Work Text:
The ball had gone well. It was a relief for Tissaia, for the last thing she needed was a disaster. All things considered, Stregobor being confined to his quarters awaiting trial was not the worst that could have happened. Certainly not with Philippa Eilhart in attendance. No, things had gone smoothly enough, and now, in the privacy of her chambers, Tissaia could allow herself to breathe properly.
Tonight, she’d refused Vilgefortz. She was in no mood to entertain him, and her thoughts were entirely elsewhere. She poured herself some wine—a rich, deep red liquid brought in to her room earlier—and sat behind her desk, reclining in her seat. As she savored the solitude of her private chambers, her thoughts inevitably gravitated toward Yennefer. The memory of Yennefer at the ball lingered in her mind like a vivid painting, each detail etched with a clarity that bordered on obsession.
The young mage had grown, away from Tissaia. When they’d last met, Yennefer had been but a shell of her former self. Powerless, angry and desperate. Tissaia should have known nothing in this world could extinguish the fire that burned bright within her former student. Yennefer was nothing if not resourceful, and she’d proved that again tonight. However, it was not her formidable character that held Tissaia’s mind prisoner tonight. The power that had been rekindled within Yennefer now manifested in the way she moved, the subtle sway of her hips, the grace in every step that she took… all of that, a mesmerizing dance that Tissaia had watched, transfixed.
She felt pride in witnessing the growth of her former pupil, an acknowledgment that the seeds she had sown had borne fruit. Yet, beneath the veneer of mentorly satisfaction, a more visceral sentiment clawed at the edges of Tissaia’s consciousness. It wasn’t just Yennefer’s magical prowess or newfound confidence that captivated Tissaia; it was the sheer physical beauty that radiated from her. The way the outfit clung to her curves, the play of candlelight on her flawless skin, all of it was sinful, and Tissaia found herself ensnared by a desire she knew, yet hadn’t expected—a yearning that far surpassed the bounds of a mentorship long over.
Tissaia had known for many, many years now, that her special interest in Yennefer was not platonic. Without the mentorship between them, which had ended several decades ago, all that was left was two powerful women with the same stubborn streak. And on Tissaia’s end, a brightly burning desire that she fought every day to keep at bay. Tonight, Yennefer had come with the Witcher, half-man, half-monster. A mutant that Tissaia both envied and despised. It was him that held Yennefer’s affections, him that she took to bed. She hated knowing that. Knowing that he was here, within the walls of her sanctuary, her home, and she could do nothing but endure it.
The flickering candlelight cast shifting shadows across the room as Tissaia sipped from her goblet, the rich wine failing to drown the complexity of her emotions. She wondered if Yennefer sensed the undercurrents of possessiveness, the silent declaration that in the realm of Aretuza, Tissaia considered herself the rightful possessor of Yennefer’s attention. The sight of Yennefer with Geralt of Rivia had stirred a tumult of conflicting emotions within her. Yennefer’s gaze, the unspoken language exchanged with Geralt, had ignited a spark of something primal and unsettling within Tissaia. In quiet solitude now, she examined her feelings evenly, the ugly sentiments seeing them together had evoked. It would not do to let them consume her.
Tissaia wondered if such a potent desire could exist within her without being reciprocated. Did Yennefer, too, harbor a flame of longing, or was the Rectoress left to navigate the turmoil of unrequited emotions alone? She knew of Yennefer’s rather provocative and promiscuous nature, and had no doubt the sorceress had taken many women to bed before, but Tissaia did not know what type of woman would be so lucky as to attract Yennefer’s attention.
With a sigh, her goblet now empty, Tissaia set it on the massive desk in front of her and stood up. It was well into the night, and Aretuza had grown quiet, telling her the guests had either left or retired to their rooms. With practiced ease, Tissaia pulled down her hair from its intricate hairdo and disrobed with a wave of the hand. After such a long day, she needed a bath to clear her mind and hopefully find some sleep. She marched towards the adjacent room and the deceptively modest bath, adorned with intricate patterns. The air was filled with the subtle scent of exotic oils and magical essences as Tissaia approached the inviting waters magically summoned. With a fluid motion, she immersed herself, the warmth enveloping her like a soothing embrace. Tissaia let out a hum of contentment, eager to rid her body of the accumulated tension. Baths were a ritual, rare moments of quietude in her busy life that she treasured.
Tonight, however, would not grant her the respite. A knock on the door to her bedchambers startled her and Tissaia frowned. At this hour, only one person would dare seek her out, but she had sent him away earlier, declining his offer to spend the night together. Regretfully, Tissaia exited the water, droplets cascading from her form as she moved to answer the unwelcome interruption. In one fluid movement, she slipped on a thick, warm robe that clung to her damp skin. The nuisance knocked once more, louder, and Tissaia had to stop herself from rolling her eyes as she hastily put her hair up again, the chestnut strands now gathered in an intricate knot. Men could never take no for an answer, it seemed.
