a whim, blithely abandoning her work as a Public Affairs Consultant and acting out in favour of herself and her newly discovered freedom, finally allowing herself to use her hard-earned savings and knowledge towards something that the woman had always wanted instead of following what those around her thought she should do. Flowers & Flour combined the wonderful scent and beauty of pulchritudinous flowers at the very peak of their bloom with warm, buttery pastries of both savoury and sweet. There was the odds and ends sold in the store, organic items that fed the body and soul and ranged from organic shampoos and soaps to slaves and tender-smelling creams. It had become tastefully popular, a small hole in the wall where customers repeatedly returned and the working man or woman had found immense satisfaction as there was always a warm meal and a hot coffee to be offered when most shops were closed, uninterested in the faithful customers on offer if they dared to open a few hours earlier.

The sun’s rays had not begun to peak through and the weather served only to worsen, rain colliding against the windows of the establishment and earning an curious gaze from the Temerian as her attention was, momentarily, turned from her determined but gentle kneading to the loud crackle of thunder. Stalwart hands were wiped upon that of a stray cloth, an attempt to save the woman’s colourful sundress and equally vibrant sweater from spots of flour as the sound of a bell pulled her from the depths of her mind and signalled the arrival of a new customer. A beguiling smile leaped upon ample lips with natural-born ease as the woman turned merrily, completely and utterly prepared to serve her customer with joy that came to Triss naturally only for orbs of shimmering blue to arrive upon a truly beautiful woman that appeared to be a whirlwind of passionate and sheer determination, dressed only in shades of white and black with skin so delicately pale as if it was pure porcelain itself and lavish, obsidian tresses that blended in effortlessly with the shadows of the night. Suddenly, Triss felt unprepared and lacking the correct outfit, underdressed for an moment unexpected and that should have be paid little attention instead of this utter and complete concentration. There was this agonising desperation to please this woman, to impress her in any way, shape or form possible. This woman was, to be frank, painfully prepossessing, haunting and beguiling all at once tastefully enveloped in a power suit that hugged indulgently at succulent curves in a prideful display and smelling wondrously of such potent, sweet-smelling alpha pheromones that left her inner omega quivering and unable to ignore. Gods. Control of her fingers was non-existent as they grew a mind of their own and begun to mindlessly fix pieces of her display, burying herself and her mind in an attempt to try and play blissful ignorance to this angelic beauty that walked into her midst.

Spherules were wild, chaotic and tresses disheveled by the harsh swipes of the rain and wind, tender timbre resonating with passion as the both the weather and her car were brutally destroyed by a stream of unforgiving words, a sight that truly left the Omega breathless in an instant and utterly struck with wonderment. Triss silently reminded herself of the virtues, of one’s control and that she was far better than that of a typical, stereotypical Omega, far better than her inner workings. This woman was simply another customer and was in no way, shape or form any different to her and should be treated with respect, no ogled upon as if she was some poor, hopeless animal captured in a zoo for the amusement of others.

“Hi there. . .” Gods. How embarrassing it was to hear her own voice crack, threatening to fall into ruins as her senses were blissfully overwhelmed by the nameless Alpha’s pheromones that seemed to call out to her Omega. “Please, take a seat. . . It looks like your morning has been less than forgiving.” However, her beguiling simper had remained in place, if not turned ever so slightly goofy, charming in an bashful sense as an freckled visage danced with joyous, unrelenting energy and as the counter was forgotten in favour of a chair being pulled backwards in a kind display to grant this woman somewhere to sit and rest. “Are you waiting on Triple A or are you needing to call them?” Triss rocked loosely on the back of her heels, fallen curls that failed to be captured by her loose but tasteful bun swaying and bouncing in rhythm with the movement as that natural-born enthusiasm ensured her energy was always plentiful, almost impossible to extinguish, if not simply impossible. This woman’s mumbles earlier had been just enough to paint a small picture of the situation and the reason for her, well, slightly dishevelled and yet beautiful look.

[lilacdulcis]

Yennefer loathed mornings. Mornings were the root of all evil, in her honest opinion. Every single day she rose before the sun and felt as though she could murder an entire city as if they held any responsibility over her being up at such ungodly hours. She only felt even remotely human when she had a cup of coffee and even then it took a couple of then before she felt silly functional. The obsidian locks woman was, in a regular basis, quite grumpy but she was deadly so in the mornings. Yennefer rose, showered and dressed for the day, body going through the motions automatically while her mind still struggled to wake up. Coffee to go, she’ll have it downed before reaching the office where another one awaits her. She woman grabs her phone, which she notes is dead, exhausted from the night prior, the CEO has gone straight to bed and forgotten to plug it in.

“Fuck” she growls.

No matter, she’ll put it to charge in the car. Stepping out, the sky seemed darker than usual, starless. The pale woman could tell it was going to rain, and heavily at that. How lovely. Slipping into her car, off she goes driving down the nearly deserted streets of Vengerberg. It begins to pour, suddenly, making it rather difficult for the woman to see. Her headlights are long and her wipers at full speed. With no cars in the road, the pale woman feels safe enough to rummage around for her charger. She pulls lilac eyes away from the road for a singular moment, just a moment and the next thing she knows, she is taking a hole on the road at full speed, popping her wheel. She swerves some, hands shooting to the steering wheel and heeled foot slamming on the breaks. Her car settles on a curb.

There’s a moment of silence, her breathing is ragged, hands gripping the wheel tightly. The rain continues to pour, the wipers continue to move side to side quickly. “FUUUUUUCK” she screams in aggravation. Never mind that she could’ve nearly died, why the fuck was there a hole on the road? Why wasn’t it fixed? She knew the mayor was trash, but fucks sake. What the hell was she supposed to do now? She could charger her phone but she realizes she only had enough gas to get to work. She needs coffee asap and gods she wanted out of this damn rain! The woman looks around, trying to gather her bearings and honestly she expected nothing to be open at this hour. Most shops opened at six am at the earliest but there was one, just across from her. Lights on and well maybe they can let her burrow a phone.

The Aerdinian sighs and begins to look around for an umbrella but of fucking course she doesn’t have it here. She’ll have to use her blazer for cover. Perhaps she can get closer with the car. In a slow drive, Yennefer manages to park in front of the store which will make her walk less and in turn will make her become less wet. Turning the car off and taking her wallet from her purse, the raven haired woman maneuvers herself so that she can get out with her blazer over her head and briskly walks into the shop. Warmth instantly surrounds her and she shivers violently as the wet parts of her body from briefly being out in such weather are hit by the change in temperature.

“Fuck, shit, stupid car” she mutter to herself. “Stupid phone, stupid street.”

𝙃𝙞 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙚.

Yennefer gets startle and turns, as if having completely forgotten the reason she even came here. Forgotten that obviously somehow will be running this shop. A bakery and a flower shop all in one? How peculiar. Lilac eyes as stormy as the weather outside settles on the redhead behind the counter. The alpha finds herself captivated by the woman and now that she seems aware of her presence, she was also very away of the spicy of her pheromones. An omega. A rather sweet smelling okie which makes her stomach twist into a knot and heart flutter. She was lovely, skin kissed by freckles and lose strands of hair falling to frame her face. She looked soft, gentle and warm. And she was chirper, who the hell is this chirper in the mornings. Her studying of the woman is so intense she nearly misses the next words the omega utters.

Blinking a few times, Yennefer fixes her blazer and takes slow steps towards the counter. “I’m in need of a phone to contact them. My phone is dead in my car I’m afraid and I have almost no gas.” As if to make her stress more obvious, her hand runs through her slightly wild locks.

blossoms of the heart, @lilacdulcis

How unforgiving the forecast appeared, cloud cover serving as an idle threat and wind speed delivering it’s victims unforgiving windburn. There was a storm upon the horizon, threatening to spill over and feed the land beneath with nurturing rain and low rumbles, grumbling echos rolled over the hills, creating a song that was, truly, gripping and accompanied by a feast for the eyes as the sky danced with light.

Signs of life were minuscule, only the odd vehicle and it’s gleaming headlights passing along a stretch of road not yet awoken at the most unsuspecting times, telling a tale to the unfortunate who had to work while their loved ones slumbered. Said vehicles were seen pausing, stopping in on the only shop that dared to be awake at such an early hour and receiving their fuel for the day given joyously by a courteous woman who simply shouldn’t be so chipper at hours as early as this. Small the establishment was but the bakery held an endearing charm, an ode to the old world as sandstone brick and polished wood remained steadfast beneath the ticking arm of time. One couldn’t help but fall in love, unable to pass by without peering in at least once and discovering not only tasteful food, beautiful flowers and handmade items but an comfortable, jovial atmosphere that radiated warmth.

Triss Merigold had arrived at the challenging decision to move from her home in Maribor to the City of Vengerberg that laid in the neighbouring state of Aedirn only two years prior to this tempestuous morning and feverishly moved a few months later in an hopeful attempt at starting over. She had opened this quaint, picturesque store on a whim, blithely abandoning her work as a Public Affairs Consultant and acting out in favour of herself and her newly discovered freedom, finally allowing herself to use her hard-earned savings and knowledge towards something that the woman had always wanted instead of following what those around her thought she should do. Flowers & Flour combined the wonderful scent and beauty of pulchritudinous flowers at the very peak of their bloom with warm, buttery pastries of both savoury and sweet. There was the odds and ends sold in the store, organic items that fed the body and soul and ranged from organic shampoos and soaps to slaves and tender-smelling creams. It had become tastefully popular, a small hole in the wall where customers repeatedly returned and the working man or woman had found immense satisfaction as there was always a warm meal and a hot coffee to be offered when most shops were closed, uninterested in the faithful customers on offer if they dared to open a few hours earlier.

The sun’s rays had not begun to peak through and the weather served only to worsen, rain colliding against the windows of the establishment and earning an curious gaze from the Temerian as her attention was, momentarily, turned from her determined but gentle kneading to the loud crackle of thunder. Stalwart hands were wiped upon that of a stray cloth, an attempt to save the woman’s colourful sundress and equally vibrant sweater from spots of flour as the sound of a bell pulled her from the depths of her mind and signalled the arrival of a new customer. A beguiling smile leaped upon ample lips with natural-born ease as the woman turned merrily, completely and utterly prepared to serve her customer with joy that came to Triss naturally only for orbs of shimmering blue to arrive upon a truly beautiful woman that appeared to be a whirlwind of passionate and sheer determination, dressed only in shades of white and black with skin so delicately pale as if it was pure porcelain itself and lavish, obsidian tresses that blended in effortlessly with the shadows of the night. Suddenly, Triss felt unprepared and lacking the correct outfit, underdressed for an moment unexpected and that should have be paid little attention instead of this utter and complete concentration. There was this agonising desperation to please this woman, to impress her in any way, shape or form possible. This woman was, to be frank, painfully prepossessing, haunting and beguiling all at once tastefully enveloped in a power suit that hugged indulgently at succulent curves in a prideful display and smelling wondrously of such potent, sweet-smelling alpha pheromones that left her inner omega quivering and unable to ignore. Gods. Control of her fingers was non-existent as they grew a mind of their own and begun to mindlessly fix pieces of her display, burying herself and her mind in an attempt to try and play blissful ignorance to this angelic beauty that walked into her midst.

Spherules were wild, chaotic and tresses disheveled by the harsh swipes of the rain and wind, tender timbre resonating with passion as the both the weather and her car were brutally destroyed by a stream of unforgiving words, a sight that truly left the Omega breathless in an instant and utterly struck with wonderment. Triss silently reminded herself of the virtues, of one’s control and that she was far better than that of a typical, stereotypical Omega, far better than her inner workings. This woman was simply another customer and was in no way, shape or form any different to her and should be treated with respect, no ogled upon as if she was some poor, hopeless animal captured in a zoo for the amusement of others.

“Hi there. . .” Gods. How embarrassing it was to hear her own voice crack, threatening to fall into ruins as her senses were blissfully overwhelmed by the nameless Alpha’s pheromones that seemed to call out to her Omega. “Please, take a seat. . . It looks like your morning has been less than forgiving.” However, her beguiling simper had remained in place, if not turned ever so slightly goofy, charming in an bashful sense as an freckled visage danced with joyous, unrelenting energy and as the counter was forgotten in favour of a chair being pulled backwards in a kind display to grant this woman somewhere to sit and rest. “Are you waiting on Triple A or are you needing to call them?” Triss rocked loosely on the back of her heels, fallen curls that failed to be captured by her loose but tasteful bun swaying and bouncing in rhythm with the movement as that natural-born enthusiasm ensured her energy was always plentiful, almost impossible to extinguish, if not simply impossible. This woman’s mumbles earlier had been just enough to paint a small picture of the situation and the reason for her, well, slightly dishevelled and yet beautiful look.

[lilacdulcis]

Yennefer of Vengerberg as only felt this lost and perhaps even distraught a handful of times and this was not the first time the feeling was connected to Amara. See, destiny had a funny way of always causing this sort of pain between them women. Somehow always ripping them apart and making it seem as though there was no coming back from it. But this was different, different in so many ways and perhaps they would be unable to come back from it. The lilac eyed sorceress did not know if she could, to be honest. The Temerian had done something she could not take back and could not just be forgotten. This was their child and she knew, she knew how much Yen wanted to he a mother. Yes, she had found Ciri and that had become a reality for her bit it was different. This was her child, blood of her blood and she should’ve been informed.

That piled up with the words that had been said just — it seemed like this was what would break them. Yennefer rents a room for a couple of nights, unsure of how long she’ll be staying now that she knew this. Taking paper and quill, she writes a letter to Geralt, gives little explanation as to why as per usual but tells him she will be staying a couple of days as something important has come up. The sorceress then gets ready for bed, doing her usual routine after a bath. The night seems longer than usual and sleep doesn’t come until quite late. In the morning she’s getting ready once more, making herself look impeccable before stepping out and deciding on no breakfast at the tavern.

She just wanted to see Faye again and without further do makes her way to Amara’s home. When she is at Amara’s home, the raven haired sorceress is tempted to simply walk in without knocking but she should keep it civil and so she knocks.

oh to speak of the aches and pains, @lilacdulcis

Motherhood… How was it something that women craved? And with such intense desperation? Why would someone sign themselves up for such a role, desire to be the world of something so pure and delicate? Put themselves in such a violate position? It was nothing more than an aspect of life that the Sorceress of Gors Velen had purposely fled from, remaining tenaciously out of reach to any and all situations that could, even in the slightest, led the pale-skinned woman into a position that saw her caring for a child, existing as a mother-figure to an innocent soul that could so easily be broken, disappointed. And such desperate avoidance, such a distasteful outlook was carved from a childhood that had been painful, horrific and lonely, spent trapped beneath a cruel caretaker in a dilapidated orphanage. Perhaps, Amara was selfish. Perhaps, Amara was weak. Perhaps, Amara still held scars, thus, was scared, frightened. And such scars had not healed, forever reopening beneath invisible strain as toxic ignorance was paid towards mental and physical wounds that had refused to leave, to ease when the victim denied facing them. Simply, to be a mother was a role she loathed the thought of, actively avoided in every sense of the word. She had been walking, existing across this Continent for over three centuries and had yet to truly keep herself together, to act in a manner that was safe and wholeheartedly mature instead of chasing a youthful, careless lifestyle that had seen her split from her loved ones, captured in moments that gifted her scars that would never fade even with the aide of magic. Pregnancy was nothing more than a fragment of life that the Sorceress had been wholeheartedly uninterested in as the belief of being a terrible, uncaring mother whispered in the back of her mind and frightening off any thoughts that dared to arise.

Yennefer of Vengerberg was her first love and had been an important, unwavering presence in the Temerian’s life from the moment that their paths crossed in the Courts of Aedirn and that soaring, passionate bond was created, forged by the likes of destiny and was unbreaking beneath the pressure of time and a whirlwind romance that was as chaotic as an untamed stallion galloping through lush fields. It was truly nothing for the women to be together one moment and apart the next, days, weeks, months or even years spent together. Now, this did not mean in any way, shape or form that their love was untrue or impure as a couple that spent their lives together, remaining attached at the hip. It simply meant that their love, however chaotic and unpredictable, was passionate, burning and unable to be mellowed, the women brought back together repeatedly by the unusual workings of fate. Violate they could be, loving in the first moment, thoroughly frustrated in the second and dripping with lust in the last. It was that very sequence that had led the Sorceress of Gors Velen into this … undesired situation, the very situation that she had never expected, envisioned herself to be in. She and Yennefer had parted ways but not without a night of passion that had left her ever so pleasurably bruised and unable to walk without limping after the Sorceress of Vengerberg experimented with a new spell that had seen her equipped with a very real, very responsive phallus.

Unforeseen, the Scholar of Rissberg had brusquely awoken one morning with the unyielding desire to empty the contents of her stomach as the organ rocked, trembled viciously, riotously and promptly lost the previous night’s meal in a bucket that had been hastily received. She hadn’t expected to have the light of life to be growing, forming within her stomach in an act of chance that was truly magical, a blessing. And why would such a thought arise? Akin to all Aretuza Sorceresses, Yennefer’s ascension had come at a painful cost that had seen her purposely left sterile and unable to have children in an act that the Brotherhood of Sorcerers had hoped pledge loyalty. Who could possibly have thought that playing around with a crude spell could create a loophole? One that ended in pregnancy, the gift of life? It had not ever been heard of, unspoken and hidden if such a discovery had been founded previously by another couple. No. Pregnancy had not been the thought that had entered Amara’s mind, in fact, the pale-skinned Temerian had simply believed that she had fallen ill. Sorceresses, after all, could still fall sick as they were wholeheartedly immune to the ways of life and had treated herself as such, believing after that of a truly agonising week of morning sickness that it was an unusual case of hay fever and was responding painfully to a new crop that her community was using, waving it off as an allergy of sorts. In fact, even the increase in the Sorceress’s eating habits had been simply shouldered off as her body trying to naturally heal itself and required the nutrition to fight the effects of the ailment that acted out upon her body.

Outrageously, the Sorceress of Gors Velen had been painfully unaware of the situation she had unknowingly found herself in as days turned into weeks and edged onto the first few months. You see, her appetite had always been that of a healthy one and ate, for the majority, to her pleasure. It wasn’t until the desire for a spontaneous bath had seen her uncovered and unprotected, argenteous orbs uncovering the startling discovery of a previously undetected bump that had seemed to have formed without her knowledge. And suddenly, the last few weeks and all those strange, unusual variations had all come crashing down upon her in unrelenting waves of emotions, finally making sense in a daunting discovery that was frightening and life-altering all in the very same second, provoking a strangled sob to tear forth from her lips as the woman fell to the ground as pale hands grasped and not at her stomach, as one would think, but the floor. One could not discover a response that could truly describe the situation the Sorceress had found herself in, the emotions and conflict which lashed out at her body. It was frightening to think of just how much was being unpacked in her mind. On one hand, she was pregnant and that was a feat she had never foreseen and she was pregnant with Yennefer’s child and that was a feat that should have been impossible given Yennefer’s inability to have children. Without a doubt, it was Yennefer’s. Amara only enjoyed the company of the same-sex and such devious acts of using chaos to conjure a magical cock on her lover’s body had only ever been done with Yennefer.

Gods… It opened a whole new pot of worms. Could she tell Yennefer? Should she tell Yennefer? Could or should she keep this life that was living inside of her? Given the violent response of both her body and mind, Amara was aware there and then that she was unable to purposely rid herself of the gift that had been created out of the love that shimmered and burned between herself and the woman she loved in a feat that was, without a doubt, a true creation of fate. And yet, she was unable to bring herself to informing Yennefer of this discovery, of the fact that the Sorceress of Gors Velen was pregnant with their child in an unbelievable outcome. Surely, the pale-skinned woman would sound insane, had finally lost the last screw as so many joked with such an admittance and had imagined an array of Yennefer’s responses that , of such that she did not want to battle with and their last communication had read that Yennefer was content, happy in her current life with Geralt, the Infamous Witcher and their child surprise, Ciri. Who was she to play god in their relationships by dropping such an emotional bomb? If Yennefer believed her that is. She had only ever wanted Yennefer to be happy in her life, to find that meaning the Aedirnian wanted and such was found as the mother to Geralt’s child surprise. Perhaps, her choice of keeping their child secret was ever so wrong, one that would see the women damaged, hurt and confused. Amara Isolda was someone who often, in the opinion of those that surrounded her, chose the wrong choice, even if it was chosen for the right reason and for the health of those she cared for. Was another wrong choice truly going to be so bad? When she had so many already trailing behind her? It was one that she regretted with each passing day, with each letter received from Yennefer and had forced herself to live with.

Amara had, surprisingly, eased into the aspect of having a child ever so swiftly, with such effortlessness that had left her debating on her previous beliefs of her ability in the world of motherhood and was truly loving, attentive to the unborn child that grew in her stomach, showering it in constant acts of affection and love throughout the day, ensuring that she only ever digested the best quality of foods and ensured that it was family with her voice, talking, singing and reading to the bundle of joy as the days passed on and her belly grew larger, signalling that her child was healthy and nurtured, blossoming beneath her love. In fact, the Sorceress had even departed from her birth town of Gors Velen, leaving behind a life that she had loved living for one far slower and settled down in a tasteful Manor discovered not far from the smaller settlement of Oxenfurt, a piece of the continent that was quieter, without conflict and was absent of the hustle and bustle that came with the likes of an overpopulated city that was brimming with factions, businesses and opportunities.

When the birth came, it was a challenge as any childbirth was but after hours of intense labour guided by a close friend and confidant, the Continent was made brighter, better by the birth of a beautiful baby girl. And a beauty she was, blessed with skin that was as delicate as porcelain and a gentle button nose, generous little eyebrows and tresses as dark as the night, chaotic and wild as Yennefer’s and features that paired Amara and Yennefer together tastefully but most important of all, little orbs which danced vividly with an array of amethyst shades that was identical to her mother. And such an emotional discovery that was, a stream of tears staining alabaster cheeks as the woman she loved more than life itself was so very present in the gift they had created. Yennefer was, without a single doubt, lovingly present in their daughter as her demanding yet gentle natured personality was more akin to her Mother’s rather than Amara’s. And just as the Sorceress of Gors Velen had been whilst their baby grew, blossomed in her stomach, Amara was ever so loving and affectionate towards her bundle of joy, passionately proud and ardently protective of the gift fate had given her.

It was a simple day, her beloved daughter just a few days shy of turning two months and was currently cradled in a linen cloth against Amara’s chest, fast asleep in the world of dreams and ever so content snuggled up against her mother’s ample breasts as the Emissary worked silently, dutifully in one of her gardens, knees pressed into the damp, fertile soil as pale flesh vanished within brown particles, returning stained by the soil as small holes were made for the series of vegetables that would be soon planted and a stream of low hums would rumble away in the depths of her chest as she worked with gentle devotion. If only Amara had the slightest of inklings, a warning of the whirlwind that would soon fall upon her doorstep bestow a life-altering swirl of emotions for herself, her child and her unexpected visitor. The Rissberg Sorceress was ever so painfully unaware of Yennefer’s discovery, of the tale that the troublesome bard, Dandelion, had told to Geralt in ear shot of the Sorceress of Vengerberg in regards of seeing the pale-skinned woman heavily pregnant at the Oxenfurt markets on more than one occasion and carried forth with gossip in regards to whom the father could be. How painfully unaware of the situation that would soon be unfolding she was, of the life-changing visit that was going to rain down upon her.

[lilacdulcis]

Yennefer looks as if the words physically strike her. The woman takes a few steps back and her lilac eyes which hold a storm within them stare at the half-elf. And just like the whirlwind of emotions within them, her face is seen going through them as well. But surprisingly enough the Aerdinian sorceress remains absolutely quiet, utters not a single word. Not to that nor the mention of being unpredictable even to herself nor what she meant by loosing the child. Which quite truthfully with the context of the conversation, it had been quite hard to take that as the meaning. It felt volatile and Yennefer had absolutely no idea what to expect anymore.

𝗬𝗼𝘂 𝗷𝘂𝘀𝘁 𝗱𝗼𝗻’𝘁 𝘂𝗻𝗱𝗲𝗿𝘀𝘁𝗮𝗻𝗱, 𝗱𝗼 𝘆𝗼𝘂?

Then the woman slips on that mask she is quite familiar. She’s seen it before, sometimes with her but mostly to other people she did not like or did not feel like dealing or simply did not wish to give them even the slightest inkling as to what she was feeling. “Right” she says in a tersely manner, “seems like I don’t.” She stands straighter, shoulders squared and she gazes at Amara in a manner that even though she’s rather short compared to the rest of the damn continent, still made you feel like she was looking down at you, towering over with her presence. “Kind of you to extend that offer and I’ll take a room at the inn. I’ll be back early in the morning.”

Yen awaits no further for any response, turning and swinging the door open before letting it slam shut behind her. The raven haired sorceress felt her heart, often described at an obsidian rock, crack in her ribcage. Mounting her horse, the raven woman takes off towards the inn.

oh to speak of the aches and pains, @lilacdulcis

Motherhood… How was it something that women craved? And with such intense desperation? Why would someone sign themselves up for such a role, desire to be the world of something so pure and delicate? Put themselves in such a violate position? It was nothing more than an aspect of life that the Sorceress of Gors Velen had purposely fled from, remaining tenaciously out of reach to any and all situations that could, even in the slightest, led the pale-skinned woman into a position that saw her caring for a child, existing as a mother-figure to an innocent soul that could so easily be broken, disappointed. And such desperate avoidance, such a distasteful outlook was carved from a childhood that had been painful, horrific and lonely, spent trapped beneath a cruel caretaker in a dilapidated orphanage. Perhaps, Amara was selfish. Perhaps, Amara was weak. Perhaps, Amara still held scars, thus, was scared, frightened. And such scars had not healed, forever reopening beneath invisible strain as toxic ignorance was paid towards mental and physical wounds that had refused to leave, to ease when the victim denied facing them. Simply, to be a mother was a role she loathed the thought of, actively avoided in every sense of the word. She had been walking, existing across this Continent for over three centuries and had yet to truly keep herself together, to act in a manner that was safe and wholeheartedly mature instead of chasing a youthful, careless lifestyle that had seen her split from her loved ones, captured in moments that gifted her scars that would never fade even with the aide of magic. Pregnancy was nothing more than a fragment of life that the Sorceress had been wholeheartedly uninterested in as the belief of being a terrible, uncaring mother whispered in the back of her mind and frightening off any thoughts that dared to arise.

Yennefer of Vengerberg was her first love and had been an important, unwavering presence in the Temerian’s life from the moment that their paths crossed in the Courts of Aedirn and that soaring, passionate bond was created, forged by the likes of destiny and was unbreaking beneath the pressure of time and a whirlwind romance that was as chaotic as an untamed stallion galloping through lush fields. It was truly nothing for the women to be together one moment and apart the next, days, weeks, months or even years spent together. Now, this did not mean in any way, shape or form that their love was untrue or impure as a couple that spent their lives together, remaining attached at the hip. It simply meant that their love, however chaotic and unpredictable, was passionate, burning and unable to be mellowed, the women brought back together repeatedly by the unusual workings of fate. Violate they could be, loving in the first moment, thoroughly frustrated in the second and dripping with lust in the last. It was that very sequence that had led the Sorceress of Gors Velen into this … undesired situation, the very situation that she had never expected, envisioned herself to be in. She and Yennefer had parted ways but not without a night of passion that had left her ever so pleasurably bruised and unable to walk without limping after the Sorceress of Vengerberg experimented with a new spell that had seen her equipped with a very real, very responsive phallus.

Unforeseen, the Scholar of Rissberg had brusquely awoken one morning with the unyielding desire to empty the contents of her stomach as the organ rocked, trembled viciously, riotously and promptly lost the previous night’s meal in a bucket that had been hastily received. She hadn’t expected to have the light of life to be growing, forming within her stomach in an act of chance that was truly magical, a blessing. And why would such a thought arise? Akin to all Aretuza Sorceresses, Yennefer’s ascension had come at a painful cost that had seen her purposely left sterile and unable to have children in an act that the Brotherhood of Sorcerers had hoped pledge loyalty. Who could possibly have thought that playing around with a crude spell could create a loophole? One that ended in pregnancy, the gift of life? It had not ever been heard of, unspoken and hidden if such a discovery had been founded previously by another couple. No. Pregnancy had not been the thought that had entered Amara’s mind, in fact, the pale-skinned Temerian had simply believed that she had fallen ill. Sorceresses, after all, could still fall sick as they were wholeheartedly immune to the ways of life and had treated herself as such, believing after that of a truly agonising week of morning sickness that it was an unusual case of hay fever and was responding painfully to a new crop that her community was using, waving it off as an allergy of sorts. In fact, even the increase in the Sorceress’s eating habits had been simply shouldered off as her body trying to naturally heal itself and required the nutrition to fight the effects of the ailment that acted out upon her body.

Outrageously, the Sorceress of Gors Velen had been painfully unaware of the situation she had unknowingly found herself in as days turned into weeks and edged onto the first few months. You see, her appetite had always been that of a healthy one and ate, for the majority, to her pleasure. It wasn’t until the desire for a spontaneous bath had seen her uncovered and unprotected, argenteous orbs uncovering the startling discovery of a previously undetected bump that had seemed to have formed without her knowledge. And suddenly, the last few weeks and all those strange, unusual variations had all come crashing down upon her in unrelenting waves of emotions, finally making sense in a daunting discovery that was frightening and life-altering all in the very same second, provoking a strangled sob to tear forth from her lips as the woman fell to the ground as pale hands grasped and not at her stomach, as one would think, but the floor. One could not discover a response that could truly describe the situation the Sorceress had found herself in, the emotions and conflict which lashed out at her body. It was frightening to think of just how much was being unpacked in her mind. On one hand, she was pregnant and that was a feat she had never foreseen and she was pregnant with Yennefer’s child and that was a feat that should have been impossible given Yennefer’s inability to have children. Without a doubt, it was Yennefer’s. Amara only enjoyed the company of the same-sex and such devious acts of using chaos to conjure a magical cock on her lover’s body had only ever been done with Yennefer.

Gods… It opened a whole new pot of worms. Could she tell Yennefer? Should she tell Yennefer? Could or should she keep this life that was living inside of her? Given the violent response of both her body and mind, Amara was aware there and then that she was unable to purposely rid herself of the gift that had been created out of the love that shimmered and burned between herself and the woman she loved in a feat that was, without a doubt, a true creation of fate. And yet, she was unable to bring herself to informing Yennefer of this discovery, of the fact that the Sorceress of Gors Velen was pregnant with their child in an unbelievable outcome. Surely, the pale-skinned woman would sound insane, had finally lost the last screw as so many joked with such an admittance and had imagined an array of Yennefer’s responses that , of such that she did not want to battle with and their last communication had read that Yennefer was content, happy in her current life with Geralt, the Infamous Witcher and their child surprise, Ciri. Who was she to play god in their relationships by dropping such an emotional bomb? If Yennefer believed her that is. She had only ever wanted Yennefer to be happy in her life, to find that meaning the Aedirnian wanted and such was found as the mother to Geralt’s child surprise. Perhaps, her choice of keeping their child secret was ever so wrong, one that would see the women damaged, hurt and confused. Amara Isolda was someone who often, in the opinion of those that surrounded her, chose the wrong choice, even if it was chosen for the right reason and for the health of those she cared for. Was another wrong choice truly going to be so bad? When she had so many already trailing behind her? It was one that she regretted with each passing day, with each letter received from Yennefer and had forced herself to live with.

Amara had, surprisingly, eased into the aspect of having a child ever so swiftly, with such effortlessness that had left her debating on her previous beliefs of her ability in the world of motherhood and was truly loving, attentive to the unborn child that grew in her stomach, showering it in constant acts of affection and love throughout the day, ensuring that she only ever digested the best quality of foods and ensured that it was family with her voice, talking, singing and reading to the bundle of joy as the days passed on and her belly grew larger, signalling that her child was healthy and nurtured, blossoming beneath her love. In fact, the Sorceress had even departed from her birth town of Gors Velen, leaving behind a life that she had loved living for one far slower and settled down in a tasteful Manor discovered not far from the smaller settlement of Oxenfurt, a piece of the continent that was quieter, without conflict and was absent of the hustle and bustle that came with the likes of an overpopulated city that was brimming with factions, businesses and opportunities.

When the birth came, it was a challenge as any childbirth was but after hours of intense labour guided by a close friend and confidant, the Continent was made brighter, better by the birth of a beautiful baby girl. And a beauty she was, blessed with skin that was as delicate as porcelain and a gentle button nose, generous little eyebrows and tresses as dark as the night, chaotic and wild as Yennefer’s and features that paired Amara and Yennefer together tastefully but most important of all, little orbs which danced vividly with an array of amethyst shades that was identical to her mother. And such an emotional discovery that was, a stream of tears staining alabaster cheeks as the woman she loved more than life itself was so very present in the gift they had created. Yennefer was, without a single doubt, lovingly present in their daughter as her demanding yet gentle natured personality was more akin to her Mother’s rather than Amara’s. And just as the Sorceress of Gors Velen had been whilst their baby grew, blossomed in her stomach, Amara was ever so loving and affectionate towards her bundle of joy, passionately proud and ardently protective of the gift fate had given her.

It was a simple day, her beloved daughter just a few days shy of turning two months and was currently cradled in a linen cloth against Amara’s chest, fast asleep in the world of dreams and ever so content snuggled up against her mother’s ample breasts as the Emissary worked silently, dutifully in one of her gardens, knees pressed into the damp, fertile soil as pale flesh vanished within brown particles, returning stained by the soil as small holes were made for the series of vegetables that would be soon planted and a stream of low hums would rumble away in the depths of her chest as she worked with gentle devotion. If only Amara had the slightest of inklings, a warning of the whirlwind that would soon fall upon her doorstep bestow a life-altering swirl of emotions for herself, her child and her unexpected visitor. The Rissberg Sorceress was ever so painfully unaware of Yennefer’s discovery, of the tale that the troublesome bard, Dandelion, had told to Geralt in ear shot of the Sorceress of Vengerberg in regards of seeing the pale-skinned woman heavily pregnant at the Oxenfurt markets on more than one occasion and carried forth with gossip in regards to whom the father could be. How painfully unaware of the situation that would soon be unfolding she was, of the life-changing visit that was going to rain down upon her.

[lilacdulcis]

The sorceress from Vengerberg released a scoffing laugh that was in the border of disbelief. Somewhere near the future, how fucking specific. Her jaw is slightly set and she has absolutely no idea what to do with her hands so she crosses them at the chest.

𝗬𝗼𝘂’𝗿𝗲 𝗵𝗮𝗽𝗽𝘆 𝗶𝗻 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝗻𝗲𝘄 𝗹𝗶𝗳𝗲.

And she can hear the bitterness. That was not surprising, really and she has always known this was a sensitive subject. The Vengerberg sorceress even understood it, really but what did that have to do with this? How could she think she wouldn’t be happy at such news? “How could you ever think you’d be a burden to me? Are you fucking—” she needs a second, a moment of deep breath and she pinches the bridge of her nose as she does. She starts a gentle pace before her head snaps up to look at Amara, “I wouldn’t believe you?! Why the hell wouldn’t I believe you? You have never lie to me, I have absolutely no reason to believe you would lie about or even joke about such a thing!”

This all felt like excuses. Which in some level also hurt the sorceress from Vengerberg. Did the half-elf truly thought all that? Felt all of that?

“Why would you think you’d lose her? Did you think I would 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞 her from you? And yes, it was the wrong choice, Amara. You had no right making such decisions for me. Even if you were doing it in what you thought was the best for me, I should’ve been made aware. This is my child as much as it is yours.”

oh to speak of the aches and pains, @lilacdulcis

Motherhood… How was it something that women craved? And with such intense desperation? Why would someone sign themselves up for such a role, desire to be the world of something so pure and delicate? Put themselves in such a violate position? It was nothing more than an aspect of life that the Sorceress of Gors Velen had purposely fled from, remaining tenaciously out of reach to any and all situations that could, even in the slightest, led the pale-skinned woman into a position that saw her caring for a child, existing as a mother-figure to an innocent soul that could so easily be broken, disappointed. And such desperate avoidance, such a distasteful outlook was carved from a childhood that had been painful, horrific and lonely, spent trapped beneath a cruel caretaker in a dilapidated orphanage. Perhaps, Amara was selfish. Perhaps, Amara was weak. Perhaps, Amara still held scars, thus, was scared, frightened. And such scars had not healed, forever reopening beneath invisible strain as toxic ignorance was paid towards mental and physical wounds that had refused to leave, to ease when the victim denied facing them. Simply, to be a mother was a role she loathed the thought of, actively avoided in every sense of the word. She had been walking, existing across this Continent for over three centuries and had yet to truly keep herself together, to act in a manner that was safe and wholeheartedly mature instead of chasing a youthful, careless lifestyle that had seen her split from her loved ones, captured in moments that gifted her scars that would never fade even with the aide of magic. Pregnancy was nothing more than a fragment of life that the Sorceress had been wholeheartedly uninterested in as the belief of being a terrible, uncaring mother whispered in the back of her mind and frightening off any thoughts that dared to arise.

Yennefer of Vengerberg was her first love and had been an important, unwavering presence in the Temerian’s life from the moment that their paths crossed in the Courts of Aedirn and that soaring, passionate bond was created, forged by the likes of destiny and was unbreaking beneath the pressure of time and a whirlwind romance that was as chaotic as an untamed stallion galloping through lush fields. It was truly nothing for the women to be together one moment and apart the next, days, weeks, months or even years spent together. Now, this did not mean in any way, shape or form that their love was untrue or impure as a couple that spent their lives together, remaining attached at the hip. It simply meant that their love, however chaotic and unpredictable, was passionate, burning and unable to be mellowed, the women brought back together repeatedly by the unusual workings of fate. Violate they could be, loving in the first moment, thoroughly frustrated in the second and dripping with lust in the last. It was that very sequence that had led the Sorceress of Gors Velen into this … undesired situation, the very situation that she had never expected, envisioned herself to be in. She and Yennefer had parted ways but not without a night of passion that had left her ever so pleasurably bruised and unable to walk without limping after the Sorceress of Vengerberg experimented with a new spell that had seen her equipped with a very real, very responsive phallus.

Unforeseen, the Scholar of Rissberg had brusquely awoken one morning with the unyielding desire to empty the contents of her stomach as the organ rocked, trembled viciously, riotously and promptly lost the previous night’s meal in a bucket that had been hastily received. She hadn’t expected to have the light of life to be growing, forming within her stomach in an act of chance that was truly magical, a blessing. And why would such a thought arise? Akin to all Aretuza Sorceresses, Yennefer’s ascension had come at a painful cost that had seen her purposely left sterile and unable to have children in an act that the Brotherhood of Sorcerers had hoped pledge loyalty. Who could possibly have thought that playing around with a crude spell could create a loophole? One that ended in pregnancy, the gift of life? It had not ever been heard of, unspoken and hidden if such a discovery had been founded previously by another couple. No. Pregnancy had not been the thought that had entered Amara’s mind, in fact, the pale-skinned Temerian had simply believed that she had fallen ill. Sorceresses, after all, could still fall sick as they were wholeheartedly immune to the ways of life and had treated herself as such, believing after that of a truly agonising week of morning sickness that it was an unusual case of hay fever and was responding painfully to a new crop that her community was using, waving it off as an allergy of sorts. In fact, even the increase in the Sorceress’s eating habits had been simply shouldered off as her body trying to naturally heal itself and required the nutrition to fight the effects of the ailment that acted out upon her body.

Outrageously, the Sorceress of Gors Velen had been painfully unaware of the situation she had unknowingly found herself in as days turned into weeks and edged onto the first few months. You see, her appetite had always been that of a healthy one and ate, for the majority, to her pleasure. It wasn’t until the desire for a spontaneous bath had seen her uncovered and unprotected, argenteous orbs uncovering the startling discovery of a previously undetected bump that had seemed to have formed without her knowledge. And suddenly, the last few weeks and all those strange, unusual variations had all come crashing down upon her in unrelenting waves of emotions, finally making sense in a daunting discovery that was frightening and life-altering all in the very same second, provoking a strangled sob to tear forth from her lips as the woman fell to the ground as pale hands grasped and not at her stomach, as one would think, but the floor. One could not discover a response that could truly describe the situation the Sorceress had found herself in, the emotions and conflict which lashed out at her body. It was frightening to think of just how much was being unpacked in her mind. On one hand, she was pregnant and that was a feat she had never foreseen and she was pregnant with Yennefer’s child and that was a feat that should have been impossible given Yennefer’s inability to have children. Without a doubt, it was Yennefer’s. Amara only enjoyed the company of the same-sex and such devious acts of using chaos to conjure a magical cock on her lover’s body had only ever been done with Yennefer.

Gods… It opened a whole new pot of worms. Could she tell Yennefer? Should she tell Yennefer? Could or should she keep this life that was living inside of her? Given the violent response of both her body and mind, Amara was aware there and then that she was unable to purposely rid herself of the gift that had been created out of the love that shimmered and burned between herself and the woman she loved in a feat that was, without a doubt, a true creation of fate. And yet, she was unable to bring herself to informing Yennefer of this discovery, of the fact that the Sorceress of Gors Velen was pregnant with their child in an unbelievable outcome. Surely, the pale-skinned woman would sound insane, had finally lost the last screw as so many joked with such an admittance and had imagined an array of Yennefer’s responses that , of such that she did not want to battle with and their last communication had read that Yennefer was content, happy in her current life with Geralt, the Infamous Witcher and their child surprise, Ciri. Who was she to play god in their relationships by dropping such an emotional bomb? If Yennefer believed her that is. She had only ever wanted Yennefer to be happy in her life, to find that meaning the Aedirnian wanted and such was found as the mother to Geralt’s child surprise. Perhaps, her choice of keeping their child secret was ever so wrong, one that would see the women damaged, hurt and confused. Amara Isolda was someone who often, in the opinion of those that surrounded her, chose the wrong choice, even if it was chosen for the right reason and for the health of those she cared for. Was another wrong choice truly going to be so bad? When she had so many already trailing behind her? It was one that she regretted with each passing day, with each letter received from Yennefer and had forced herself to live with.

Amara had, surprisingly, eased into the aspect of having a child ever so swiftly, with such effortlessness that had left her debating on her previous beliefs of her ability in the world of motherhood and was truly loving, attentive to the unborn child that grew in her stomach, showering it in constant acts of affection and love throughout the day, ensuring that she only ever digested the best quality of foods and ensured that it was family with her voice, talking, singing and reading to the bundle of joy as the days passed on and her belly grew larger, signalling that her child was healthy and nurtured, blossoming beneath her love. In fact, the Sorceress had even departed from her birth town of Gors Velen, leaving behind a life that she had loved living for one far slower and settled down in a tasteful Manor discovered not far from the smaller settlement of Oxenfurt, a piece of the continent that was quieter, without conflict and was absent of the hustle and bustle that came with the likes of an overpopulated city that was brimming with factions, businesses and opportunities.

When the birth came, it was a challenge as any childbirth was but after hours of intense labour guided by a close friend and confidant, the Continent was made brighter, better by the birth of a beautiful baby girl. And a beauty she was, blessed with skin that was as delicate as porcelain and a gentle button nose, generous little eyebrows and tresses as dark as the night, chaotic and wild as Yennefer’s and features that paired Amara and Yennefer together tastefully but most important of all, little orbs which danced vividly with an array of amethyst shades that was identical to her mother. And such an emotional discovery that was, a stream of tears staining alabaster cheeks as the woman she loved more than life itself was so very present in the gift they had created. Yennefer was, without a single doubt, lovingly present in their daughter as her demanding yet gentle natured personality was more akin to her Mother’s rather than Amara’s. And just as the Sorceress of Gors Velen had been whilst their baby grew, blossomed in her stomach, Amara was ever so loving and affectionate towards her bundle of joy, passionately proud and ardently protective of the gift fate had given her.

It was a simple day, her beloved daughter just a few days shy of turning two months and was currently cradled in a linen cloth against Amara’s chest, fast asleep in the world of dreams and ever so content snuggled up against her mother’s ample breasts as the Emissary worked silently, dutifully in one of her gardens, knees pressed into the damp, fertile soil as pale flesh vanished within brown particles, returning stained by the soil as small holes were made for the series of vegetables that would be soon planted and a stream of low hums would rumble away in the depths of her chest as she worked with gentle devotion. If only Amara had the slightest of inklings, a warning of the whirlwind that would soon fall upon her doorstep bestow a life-altering swirl of emotions for herself, her child and her unexpected visitor. The Rissberg Sorceress was ever so painfully unaware of Yennefer’s discovery, of the tale that the troublesome bard, Dandelion, had told to Geralt in ear shot of the Sorceress of Vengerberg in regards of seeing the pale-skinned woman heavily pregnant at the Oxenfurt markets on more than one occasion and carried forth with gossip in regards to whom the father could be. How painfully unaware of the situation that would soon be unfolding she was, of the life-changing visit that was going to rain down upon her.

[lilacdulcis]

Yennefer of Vengerberg is a fierce and passionate woman. Things often, and by often we mean all of the time must go her way. She often had quite the reactions when placed in spots she did not wish to be put upon. It was quite often a difficulty for her to view the bigger picture, yes and she is quite aware that she is not a pleasant person to be dealt with if she holds any sort of emotion around you that does not involve tender affections or a deep respect — depending on who you are. Of course the deep affection and respect she holds for Amara hasn’t simply vanished but the Temerian sorceress has earned her anger and it wasn’t pretty being in the way of her wrath.

The raven haired half-elf allows her time with Faye, which she thinks is the least she can do. She maintain her distance for the time being and deep down the Vengerberg sorceress appreciates that. When she hands the baby back to her, the lilac eyed mage observed at the woman lower dress to expose her breast and for a brief second she looks at them as a woman who, well finds deep enjoyment in them. Regaledlesss of her anger but then the baby is being fed and all sexual thoughts disappear and she’s struck by the sight. It was so — she couldn’t explain it, really. But it was beautiful, in her opinion. At some point the Aerdinian takes a seat and plays with her previous cup of juice which was still mostly full and only looks over when the Temerian speaks.

Yennefer stands and nods in the same manner that Amara had previously. She takes the baby gently into her arms once more and follows the directions the half-elf had given her. Upon arrival, she takes the room in, instantly notices tho little details, little trinkets that are hers. She was so involved in her life and yet not really. It made her ache further and she feels mildly lucky that she has discovered this now rather than years later and having missed all of the firsts. Yen looks down at the drowsy baby and smiles, humming and gently caressing her features. She watched as Faye slowly begun to drift into sleep and once the sorceress knew she was off in dreamland, she placed her down on the crib. She makes sure she is comfy before making her way out and down the stairs. Here it goes.

“So when exactly were you going to tell me that ese my daughter too?”

oh to speak of the aches and pains, @lilacdulcis

Motherhood… How was it something that women craved? And with such intense desperation? Why would someone sign themselves up for such a role, desire to be the world of something so pure and delicate? Put themselves in such a violate position? It was nothing more than an aspect of life that the Sorceress of Gors Velen had purposely fled from, remaining tenaciously out of reach to any and all situations that could, even in the slightest, led the pale-skinned woman into a position that saw her caring for a child, existing as a mother-figure to an innocent soul that could so easily be broken, disappointed. And such desperate avoidance, such a distasteful outlook was carved from a childhood that had been painful, horrific and lonely, spent trapped beneath a cruel caretaker in a dilapidated orphanage. Perhaps, Amara was selfish. Perhaps, Amara was weak. Perhaps, Amara still held scars, thus, was scared, frightened. And such scars had not healed, forever reopening beneath invisible strain as toxic ignorance was paid towards mental and physical wounds that had refused to leave, to ease when the victim denied facing them. Simply, to be a mother was a role she loathed the thought of, actively avoided in every sense of the word. She had been walking, existing across this Continent for over three centuries and had yet to truly keep herself together, to act in a manner that was safe and wholeheartedly mature instead of chasing a youthful, careless lifestyle that had seen her split from her loved ones, captured in moments that gifted her scars that would never fade even with the aide of magic. Pregnancy was nothing more than a fragment of life that the Sorceress had been wholeheartedly uninterested in as the belief of being a terrible, uncaring mother whispered in the back of her mind and frightening off any thoughts that dared to arise.

Yennefer of Vengerberg was her first love and had been an important, unwavering presence in the Temerian’s life from the moment that their paths crossed in the Courts of Aedirn and that soaring, passionate bond was created, forged by the likes of destiny and was unbreaking beneath the pressure of time and a whirlwind romance that was as chaotic as an untamed stallion galloping through lush fields. It was truly nothing for the women to be together one moment and apart the next, days, weeks, months or even years spent together. Now, this did not mean in any way, shape or form that their love was untrue or impure as a couple that spent their lives together, remaining attached at the hip. It simply meant that their love, however chaotic and unpredictable, was passionate, burning and unable to be mellowed, the women brought back together repeatedly by the unusual workings of fate. Violate they could be, loving in the first moment, thoroughly frustrated in the second and dripping with lust in the last. It was that very sequence that had led the Sorceress of Gors Velen into this … undesired situation, the very situation that she had never expected, envisioned herself to be in. She and Yennefer had parted ways but not without a night of passion that had left her ever so pleasurably bruised and unable to walk without limping after the Sorceress of Vengerberg experimented with a new spell that had seen her equipped with a very real, very responsive phallus.

Unforeseen, the Scholar of Rissberg had brusquely awoken one morning with the unyielding desire to empty the contents of her stomach as the organ rocked, trembled viciously, riotously and promptly lost the previous night’s meal in a bucket that had been hastily received. She hadn’t expected to have the light of life to be growing, forming within her stomach in an act of chance that was truly magical, a blessing. And why would such a thought arise? Akin to all Aretuza Sorceresses, Yennefer’s ascension had come at a painful cost that had seen her purposely left sterile and unable to have children in an act that the Brotherhood of Sorcerers had hoped pledge loyalty. Who could possibly have thought that playing around with a crude spell could create a loophole? One that ended in pregnancy, the gift of life? It had not ever been heard of, unspoken and hidden if such a discovery had been founded previously by another couple. No. Pregnancy had not been the thought that had entered Amara’s mind, in fact, the pale-skinned Temerian had simply believed that she had fallen ill. Sorceresses, after all, could still fall sick as they were wholeheartedly immune to the ways of life and had treated herself as such, believing after that of a truly agonising week of morning sickness that it was an unusual case of hay fever and was responding painfully to a new crop that her community was using, waving it off as an allergy of sorts. In fact, even the increase in the Sorceress’s eating habits had been simply shouldered off as her body trying to naturally heal itself and required the nutrition to fight the effects of the ailment that acted out upon her body.

Outrageously, the Sorceress of Gors Velen had been painfully unaware of the situation she had unknowingly found herself in as days turned into weeks and edged onto the first few months. You see, her appetite had always been that of a healthy one and ate, for the majority, to her pleasure. It wasn’t until the desire for a spontaneous bath had seen her uncovered and unprotected, argenteous orbs uncovering the startling discovery of a previously undetected bump that had seemed to have formed without her knowledge. And suddenly, the last few weeks and all those strange, unusual variations had all come crashing down upon her in unrelenting waves of emotions, finally making sense in a daunting discovery that was frightening and life-altering all in the very same second, provoking a strangled sob to tear forth from her lips as the woman fell to the ground as pale hands grasped and not at her stomach, as one would think, but the floor. One could not discover a response that could truly describe the situation the Sorceress had found herself in, the emotions and conflict which lashed out at her body. It was frightening to think of just how much was being unpacked in her mind. On one hand, she was pregnant and that was a feat she had never foreseen and she was pregnant with Yennefer’s child and that was a feat that should have been impossible given Yennefer’s inability to have children. Without a doubt, it was Yennefer’s. Amara only enjoyed the company of the same-sex and such devious acts of using chaos to conjure a magical cock on her lover’s body had only ever been done with Yennefer.

Gods… It opened a whole new pot of worms. Could she tell Yennefer? Should she tell Yennefer? Could or should she keep this life that was living inside of her? Given the violent response of both her body and mind, Amara was aware there and then that she was unable to purposely rid herself of the gift that had been created out of the love that shimmered and burned between herself and the woman she loved in a feat that was, without a doubt, a true creation of fate. And yet, she was unable to bring herself to informing Yennefer of this discovery, of the fact that the Sorceress of Gors Velen was pregnant with their child in an unbelievable outcome. Surely, the pale-skinned woman would sound insane, had finally lost the last screw as so many joked with such an admittance and had imagined an array of Yennefer’s responses that , of such that she did not want to battle with and their last communication had read that Yennefer was content, happy in her current life with Geralt, the Infamous Witcher and their child surprise, Ciri. Who was she to play god in their relationships by dropping such an emotional bomb? If Yennefer believed her that is. She had only ever wanted Yennefer to be happy in her life, to find that meaning the Aedirnian wanted and such was found as the mother to Geralt’s child surprise. Perhaps, her choice of keeping their child secret was ever so wrong, one that would see the women damaged, hurt and confused. Amara Isolda was someone who often, in the opinion of those that surrounded her, chose the wrong choice, even if it was chosen for the right reason and for the health of those she cared for. Was another wrong choice truly going to be so bad? When she had so many already trailing behind her? It was one that she regretted with each passing day, with each letter received from Yennefer and had forced herself to live with.

Amara had, surprisingly, eased into the aspect of having a child ever so swiftly, with such effortlessness that had left her debating on her previous beliefs of her ability in the world of motherhood and was truly loving, attentive to the unborn child that grew in her stomach, showering it in constant acts of affection and love throughout the day, ensuring that she only ever digested the best quality of foods and ensured that it was family with her voice, talking, singing and reading to the bundle of joy as the days passed on and her belly grew larger, signalling that her child was healthy and nurtured, blossoming beneath her love. In fact, the Sorceress had even departed from her birth town of Gors Velen, leaving behind a life that she had loved living for one far slower and settled down in a tasteful Manor discovered not far from the smaller settlement of Oxenfurt, a piece of the continent that was quieter, without conflict and was absent of the hustle and bustle that came with the likes of an overpopulated city that was brimming with factions, businesses and opportunities.

When the birth came, it was a challenge as any childbirth was but after hours of intense labour guided by a close friend and confidant, the Continent was made brighter, better by the birth of a beautiful baby girl. And a beauty she was, blessed with skin that was as delicate as porcelain and a gentle button nose, generous little eyebrows and tresses as dark as the night, chaotic and wild as Yennefer’s and features that paired Amara and Yennefer together tastefully but most important of all, little orbs which danced vividly with an array of amethyst shades that was identical to her mother. And such an emotional discovery that was, a stream of tears staining alabaster cheeks as the woman she loved more than life itself was so very present in the gift they had created. Yennefer was, without a single doubt, lovingly present in their daughter as her demanding yet gentle natured personality was more akin to her Mother’s rather than Amara’s. And just as the Sorceress of Gors Velen had been whilst their baby grew, blossomed in her stomach, Amara was ever so loving and affectionate towards her bundle of joy, passionately proud and ardently protective of the gift fate had given her.

It was a simple day, her beloved daughter just a few days shy of turning two months and was currently cradled in a linen cloth against Amara’s chest, fast asleep in the world of dreams and ever so content snuggled up against her mother’s ample breasts as the Emissary worked silently, dutifully in one of her gardens, knees pressed into the damp, fertile soil as pale flesh vanished within brown particles, returning stained by the soil as small holes were made for the series of vegetables that would be soon planted and a stream of low hums would rumble away in the depths of her chest as she worked with gentle devotion. If only Amara had the slightest of inklings, a warning of the whirlwind that would soon fall upon her doorstep bestow a life-altering swirl of emotions for herself, her child and her unexpected visitor. The Rissberg Sorceress was ever so painfully unaware of Yennefer’s discovery, of the tale that the troublesome bard, Dandelion, had told to Geralt in ear shot of the Sorceress of Vengerberg in regards of seeing the pale-skinned woman heavily pregnant at the Oxenfurt markets on more than one occasion and carried forth with gossip in regards to whom the father could be. How painfully unaware of the situation that would soon be unfolding she was, of the life-changing visit that was going to rain down upon her.

[lilacdulcis]

The words were clearly meant in some form of jest. She didn’t think that Amara would conjure up such a thought but by the gods why was she so damn nervous? Funnily enough moments later she realizes exactly why. She sees exactly why the woman was on edge, why she was in such a hurry to take Faye out of her hands. She didn’t want Yen figuring out that this child, this beautiful baby girl is also hers. The hows are still in question but that was the last thing she was even going to try and figure out.

The baby is coping, reaching for her, smiling at her. She is monetarily torn between feeling utter happiness and joy and feeling like she could conjure up a storm with the anger and hurt she feels in regards to and towards Amara. She had kept this a secret from her and form the looks of it had planned to do so for quite some time. The minutes stretch on and she doesn’t move her gaze away from the baby, not yet. She smiles back and leans into the little chubby hands which grip her cheeks.

“You and I” she says tersely, “have a lot to talk about.” That was directed at the Temerian. Of course she wasn’t about to have a full on discussion, a fight in front of the baby. She also didn’t want to ruin this moment where daughter and mother officially meet — with full knowledge of her role in this. Yennefer kisses Faye’s cheek lightly, “hello my daughter” she whispers, closing her eyes and feeling her heart clench tightly in her chest. Minutes tick by and Yen walks around the house, talking to the baby. She tells her sole about her older sister of course and how perhaps one day she’ll bring Cirilla so they can meet. At some point Faye starts to get fussy and that’s when Yennefer, who has ignored the Temerian so far comes to her and gently hands her the baby. “I believe she might be hungry” she says evenly.

oh to speak of the aches and pains, @lilacdulcis

Motherhood… How was it something that women craved? And with such intense desperation? Why would someone sign themselves up for such a role, desire to be the world of something so pure and delicate? Put themselves in such a violate position? It was nothing more than an aspect of life that the Sorceress of Gors Velen had purposely fled from, remaining tenaciously out of reach to any and all situations that could, even in the slightest, led the pale-skinned woman into a position that saw her caring for a child, existing as a mother-figure to an innocent soul that could so easily be broken, disappointed. And such desperate avoidance, such a distasteful outlook was carved from a childhood that had been painful, horrific and lonely, spent trapped beneath a cruel caretaker in a dilapidated orphanage. Perhaps, Amara was selfish. Perhaps, Amara was weak. Perhaps, Amara still held scars, thus, was scared, frightened. And such scars had not healed, forever reopening beneath invisible strain as toxic ignorance was paid towards mental and physical wounds that had refused to leave, to ease when the victim denied facing them. Simply, to be a mother was a role she loathed the thought of, actively avoided in every sense of the word. She had been walking, existing across this Continent for over three centuries and had yet to truly keep herself together, to act in a manner that was safe and wholeheartedly mature instead of chasing a youthful, careless lifestyle that had seen her split from her loved ones, captured in moments that gifted her scars that would never fade even with the aide of magic. Pregnancy was nothing more than a fragment of life that the Sorceress had been wholeheartedly uninterested in as the belief of being a terrible, uncaring mother whispered in the back of her mind and frightening off any thoughts that dared to arise.

Yennefer of Vengerberg was her first love and had been an important, unwavering presence in the Temerian’s life from the moment that their paths crossed in the Courts of Aedirn and that soaring, passionate bond was created, forged by the likes of destiny and was unbreaking beneath the pressure of time and a whirlwind romance that was as chaotic as an untamed stallion galloping through lush fields. It was truly nothing for the women to be together one moment and apart the next, days, weeks, months or even years spent together. Now, this did not mean in any way, shape or form that their love was untrue or impure as a couple that spent their lives together, remaining attached at the hip. It simply meant that their love, however chaotic and unpredictable, was passionate, burning and unable to be mellowed, the women brought back together repeatedly by the unusual workings of fate. Violate they could be, loving in the first moment, thoroughly frustrated in the second and dripping with lust in the last. It was that very sequence that had led the Sorceress of Gors Velen into this … undesired situation, the very situation that she had never expected, envisioned herself to be in. She and Yennefer had parted ways but not without a night of passion that had left her ever so pleasurably bruised and unable to walk without limping after the Sorceress of Vengerberg experimented with a new spell that had seen her equipped with a very real, very responsive phallus.

Unforeseen, the Scholar of Rissberg had brusquely awoken one morning with the unyielding desire to empty the contents of her stomach as the organ rocked, trembled viciously, riotously and promptly lost the previous night’s meal in a bucket that had been hastily received. She hadn’t expected to have the light of life to be growing, forming within her stomach in an act of chance that was truly magical, a blessing. And why would such a thought arise? Akin to all Aretuza Sorceresses, Yennefer’s ascension had come at a painful cost that had seen her purposely left sterile and unable to have children in an act that the Brotherhood of Sorcerers had hoped pledge loyalty. Who could possibly have thought that playing around with a crude spell could create a loophole? One that ended in pregnancy, the gift of life? It had not ever been heard of, unspoken and hidden if such a discovery had been founded previously by another couple. No. Pregnancy had not been the thought that had entered Amara’s mind, in fact, the pale-skinned Temerian had simply believed that she had fallen ill. Sorceresses, after all, could still fall sick as they were wholeheartedly immune to the ways of life and had treated herself as such, believing after that of a truly agonising week of morning sickness that it was an unusual case of hay fever and was responding painfully to a new crop that her community was using, waving it off as an allergy of sorts. In fact, even the increase in the Sorceress’s eating habits had been simply shouldered off as her body trying to naturally heal itself and required the nutrition to fight the effects of the ailment that acted out upon her body.

Outrageously, the Sorceress of Gors Velen had been painfully unaware of the situation she had unknowingly found herself in as days turned into weeks and edged onto the first few months. You see, her appetite had always been that of a healthy one and ate, for the majority, to her pleasure. It wasn’t until the desire for a spontaneous bath had seen her uncovered and unprotected, argenteous orbs uncovering the startling discovery of a previously undetected bump that had seemed to have formed without her knowledge. And suddenly, the last few weeks and all those strange, unusual variations had all come crashing down upon her in unrelenting waves of emotions, finally making sense in a daunting discovery that was frightening and life-altering all in the very same second, provoking a strangled sob to tear forth from her lips as the woman fell to the ground as pale hands grasped and not at her stomach, as one would think, but the floor. One could not discover a response that could truly describe the situation the Sorceress had found herself in, the emotions and conflict which lashed out at her body. It was frightening to think of just how much was being unpacked in her mind. On one hand, she was pregnant and that was a feat she had never foreseen and she was pregnant with Yennefer’s child and that was a feat that should have been impossible given Yennefer’s inability to have children. Without a doubt, it was Yennefer’s. Amara only enjoyed the company of the same-sex and such devious acts of using chaos to conjure a magical cock on her lover’s body had only ever been done with Yennefer.

Gods… It opened a whole new pot of worms. Could she tell Yennefer? Should she tell Yennefer? Could or should she keep this life that was living inside of her? Given the violent response of both her body and mind, Amara was aware there and then that she was unable to purposely rid herself of the gift that had been created out of the love that shimmered and burned between herself and the woman she loved in a feat that was, without a doubt, a true creation of fate. And yet, she was unable to bring herself to informing Yennefer of this discovery, of the fact that the Sorceress of Gors Velen was pregnant with their child in an unbelievable outcome. Surely, the pale-skinned woman would sound insane, had finally lost the last screw as so many joked with such an admittance and had imagined an array of Yennefer’s responses that , of such that she did not want to battle with and their last communication had read that Yennefer was content, happy in her current life with Geralt, the Infamous Witcher and their child surprise, Ciri. Who was she to play god in their relationships by dropping such an emotional bomb? If Yennefer believed her that is. She had only ever wanted Yennefer to be happy in her life, to find that meaning the Aedirnian wanted and such was found as the mother to Geralt’s child surprise. Perhaps, her choice of keeping their child secret was ever so wrong, one that would see the women damaged, hurt and confused. Amara Isolda was someone who often, in the opinion of those that surrounded her, chose the wrong choice, even if it was chosen for the right reason and for the health of those she cared for. Was another wrong choice truly going to be so bad? When she had so many already trailing behind her? It was one that she regretted with each passing day, with each letter received from Yennefer and had forced herself to live with.

Amara had, surprisingly, eased into the aspect of having a child ever so swiftly, with such effortlessness that had left her debating on her previous beliefs of her ability in the world of motherhood and was truly loving, attentive to the unborn child that grew in her stomach, showering it in constant acts of affection and love throughout the day, ensuring that she only ever digested the best quality of foods and ensured that it was family with her voice, talking, singing and reading to the bundle of joy as the days passed on and her belly grew larger, signalling that her child was healthy and nurtured, blossoming beneath her love. In fact, the Sorceress had even departed from her birth town of Gors Velen, leaving behind a life that she had loved living for one far slower and settled down in a tasteful Manor discovered not far from the smaller settlement of Oxenfurt, a piece of the continent that was quieter, without conflict and was absent of the hustle and bustle that came with the likes of an overpopulated city that was brimming with factions, businesses and opportunities.

When the birth came, it was a challenge as any childbirth was but after hours of intense labour guided by a close friend and confidant, the Continent was made brighter, better by the birth of a beautiful baby girl. And a beauty she was, blessed with skin that was as delicate as porcelain and a gentle button nose, generous little eyebrows and tresses as dark as the night, chaotic and wild as Yennefer’s and features that paired Amara and Yennefer together tastefully but most important of all, little orbs which danced vividly with an array of amethyst shades that was identical to her mother. And such an emotional discovery that was, a stream of tears staining alabaster cheeks as the woman she loved more than life itself was so very present in the gift they had created. Yennefer was, without a single doubt, lovingly present in their daughter as her demanding yet gentle natured personality was more akin to her Mother’s rather than Amara’s. And just as the Sorceress of Gors Velen had been whilst their baby grew, blossomed in her stomach, Amara was ever so loving and affectionate towards her bundle of joy, passionately proud and ardently protective of the gift fate had given her.

It was a simple day, her beloved daughter just a few days shy of turning two months and was currently cradled in a linen cloth against Amara’s chest, fast asleep in the world of dreams and ever so content snuggled up against her mother’s ample breasts as the Emissary worked silently, dutifully in one of her gardens, knees pressed into the damp, fertile soil as pale flesh vanished within brown particles, returning stained by the soil as small holes were made for the series of vegetables that would be soon planted and a stream of low hums would rumble away in the depths of her chest as she worked with gentle devotion. If only Amara had the slightest of inklings, a warning of the whirlwind that would soon fall upon her doorstep bestow a life-altering swirl of emotions for herself, her child and her unexpected visitor. The Rissberg Sorceress was ever so painfully unaware of Yennefer’s discovery, of the tale that the troublesome bard, Dandelion, had told to Geralt in ear shot of the Sorceress of Vengerberg in regards of seeing the pale-skinned woman heavily pregnant at the Oxenfurt markets on more than one occasion and carried forth with gossip in regards to whom the father could be. How painfully unaware of the situation that would soon be unfolding she was, of the life-changing visit that was going to rain down upon her.

[lilacdulcis]

The sorceress from Vengerberg listens carefully as the Temerian reveals the joys of motherhood. Note there is some sarcasm in that. There is ups and downs, of course and Yennefer thinks about how she would be there for the Gors Velen sorceress were thy together. That she would’ve and would still, try and make it as easy as possible. The lilac eyed sorceress smiles gently when the woman informs her however that outside of those little ups and downs, she feels like the role has come to her surprisingly well. “Well, you do always know how to take on any role, darling” she says softly, looking down at the bundle of joy. The woman cannot help the gentle laugh at falls from her lips as the mention of how — well fussy the child could be. “Hm, that somehow does not surprise me” she says with a light smirk grazing her lips.

Now, as stated before, she had felt like Amara was behaving weirdly. She had passed it off as many things at first but now it felt sort of ridiculous. She had the strangest sensation that Amara was trying to keep Faye away from her. Why? “By the gods, Amara, are you afraid I’ll steal her?” She says with a quirk of her brow as she looks upon the woman and how nervous she is. How she shifts from foot to foot and her gaze flickers between herself and the baby. What was going on with her? “Why are you so nervous?” Perhaps the baby felt the tension or the mild aggravation that Yennefer was exuding at this behavior from her usually calm, confident and mischievous ex-lover. But there’s a wail, a sound of protest which makes the Vengerberg sorceress shift her gaze down to the baby. Little fists rub tiny eyes and she watched as if it were the most interesting thing on the Continent. Sees the way the baby stretches and then opens her eyes.

Time stills when eyes are revealed and she sees reflected back at her violet eyes.

𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐮𝐜𝐤?

There was only one known, living being with such eyes. In all the bloody centuries upon this damned earth, Yennefer had never seen another with such color. Her color of eyes. Eyes she’s known for across the continent for their rarity along with everything else that was signature Yennefer of Vengerberg. This baby has her eyes. This baby — suddenly the damn equation is solving itself out. Faye, which means raven in Zerrikanian, a place which holds meaning to them both. The silence now is deafening as the Aerdiniand stares intensely at the baby.

oh to speak of the aches and pains, @lilacdulcis

Motherhood… How was it something that women craved? And with such intense desperation? Why would someone sign themselves up for such a role, desire to be the world of something so pure and delicate? Put themselves in such a violate position? It was nothing more than an aspect of life that the Sorceress of Gors Velen had purposely fled from, remaining tenaciously out of reach to any and all situations that could, even in the slightest, led the pale-skinned woman into a position that saw her caring for a child, existing as a mother-figure to an innocent soul that could so easily be broken, disappointed. And such desperate avoidance, such a distasteful outlook was carved from a childhood that had been painful, horrific and lonely, spent trapped beneath a cruel caretaker in a dilapidated orphanage. Perhaps, Amara was selfish. Perhaps, Amara was weak. Perhaps, Amara still held scars, thus, was scared, frightened. And such scars had not healed, forever reopening beneath invisible strain as toxic ignorance was paid towards mental and physical wounds that had refused to leave, to ease when the victim denied facing them. Simply, to be a mother was a role she loathed the thought of, actively avoided in every sense of the word. She had been walking, existing across this Continent for over three centuries and had yet to truly keep herself together, to act in a manner that was safe and wholeheartedly mature instead of chasing a youthful, careless lifestyle that had seen her split from her loved ones, captured in moments that gifted her scars that would never fade even with the aide of magic. Pregnancy was nothing more than a fragment of life that the Sorceress had been wholeheartedly uninterested in as the belief of being a terrible, uncaring mother whispered in the back of her mind and frightening off any thoughts that dared to arise.

Yennefer of Vengerberg was her first love and had been an important, unwavering presence in the Temerian’s life from the moment that their paths crossed in the Courts of Aedirn and that soaring, passionate bond was created, forged by the likes of destiny and was unbreaking beneath the pressure of time and a whirlwind romance that was as chaotic as an untamed stallion galloping through lush fields. It was truly nothing for the women to be together one moment and apart the next, days, weeks, months or even years spent together. Now, this did not mean in any way, shape or form that their love was untrue or impure as a couple that spent their lives together, remaining attached at the hip. It simply meant that their love, however chaotic and unpredictable, was passionate, burning and unable to be mellowed, the women brought back together repeatedly by the unusual workings of fate. Violate they could be, loving in the first moment, thoroughly frustrated in the second and dripping with lust in the last. It was that very sequence that had led the Sorceress of Gors Velen into this … undesired situation, the very situation that she had never expected, envisioned herself to be in. She and Yennefer had parted ways but not without a night of passion that had left her ever so pleasurably bruised and unable to walk without limping after the Sorceress of Vengerberg experimented with a new spell that had seen her equipped with a very real, very responsive phallus.

Unforeseen, the Scholar of Rissberg had brusquely awoken one morning with the unyielding desire to empty the contents of her stomach as the organ rocked, trembled viciously, riotously and promptly lost the previous night’s meal in a bucket that had been hastily received. She hadn’t expected to have the light of life to be growing, forming within her stomach in an act of chance that was truly magical, a blessing. And why would such a thought arise? Akin to all Aretuza Sorceresses, Yennefer’s ascension had come at a painful cost that had seen her purposely left sterile and unable to have children in an act that the Brotherhood of Sorcerers had hoped pledge loyalty. Who could possibly have thought that playing around with a crude spell could create a loophole? One that ended in pregnancy, the gift of life? It had not ever been heard of, unspoken and hidden if such a discovery had been founded previously by another couple. No. Pregnancy had not been the thought that had entered Amara’s mind, in fact, the pale-skinned Temerian had simply believed that she had fallen ill. Sorceresses, after all, could still fall sick as they were wholeheartedly immune to the ways of life and had treated herself as such, believing after that of a truly agonising week of morning sickness that it was an unusual case of hay fever and was responding painfully to a new crop that her community was using, waving it off as an allergy of sorts. In fact, even the increase in the Sorceress’s eating habits had been simply shouldered off as her body trying to naturally heal itself and required the nutrition to fight the effects of the ailment that acted out upon her body.

Outrageously, the Sorceress of Gors Velen had been painfully unaware of the situation she had unknowingly found herself in as days turned into weeks and edged onto the first few months. You see, her appetite had always been that of a healthy one and ate, for the majority, to her pleasure. It wasn’t until the desire for a spontaneous bath had seen her uncovered and unprotected, argenteous orbs uncovering the startling discovery of a previously undetected bump that had seemed to have formed without her knowledge. And suddenly, the last few weeks and all those strange, unusual variations had all come crashing down upon her in unrelenting waves of emotions, finally making sense in a daunting discovery that was frightening and life-altering all in the very same second, provoking a strangled sob to tear forth from her lips as the woman fell to the ground as pale hands grasped and not at her stomach, as one would think, but the floor. One could not discover a response that could truly describe the situation the Sorceress had found herself in, the emotions and conflict which lashed out at her body. It was frightening to think of just how much was being unpacked in her mind. On one hand, she was pregnant and that was a feat she had never foreseen and she was pregnant with Yennefer’s child and that was a feat that should have been impossible given Yennefer’s inability to have children. Without a doubt, it was Yennefer’s. Amara only enjoyed the company of the same-sex and such devious acts of using chaos to conjure a magical cock on her lover’s body had only ever been done with Yennefer.

Gods… It opened a whole new pot of worms. Could she tell Yennefer? Should she tell Yennefer? Could or should she keep this life that was living inside of her? Given the violent response of both her body and mind, Amara was aware there and then that she was unable to purposely rid herself of the gift that had been created out of the love that shimmered and burned between herself and the woman she loved in a feat that was, without a doubt, a true creation of fate. And yet, she was unable to bring herself to informing Yennefer of this discovery, of the fact that the Sorceress of Gors Velen was pregnant with their child in an unbelievable outcome. Surely, the pale-skinned woman would sound insane, had finally lost the last screw as so many joked with such an admittance and had imagined an array of Yennefer’s responses that , of such that she did not want to battle with and their last communication had read that Yennefer was content, happy in her current life with Geralt, the Infamous Witcher and their child surprise, Ciri. Who was she to play god in their relationships by dropping such an emotional bomb? If Yennefer believed her that is. She had only ever wanted Yennefer to be happy in her life, to find that meaning the Aedirnian wanted and such was found as the mother to Geralt’s child surprise. Perhaps, her choice of keeping their child secret was ever so wrong, one that would see the women damaged, hurt and confused. Amara Isolda was someone who often, in the opinion of those that surrounded her, chose the wrong choice, even if it was chosen for the right reason and for the health of those she cared for. Was another wrong choice truly going to be so bad? When she had so many already trailing behind her? It was one that she regretted with each passing day, with each letter received from Yennefer and had forced herself to live with.

Amara had, surprisingly, eased into the aspect of having a child ever so swiftly, with such effortlessness that had left her debating on her previous beliefs of her ability in the world of motherhood and was truly loving, attentive to the unborn child that grew in her stomach, showering it in constant acts of affection and love throughout the day, ensuring that she only ever digested the best quality of foods and ensured that it was family with her voice, talking, singing and reading to the bundle of joy as the days passed on and her belly grew larger, signalling that her child was healthy and nurtured, blossoming beneath her love. In fact, the Sorceress had even departed from her birth town of Gors Velen, leaving behind a life that she had loved living for one far slower and settled down in a tasteful Manor discovered not far from the smaller settlement of Oxenfurt, a piece of the continent that was quieter, without conflict and was absent of the hustle and bustle that came with the likes of an overpopulated city that was brimming with factions, businesses and opportunities.

When the birth came, it was a challenge as any childbirth was but after hours of intense labour guided by a close friend and confidant, the Continent was made brighter, better by the birth of a beautiful baby girl. And a beauty she was, blessed with skin that was as delicate as porcelain and a gentle button nose, generous little eyebrows and tresses as dark as the night, chaotic and wild as Yennefer’s and features that paired Amara and Yennefer together tastefully but most important of all, little orbs which danced vividly with an array of amethyst shades that was identical to her mother. And such an emotional discovery that was, a stream of tears staining alabaster cheeks as the woman she loved more than life itself was so very present in the gift they had created. Yennefer was, without a single doubt, lovingly present in their daughter as her demanding yet gentle natured personality was more akin to her Mother’s rather than Amara’s. And just as the Sorceress of Gors Velen had been whilst their baby grew, blossomed in her stomach, Amara was ever so loving and affectionate towards her bundle of joy, passionately proud and ardently protective of the gift fate had given her.

It was a simple day, her beloved daughter just a few days shy of turning two months and was currently cradled in a linen cloth against Amara’s chest, fast asleep in the world of dreams and ever so content snuggled up against her mother’s ample breasts as the Emissary worked silently, dutifully in one of her gardens, knees pressed into the damp, fertile soil as pale flesh vanished within brown particles, returning stained by the soil as small holes were made for the series of vegetables that would be soon planted and a stream of low hums would rumble away in the depths of her chest as she worked with gentle devotion. If only Amara had the slightest of inklings, a warning of the whirlwind that would soon fall upon her doorstep bestow a life-altering swirl of emotions for herself, her child and her unexpected visitor. The Rissberg Sorceress was ever so painfully unaware of Yennefer’s discovery, of the tale that the troublesome bard, Dandelion, had told to Geralt in ear shot of the Sorceress of Vengerberg in regards of seeing the pale-skinned woman heavily pregnant at the Oxenfurt markets on more than one occasion and carried forth with gossip in regards to whom the father could be. How painfully unaware of the situation that would soon be unfolding she was, of the life-changing visit that was going to rain down upon her.

[lilacdulcis]

She could feel the woman’s gaze upon them, burning bright and Yennefer wonders if it was in any way difficult for Amara to see her daughter in the arms of her lover. This had been discussed between them, the potential of a child because Yen so desperately wanted one and actively sought out a remedy for her infertility. The question of whether or not the Temerian sorceress would be around still if the lilac eyed woman manages such a feat. If she would remain by her side, lover her still as well as her child. The silver eyed mage hadn’t been too eager of course, again do to her history, her view on motherhood but she also had told Yennefer that for her she would do anything. And that if the child was Yen’s how could she not love it? Those words along had made the youngest of the two kiss the woman fiercely and they ended up making love passionately for hours as they always did. So conversations of having a family had been had and now here they are, not truly together but still very much in love and a child amidst it all. Was Amara too, picturing what life would be if they raised this little girl together? If it had turned out to be theirs?

Silence envelopes them and it isn’t exactly uncomfortable. Not to her at the very least. She’s still quite enthralled by the baby, gently cooing and lightly rocking the babe. When she glanced up once the glass was offered to her, she could’ve choked on her own breath at the eyeful of breasts she got. She knows that pregnancy could change a woman’s body, breasts enlarging duo to the milk that is produced for the baby but by the gods —. She swallows thickly and moves her gaze to the goblet which she grabs. “Thank you” she says and takes a sip, humming in delight. Exactly how she likes it. “No darling, I’m alright for the time being.” She cradles the baby in one arm and the juice on her other hand. It was still so surreal to her that this child was Amara’s. “How is motherhood treating you so far?” She asks and moves to sit on the table, placing the cup on it so now both hands are holding the baby.

Her eyes however are upon the half-elf. She looks radiant, absolutely stunning. Motherhood suits her, another role that the raven haired woman seems to have slipped into easily.

oh to speak of the aches and pains, @lilacdulcis

Motherhood… How was it something that women craved? And with such intense desperation? Why would someone sign themselves up for such a role, desire to be the world of something so pure and delicate? Put themselves in such a violate position? It was nothing more than an aspect of life that the Sorceress of Gors Velen had purposely fled from, remaining tenaciously out of reach to any and all situations that could, even in the slightest, led the pale-skinned woman into a position that saw her caring for a child, existing as a mother-figure to an innocent soul that could so easily be broken, disappointed. And such desperate avoidance, such a distasteful outlook was carved from a childhood that had been painful, horrific and lonely, spent trapped beneath a cruel caretaker in a dilapidated orphanage. Perhaps, Amara was selfish. Perhaps, Amara was weak. Perhaps, Amara still held scars, thus, was scared, frightened. And such scars had not healed, forever reopening beneath invisible strain as toxic ignorance was paid towards mental and physical wounds that had refused to leave, to ease when the victim denied facing them. Simply, to be a mother was a role she loathed the thought of, actively avoided in every sense of the word. She had been walking, existing across this Continent for over three centuries and had yet to truly keep herself together, to act in a manner that was safe and wholeheartedly mature instead of chasing a youthful, careless lifestyle that had seen her split from her loved ones, captured in moments that gifted her scars that would never fade even with the aide of magic. Pregnancy was nothing more than a fragment of life that the Sorceress had been wholeheartedly uninterested in as the belief of being a terrible, uncaring mother whispered in the back of her mind and frightening off any thoughts that dared to arise.

Yennefer of Vengerberg was her first love and had been an important, unwavering presence in the Temerian’s life from the moment that their paths crossed in the Courts of Aedirn and that soaring, passionate bond was created, forged by the likes of destiny and was unbreaking beneath the pressure of time and a whirlwind romance that was as chaotic as an untamed stallion galloping through lush fields. It was truly nothing for the women to be together one moment and apart the next, days, weeks, months or even years spent together. Now, this did not mean in any way, shape or form that their love was untrue or impure as a couple that spent their lives together, remaining attached at the hip. It simply meant that their love, however chaotic and unpredictable, was passionate, burning and unable to be mellowed, the women brought back together repeatedly by the unusual workings of fate. Violate they could be, loving in the first moment, thoroughly frustrated in the second and dripping with lust in the last. It was that very sequence that had led the Sorceress of Gors Velen into this … undesired situation, the very situation that she had never expected, envisioned herself to be in. She and Yennefer had parted ways but not without a night of passion that had left her ever so pleasurably bruised and unable to walk without limping after the Sorceress of Vengerberg experimented with a new spell that had seen her equipped with a very real, very responsive phallus.

Unforeseen, the Scholar of Rissberg had brusquely awoken one morning with the unyielding desire to empty the contents of her stomach as the organ rocked, trembled viciously, riotously and promptly lost the previous night’s meal in a bucket that had been hastily received. She hadn’t expected to have the light of life to be growing, forming within her stomach in an act of chance that was truly magical, a blessing. And why would such a thought arise? Akin to all Aretuza Sorceresses, Yennefer’s ascension had come at a painful cost that had seen her purposely left sterile and unable to have children in an act that the Brotherhood of Sorcerers had hoped pledge loyalty. Who could possibly have thought that playing around with a crude spell could create a loophole? One that ended in pregnancy, the gift of life? It had not ever been heard of, unspoken and hidden if such a discovery had been founded previously by another couple. No. Pregnancy had not been the thought that had entered Amara’s mind, in fact, the pale-skinned Temerian had simply believed that she had fallen ill. Sorceresses, after all, could still fall sick as they were wholeheartedly immune to the ways of life and had treated herself as such, believing after that of a truly agonising week of morning sickness that it was an unusual case of hay fever and was responding painfully to a new crop that her community was using, waving it off as an allergy of sorts. In fact, even the increase in the Sorceress’s eating habits had been simply shouldered off as her body trying to naturally heal itself and required the nutrition to fight the effects of the ailment that acted out upon her body.

Outrageously, the Sorceress of Gors Velen had been painfully unaware of the situation she had unknowingly found herself in as days turned into weeks and edged onto the first few months. You see, her appetite had always been that of a healthy one and ate, for the majority, to her pleasure. It wasn’t until the desire for a spontaneous bath had seen her uncovered and unprotected, argenteous orbs uncovering the startling discovery of a previously undetected bump that had seemed to have formed without her knowledge. And suddenly, the last few weeks and all those strange, unusual variations had all come crashing down upon her in unrelenting waves of emotions, finally making sense in a daunting discovery that was frightening and life-altering all in the very same second, provoking a strangled sob to tear forth from her lips as the woman fell to the ground as pale hands grasped and not at her stomach, as one would think, but the floor. One could not discover a response that could truly describe the situation the Sorceress had found herself in, the emotions and conflict which lashed out at her body. It was frightening to think of just how much was being unpacked in her mind. On one hand, she was pregnant and that was a feat she had never foreseen and she was pregnant with Yennefer’s child and that was a feat that should have been impossible given Yennefer’s inability to have children. Without a doubt, it was Yennefer’s. Amara only enjoyed the company of the same-sex and such devious acts of using chaos to conjure a magical cock on her lover’s body had only ever been done with Yennefer.

Gods… It opened a whole new pot of worms. Could she tell Yennefer? Should she tell Yennefer? Could or should she keep this life that was living inside of her? Given the violent response of both her body and mind, Amara was aware there and then that she was unable to purposely rid herself of the gift that had been created out of the love that shimmered and burned between herself and the woman she loved in a feat that was, without a doubt, a true creation of fate. And yet, she was unable to bring herself to informing Yennefer of this discovery, of the fact that the Sorceress of Gors Velen was pregnant with their child in an unbelievable outcome. Surely, the pale-skinned woman would sound insane, had finally lost the last screw as so many joked with such an admittance and had imagined an array of Yennefer’s responses that , of such that she did not want to battle with and their last communication had read that Yennefer was content, happy in her current life with Geralt, the Infamous Witcher and their child surprise, Ciri. Who was she to play god in their relationships by dropping such an emotional bomb? If Yennefer believed her that is. She had only ever wanted Yennefer to be happy in her life, to find that meaning the Aedirnian wanted and such was found as the mother to Geralt’s child surprise. Perhaps, her choice of keeping their child secret was ever so wrong, one that would see the women damaged, hurt and confused. Amara Isolda was someone who often, in the opinion of those that surrounded her, chose the wrong choice, even if it was chosen for the right reason and for the health of those she cared for. Was another wrong choice truly going to be so bad? When she had so many already trailing behind her? It was one that she regretted with each passing day, with each letter received from Yennefer and had forced herself to live with.

Amara had, surprisingly, eased into the aspect of having a child ever so swiftly, with such effortlessness that had left her debating on her previous beliefs of her ability in the world of motherhood and was truly loving, attentive to the unborn child that grew in her stomach, showering it in constant acts of affection and love throughout the day, ensuring that she only ever digested the best quality of foods and ensured that it was family with her voice, talking, singing and reading to the bundle of joy as the days passed on and her belly grew larger, signalling that her child was healthy and nurtured, blossoming beneath her love. In fact, the Sorceress had even departed from her birth town of Gors Velen, leaving behind a life that she had loved living for one far slower and settled down in a tasteful Manor discovered not far from the smaller settlement of Oxenfurt, a piece of the continent that was quieter, without conflict and was absent of the hustle and bustle that came with the likes of an overpopulated city that was brimming with factions, businesses and opportunities.

When the birth came, it was a challenge as any childbirth was but after hours of intense labour guided by a close friend and confidant, the Continent was made brighter, better by the birth of a beautiful baby girl. And a beauty she was, blessed with skin that was as delicate as porcelain and a gentle button nose, generous little eyebrows and tresses as dark as the night, chaotic and wild as Yennefer’s and features that paired Amara and Yennefer together tastefully but most important of all, little orbs which danced vividly with an array of amethyst shades that was identical to her mother. And such an emotional discovery that was, a stream of tears staining alabaster cheeks as the woman she loved more than life itself was so very present in the gift they had created. Yennefer was, without a single doubt, lovingly present in their daughter as her demanding yet gentle natured personality was more akin to her Mother’s rather than Amara’s. And just as the Sorceress of Gors Velen had been whilst their baby grew, blossomed in her stomach, Amara was ever so loving and affectionate towards her bundle of joy, passionately proud and ardently protective of the gift fate had given her.

It was a simple day, her beloved daughter just a few days shy of turning two months and was currently cradled in a linen cloth against Amara’s chest, fast asleep in the world of dreams and ever so content snuggled up against her mother’s ample breasts as the Emissary worked silently, dutifully in one of her gardens, knees pressed into the damp, fertile soil as pale flesh vanished within brown particles, returning stained by the soil as small holes were made for the series of vegetables that would be soon planted and a stream of low hums would rumble away in the depths of her chest as she worked with gentle devotion. If only Amara had the slightest of inklings, a warning of the whirlwind that would soon fall upon her doorstep bestow a life-altering swirl of emotions for herself, her child and her unexpected visitor. The Rissberg Sorceress was ever so painfully unaware of Yennefer’s discovery, of the tale that the troublesome bard, Dandelion, had told to Geralt in ear shot of the Sorceress of Vengerberg in regards of seeing the pale-skinned woman heavily pregnant at the Oxenfurt markets on more than one occasion and carried forth with gossip in regards to whom the father could be. How painfully unaware of the situation that would soon be unfolding she was, of the life-changing visit that was going to rain down upon her.

[lilacdulcis]

“Hm, if you say so” is the only response the lilac eyed sorceress says in regards to the comment on the mess. Perhaps she would’ve been able to come up with something witty was her attention not entirely on the baby now. The baby that’s within her arms, seemingly content. Small hands fists at her dress and pink lips seek to dance with a delicate smile. By the gods, it made her heart clench in her chest. There was just something about this child that called to the quarter-elf. Perhaps it was because it was Amara’s child and already she seems to have a soft spot for Faye because of it. Wouldn’t be the first time she forms a bond with a child not meant to be hers at first. Ciri had been a blessing, their time together aiding in forming a relationship that no time or space could ever break. She felt something similar to this child, perhaps destiny had plans for them.

Yennefer gently rocks the baby, fingers lightly tracing soft features. She finds herself smiling, eyes as violent as a storm completely soft and tender when gazing upon this gentle creature. This small thing. The words from Amara causes her to look up at her and her breath quietly hitches at the sight. It seems that the half-elf was close to tears and well, the sorceress of Vengerberg felt something similar because — how long has she craved this? To hold a child, her child, her legacy, what she leaves behind in this cruel world. Someone she would be important to because nothing is as important as a mother, a good mother. She gives the Temerian a tender and loving smile but when the gaze is broken, when Amara looks away she sets her gaze upon the baby.

The Aerdinian leans down, gently burrowing her nose in the little patch of wild, raven hair and she gently inhaled. Such sweet scent, delicate and tender. Yennefer bestows a kiss upon the baby’s forehead and rocks her gently, gloved finger gently scratching, caressing the chubby cheek. “Oh and yes, I would love a glass of apple juice. I would never say no to such an offer” she says as she remembers how the woman had offered her some. She had been so enthralled by this little bundle and the moment, she had completely forgotten to reply.

oh to speak of the aches and pains, @lilacdulcis

Motherhood… How was it something that women craved? And with such intense desperation? Why would someone sign themselves up for such a role, desire to be the world of something so pure and delicate? Put themselves in such a violate position? It was nothing more than an aspect of life that the Sorceress of Gors Velen had purposely fled from, remaining tenaciously out of reach to any and all situations that could, even in the slightest, led the pale-skinned woman into a position that saw her caring for a child, existing as a mother-figure to an innocent soul that could so easily be broken, disappointed. And such desperate avoidance, such a distasteful outlook was carved from a childhood that had been painful, horrific and lonely, spent trapped beneath a cruel caretaker in a dilapidated orphanage. Perhaps, Amara was selfish. Perhaps, Amara was weak. Perhaps, Amara still held scars, thus, was scared, frightened. And such scars had not healed, forever reopening beneath invisible strain as toxic ignorance was paid towards mental and physical wounds that had refused to leave, to ease when the victim denied facing them. Simply, to be a mother was a role she loathed the thought of, actively avoided in every sense of the word. She had been walking, existing across this Continent for over three centuries and had yet to truly keep herself together, to act in a manner that was safe and wholeheartedly mature instead of chasing a youthful, careless lifestyle that had seen her split from her loved ones, captured in moments that gifted her scars that would never fade even with the aide of magic. Pregnancy was nothing more than a fragment of life that the Sorceress had been wholeheartedly uninterested in as the belief of being a terrible, uncaring mother whispered in the back of her mind and frightening off any thoughts that dared to arise.

Yennefer of Vengerberg was her first love and had been an important, unwavering presence in the Temerian’s life from the moment that their paths crossed in the Courts of Aedirn and that soaring, passionate bond was created, forged by the likes of destiny and was unbreaking beneath the pressure of time and a whirlwind romance that was as chaotic as an untamed stallion galloping through lush fields. It was truly nothing for the women to be together one moment and apart the next, days, weeks, months or even years spent together. Now, this did not mean in any way, shape or form that their love was untrue or impure as a couple that spent their lives together, remaining attached at the hip. It simply meant that their love, however chaotic and unpredictable, was passionate, burning and unable to be mellowed, the women brought back together repeatedly by the unusual workings of fate. Violate they could be, loving in the first moment, thoroughly frustrated in the second and dripping with lust in the last. It was that very sequence that had led the Sorceress of Gors Velen into this … undesired situation, the very situation that she had never expected, envisioned herself to be in. She and Yennefer had parted ways but not without a night of passion that had left her ever so pleasurably bruised and unable to walk without limping after the Sorceress of Vengerberg experimented with a new spell that had seen her equipped with a very real, very responsive phallus.

Unforeseen, the Scholar of Rissberg had brusquely awoken one morning with the unyielding desire to empty the contents of her stomach as the organ rocked, trembled viciously, riotously and promptly lost the previous night’s meal in a bucket that had been hastily received. She hadn’t expected to have the light of life to be growing, forming within her stomach in an act of chance that was truly magical, a blessing. And why would such a thought arise? Akin to all Aretuza Sorceresses, Yennefer’s ascension had come at a painful cost that had seen her purposely left sterile and unable to have children in an act that the Brotherhood of Sorcerers had hoped pledge loyalty. Who could possibly have thought that playing around with a crude spell could create a loophole? One that ended in pregnancy, the gift of life? It had not ever been heard of, unspoken and hidden if such a discovery had been founded previously by another couple. No. Pregnancy had not been the thought that had entered Amara’s mind, in fact, the pale-skinned Temerian had simply believed that she had fallen ill. Sorceresses, after all, could still fall sick as they were wholeheartedly immune to the ways of life and had treated herself as such, believing after that of a truly agonising week of morning sickness that it was an unusual case of hay fever and was responding painfully to a new crop that her community was using, waving it off as an allergy of sorts. In fact, even the increase in the Sorceress’s eating habits had been simply shouldered off as her body trying to naturally heal itself and required the nutrition to fight the effects of the ailment that acted out upon her body.

Outrageously, the Sorceress of Gors Velen had been painfully unaware of the situation she had unknowingly found herself in as days turned into weeks and edged onto the first few months. You see, her appetite had always been that of a healthy one and ate, for the majority, to her pleasure. It wasn’t until the desire for a spontaneous bath had seen her uncovered and unprotected, argenteous orbs uncovering the startling discovery of a previously undetected bump that had seemed to have formed without her knowledge. And suddenly, the last few weeks and all those strange, unusual variations had all come crashing down upon her in unrelenting waves of emotions, finally making sense in a daunting discovery that was frightening and life-altering all in the very same second, provoking a strangled sob to tear forth from her lips as the woman fell to the ground as pale hands grasped and not at her stomach, as one would think, but the floor. One could not discover a response that could truly describe the situation the Sorceress had found herself in, the emotions and conflict which lashed out at her body. It was frightening to think of just how much was being unpacked in her mind. On one hand, she was pregnant and that was a feat she had never foreseen and she was pregnant with Yennefer’s child and that was a feat that should have been impossible given Yennefer’s inability to have children. Without a doubt, it was Yennefer’s. Amara only enjoyed the company of the same-sex and such devious acts of using chaos to conjure a magical cock on her lover’s body had only ever been done with Yennefer.

Gods… It opened a whole new pot of worms. Could she tell Yennefer? Should she tell Yennefer? Could or should she keep this life that was living inside of her? Given the violent response of both her body and mind, Amara was aware there and then that she was unable to purposely rid herself of the gift that had been created out of the love that shimmered and burned between herself and the woman she loved in a feat that was, without a doubt, a true creation of fate. And yet, she was unable to bring herself to informing Yennefer of this discovery, of the fact that the Sorceress of Gors Velen was pregnant with their child in an unbelievable outcome. Surely, the pale-skinned woman would sound insane, had finally lost the last screw as so many joked with such an admittance and had imagined an array of Yennefer’s responses that , of such that she did not want to battle with and their last communication had read that Yennefer was content, happy in her current life with Geralt, the Infamous Witcher and their child surprise, Ciri. Who was she to play god in their relationships by dropping such an emotional bomb? If Yennefer believed her that is. She had only ever wanted Yennefer to be happy in her life, to find that meaning the Aedirnian wanted and such was found as the mother to Geralt’s child surprise. Perhaps, her choice of keeping their child secret was ever so wrong, one that would see the women damaged, hurt and confused. Amara Isolda was someone who often, in the opinion of those that surrounded her, chose the wrong choice, even if it was chosen for the right reason and for the health of those she cared for. Was another wrong choice truly going to be so bad? When she had so many already trailing behind her? It was one that she regretted with each passing day, with each letter received from Yennefer and had forced herself to live with.

Amara had, surprisingly, eased into the aspect of having a child ever so swiftly, with such effortlessness that had left her debating on her previous beliefs of her ability in the world of motherhood and was truly loving, attentive to the unborn child that grew in her stomach, showering it in constant acts of affection and love throughout the day, ensuring that she only ever digested the best quality of foods and ensured that it was family with her voice, talking, singing and reading to the bundle of joy as the days passed on and her belly grew larger, signalling that her child was healthy and nurtured, blossoming beneath her love. In fact, the Sorceress had even departed from her birth town of Gors Velen, leaving behind a life that she had loved living for one far slower and settled down in a tasteful Manor discovered not far from the smaller settlement of Oxenfurt, a piece of the continent that was quieter, without conflict and was absent of the hustle and bustle that came with the likes of an overpopulated city that was brimming with factions, businesses and opportunities.

When the birth came, it was a challenge as any childbirth was but after hours of intense labour guided by a close friend and confidant, the Continent was made brighter, better by the birth of a beautiful baby girl. And a beauty she was, blessed with skin that was as delicate as porcelain and a gentle button nose, generous little eyebrows and tresses as dark as the night, chaotic and wild as Yennefer’s and features that paired Amara and Yennefer together tastefully but most important of all, little orbs which danced vividly with an array of amethyst shades that was identical to her mother. And such an emotional discovery that was, a stream of tears staining alabaster cheeks as the woman she loved more than life itself was so very present in the gift they had created. Yennefer was, without a single doubt, lovingly present in their daughter as her demanding yet gentle natured personality was more akin to her Mother’s rather than Amara’s. And just as the Sorceress of Gors Velen had been whilst their baby grew, blossomed in her stomach, Amara was ever so loving and affectionate towards her bundle of joy, passionately proud and ardently protective of the gift fate had given her.

It was a simple day, her beloved daughter just a few days shy of turning two months and was currently cradled in a linen cloth against Amara’s chest, fast asleep in the world of dreams and ever so content snuggled up against her mother’s ample breasts as the Emissary worked silently, dutifully in one of her gardens, knees pressed into the damp, fertile soil as pale flesh vanished within brown particles, returning stained by the soil as small holes were made for the series of vegetables that would be soon planted and a stream of low hums would rumble away in the depths of her chest as she worked with gentle devotion. If only Amara had the slightest of inklings, a warning of the whirlwind that would soon fall upon her doorstep bestow a life-altering swirl of emotions for herself, her child and her unexpected visitor. The Rissberg Sorceress was ever so painfully unaware of Yennefer’s discovery, of the tale that the troublesome bard, Dandelion, had told to Geralt in ear shot of the Sorceress of Vengerberg in regards of seeing the pale-skinned woman heavily pregnant at the Oxenfurt markets on more than one occasion and carried forth with gossip in regards to whom the father could be. How painfully unaware of the situation that would soon be unfolding she was, of the life-changing visit that was going to rain down upon her.

[lilacdulcis]

She supposed that if she were to sit down and think a bit it all, if she were to truly put her mind into this she will figure out quite quickly whose baby this was. If she were to do the math between their last encounter and how how many months this baby was added with the meaning behind the name, yes it was all spelled out. But see, Yennefer wasn’t even truly thinking of it, both deeply enough at least.

They step into the house and Amara apologizes for the mess. It makes the sorceress from Vengerberg roll her eyes, quite typical of her it was. There was never a single thing out of place in the Temerian’s home. If there was ever any mess, it was quickly cleaned up. If it wasn’t, well it was simply because it was the fun kind of mess. The lilac eyed mage watched as her beloved rocks the little bundle of joy in her arms and well Yennefer sort of had to follow it up because her finger is still very much still being held by the baby. “There is never any mess in your house, Amara.”

The woman then laughs ever so quietly about the Gors Velen sorceress not wishing to push another kid from her vagina. But see she quite likes the idea of another kid just so she is able to see the half-elf pregnant. She bets that was quite the sight, beautiful with a round belly. The silver eyed beauty hands her the child tentatively and wraps her arms around her securely, protectively. With the arm whose hand doesn’t belong to the finger which is currently being held. She was so light, so small. “By the gods” she murmurs, gently rocking the baby, her heart squeezing in her chest.

oh to speak of the aches and pains, @lilacdulcis

Motherhood… How was it something that women craved? And with such intense desperation? Why would someone sign themselves up for such a role, desire to be the world of something so pure and delicate? Put themselves in such a violate position? It was nothing more than an aspect of life that the Sorceress of Gors Velen had purposely fled from, remaining tenaciously out of reach to any and all situations that could, even in the slightest, led the pale-skinned woman into a position that saw her caring for a child, existing as a mother-figure to an innocent soul that could so easily be broken, disappointed. And such desperate avoidance, such a distasteful outlook was carved from a childhood that had been painful, horrific and lonely, spent trapped beneath a cruel caretaker in a dilapidated orphanage. Perhaps, Amara was selfish. Perhaps, Amara was weak. Perhaps, Amara still held scars, thus, was scared, frightened. And such scars had not healed, forever reopening beneath invisible strain as toxic ignorance was paid towards mental and physical wounds that had refused to leave, to ease when the victim denied facing them. Simply, to be a mother was a role she loathed the thought of, actively avoided in every sense of the word. She had been walking, existing across this Continent for over three centuries and had yet to truly keep herself together, to act in a manner that was safe and wholeheartedly mature instead of chasing a youthful, careless lifestyle that had seen her split from her loved ones, captured in moments that gifted her scars that would never fade even with the aide of magic. Pregnancy was nothing more than a fragment of life that the Sorceress had been wholeheartedly uninterested in as the belief of being a terrible, uncaring mother whispered in the back of her mind and frightening off any thoughts that dared to arise.

Yennefer of Vengerberg was her first love and had been an important, unwavering presence in the Temerian’s life from the moment that their paths crossed in the Courts of Aedirn and that soaring, passionate bond was created, forged by the likes of destiny and was unbreaking beneath the pressure of time and a whirlwind romance that was as chaotic as an untamed stallion galloping through lush fields. It was truly nothing for the women to be together one moment and apart the next, days, weeks, months or even years spent together. Now, this did not mean in any way, shape or form that their love was untrue or impure as a couple that spent their lives together, remaining attached at the hip. It simply meant that their love, however chaotic and unpredictable, was passionate, burning and unable to be mellowed, the women brought back together repeatedly by the unusual workings of fate. Violate they could be, loving in the first moment, thoroughly frustrated in the second and dripping with lust in the last. It was that very sequence that had led the Sorceress of Gors Velen into this … undesired situation, the very situation that she had never expected, envisioned herself to be in. She and Yennefer had parted ways but not without a night of passion that had left her ever so pleasurably bruised and unable to walk without limping after the Sorceress of Vengerberg experimented with a new spell that had seen her equipped with a very real, very responsive phallus.

Unforeseen, the Scholar of Rissberg had brusquely awoken one morning with the unyielding desire to empty the contents of her stomach as the organ rocked, trembled viciously, riotously and promptly lost the previous night’s meal in a bucket that had been hastily received. She hadn’t expected to have the light of life to be growing, forming within her stomach in an act of chance that was truly magical, a blessing. And why would such a thought arise? Akin to all Aretuza Sorceresses, Yennefer’s ascension had come at a painful cost that had seen her purposely left sterile and unable to have children in an act that the Brotherhood of Sorcerers had hoped pledge loyalty. Who could possibly have thought that playing around with a crude spell could create a loophole? One that ended in pregnancy, the gift of life? It had not ever been heard of, unspoken and hidden if such a discovery had been founded previously by another couple. No. Pregnancy had not been the thought that had entered Amara’s mind, in fact, the pale-skinned Temerian had simply believed that she had fallen ill. Sorceresses, after all, could still fall sick as they were wholeheartedly immune to the ways of life and had treated herself as such, believing after that of a truly agonising week of morning sickness that it was an unusual case of hay fever and was responding painfully to a new crop that her community was using, waving it off as an allergy of sorts. In fact, even the increase in the Sorceress’s eating habits had been simply shouldered off as her body trying to naturally heal itself and required the nutrition to fight the effects of the ailment that acted out upon her body.

Outrageously, the Sorceress of Gors Velen had been painfully unaware of the situation she had unknowingly found herself in as days turned into weeks and edged onto the first few months. You see, her appetite had always been that of a healthy one and ate, for the majority, to her pleasure. It wasn’t until the desire for a spontaneous bath had seen her uncovered and unprotected, argenteous orbs uncovering the startling discovery of a previously undetected bump that had seemed to have formed without her knowledge. And suddenly, the last few weeks and all those strange, unusual variations had all come crashing down upon her in unrelenting waves of emotions, finally making sense in a daunting discovery that was frightening and life-altering all in the very same second, provoking a strangled sob to tear forth from her lips as the woman fell to the ground as pale hands grasped and not at her stomach, as one would think, but the floor. One could not discover a response that could truly describe the situation the Sorceress had found herself in, the emotions and conflict which lashed out at her body. It was frightening to think of just how much was being unpacked in her mind. On one hand, she was pregnant and that was a feat she had never foreseen and she was pregnant with Yennefer’s child and that was a feat that should have been impossible given Yennefer’s inability to have children. Without a doubt, it was Yennefer’s. Amara only enjoyed the company of the same-sex and such devious acts of using chaos to conjure a magical cock on her lover’s body had only ever been done with Yennefer.

Gods… It opened a whole new pot of worms. Could she tell Yennefer? Should she tell Yennefer? Could or should she keep this life that was living inside of her? Given the violent response of both her body and mind, Amara was aware there and then that she was unable to purposely rid herself of the gift that had been created out of the love that shimmered and burned between herself and the woman she loved in a feat that was, without a doubt, a true creation of fate. And yet, she was unable to bring herself to informing Yennefer of this discovery, of the fact that the Sorceress of Gors Velen was pregnant with their child in an unbelievable outcome. Surely, the pale-skinned woman would sound insane, had finally lost the last screw as so many joked with such an admittance and had imagined an array of Yennefer’s responses that , of such that she did not want to battle with and their last communication had read that Yennefer was content, happy in her current life with Geralt, the Infamous Witcher and their child surprise, Ciri. Who was she to play god in their relationships by dropping such an emotional bomb? If Yennefer believed her that is. She had only ever wanted Yennefer to be happy in her life, to find that meaning the Aedirnian wanted and such was found as the mother to Geralt’s child surprise. Perhaps, her choice of keeping their child secret was ever so wrong, one that would see the women damaged, hurt and confused. Amara Isolda was someone who often, in the opinion of those that surrounded her, chose the wrong choice, even if it was chosen for the right reason and for the health of those she cared for. Was another wrong choice truly going to be so bad? When she had so many already trailing behind her? It was one that she regretted with each passing day, with each letter received from Yennefer and had forced herself to live with.

Amara had, surprisingly, eased into the aspect of having a child ever so swiftly, with such effortlessness that had left her debating on her previous beliefs of her ability in the world of motherhood and was truly loving, attentive to the unborn child that grew in her stomach, showering it in constant acts of affection and love throughout the day, ensuring that she only ever digested the best quality of foods and ensured that it was family with her voice, talking, singing and reading to the bundle of joy as the days passed on and her belly grew larger, signalling that her child was healthy and nurtured, blossoming beneath her love. In fact, the Sorceress had even departed from her birth town of Gors Velen, leaving behind a life that she had loved living for one far slower and settled down in a tasteful Manor discovered not far from the smaller settlement of Oxenfurt, a piece of the continent that was quieter, without conflict and was absent of the hustle and bustle that came with the likes of an overpopulated city that was brimming with factions, businesses and opportunities.

When the birth came, it was a challenge as any childbirth was but after hours of intense labour guided by a close friend and confidant, the Continent was made brighter, better by the birth of a beautiful baby girl. And a beauty she was, blessed with skin that was as delicate as porcelain and a gentle button nose, generous little eyebrows and tresses as dark as the night, chaotic and wild as Yennefer’s and features that paired Amara and Yennefer together tastefully but most important of all, little orbs which danced vividly with an array of amethyst shades that was identical to her mother. And such an emotional discovery that was, a stream of tears staining alabaster cheeks as the woman she loved more than life itself was so very present in the gift they had created. Yennefer was, without a single doubt, lovingly present in their daughter as her demanding yet gentle natured personality was more akin to her Mother’s rather than Amara’s. And just as the Sorceress of Gors Velen had been whilst their baby grew, blossomed in her stomach, Amara was ever so loving and affectionate towards her bundle of joy, passionately proud and ardently protective of the gift fate had given her.

It was a simple day, her beloved daughter just a few days shy of turning two months and was currently cradled in a linen cloth against Amara’s chest, fast asleep in the world of dreams and ever so content snuggled up against her mother’s ample breasts as the Emissary worked silently, dutifully in one of her gardens, knees pressed into the damp, fertile soil as pale flesh vanished within brown particles, returning stained by the soil as small holes were made for the series of vegetables that would be soon planted and a stream of low hums would rumble away in the depths of her chest as she worked with gentle devotion. If only Amara had the slightest of inklings, a warning of the whirlwind that would soon fall upon her doorstep bestow a life-altering swirl of emotions for herself, her child and her unexpected visitor. The Rissberg Sorceress was ever so painfully unaware of Yennefer’s discovery, of the tale that the troublesome bard, Dandelion, had told to Geralt in ear shot of the Sorceress of Vengerberg in regards of seeing the pale-skinned woman heavily pregnant at the Oxenfurt markets on more than one occasion and carried forth with gossip in regards to whom the father could be. How painfully unaware of the situation that would soon be unfolding she was, of the life-changing visit that was going to rain down upon her.