With a swift motion, she opened the door, expecting to confront Vilgefortz and firmly send him away, but the ire that she felt died as her eyes fell upon her nocturnal visitor. The figure standing in the doorway was not the nuisance she had anticipated. Instead, it was Yennefer, adorned in a simple black dress, with her hair loose framing her face, cascading down her shoulders and back. The expression on her face was neutral verging on amused as her amethyst eyes took in Tissaia’s appearance. “I hope I’m not disturbing you,” she said, clearly not sorry at all. Tissaia wished she could still feel the annoyance of being stirred from her bath but that seemed to have vanished with the reveal of Yennefer behind her door.
“Yennefer,” Tissaia finally uttered, realizing it had been too long a pause without speaking. “I’m surprised you even know how to knock,” she added tersely as she stepped aside to let the younger mage in.
Yennefer snorted, delighted at the jab. “At this hour, I would not want to stumble upon any… intimate nocturnal activities,” she teased playfully, eyes boring into Tissaia’s, before she sauntered further into the room. Tissaia, momentarily taken aback by Yennefer’s sly comment, felt a flush of warmth rising to her cheeks. “That would hardly be the worst thing you’ve seen I’m sure,” she tried to fire back but her throat felt dry and getting the words out was harder than it ought to be.
In the soft glow of the room, Yennefer’s usually purple eyes seemed dark, or perhaps it was the way her features seemed to harden at Tissaia’s reply that made them appear so. “Worse than Vilgefortz’s ass? Hardly.”
There was a stunned silence, during which Tissaia grappled with those words, before both women erupted into laughter, dissipating the tension at once. Hands clasped in front of her, Tissaia joined Yennefer in the middle of the room. She didn’t miss the way purple eyes took in her appearance as she moved closer. “What brings you here at this hour,” Tissaia finally asked. Yennefer still being awake was no surprise, but she’d imagined her former student would be… busy with her Witcher by now. She fought to push the thought from her mind. “Is everything all right?”
“Everything’s fine,” Yennefer replied with a sigh. “I wanted to talk about tonight. The ball.”
“And that couldn’t wait until morning,” Tissaia questioned, genuinely surprised. The way Yennefer’s eyes shifted to the side lent credence to Tissaia’s suspicion that this was an excuse rather than a real need for Yennefer to debrief the ball now, with the moon and the stars high in the sky. Against her better judgement, Tissaia continued. “I’d have thought the Witcher’s company would keep you occupied until then.”
Oh, how she hated herself for letting pettiness and jealousy get the best of her. Yennefer’s gaze met Tissaia’s, a fleeting expression of something between surprise and understanding passing across her features. The subtle shift did not go unnoticed by the Rectoress, who, in that moment, wished she could retract the words that had escaped her lips. Before she could try and backtrack, Yennefer broke her silence. “Geralt left earlier. He wanted to go back to Ciri before sunrise.”
Tissaia nodded, no longer trusting herself to speak. She only had to wait for a couple of seconds before Yennefer spoke again. “I’m surprised to find you alone. I’d have thought Vilgefortz would be all over you, given that it seems you two are attached at the hip now.”
Confusion growing in her mind, Tissaia tsked. “Vilgefortz and I have our arrangements,” she replied coolly. “But that’s not why you’re here, is it?” Why would Yennefer want to talk about her relationship with Vilgefortz? She knew better than anyone how private Tissaia was.
“Actually, it is,” Yennefer revealed, looking down at her feet briefly as if gathering her courage to meet Tissaia’s eyes. She took a deep breath, and Tissaia knew she would not like whatever would come out of her mouth. “I don’t trust him,” Yennefer began simply. Immediately, Tissaia felt protest rise within her but wisely pushed back against it to let the other mage express herself. “Tissaia, there’s something about him that doesn’t feel right. He’s hiding something. I haven’t figured out what yet, but you shouldn’t put that much trust in him.”
Tissaia, now growing more curious and annoyed, folded her arms and frowned. “Are you suggesting there’s something I’m not seeing?”
Yennefer sighed, her gaze unwavering. “I just want you to be careful. Vilgefortz is not what he seems, and I worry that his ambitions may not align with ours.”
Narrowing her eyes, Tissaia pondered on her words for a moment. She let the events of the evening play out in her head, rewinding and reviewing conversations and behaviors, but nothing stood out to her. Nothing, except… “Perhaps you ought to spend less time with Philippa,” she chided. “Vilgefortz has proven himself valuable, and I won’t let baseless suspicions jeopardize our cause.”
Yennefer rolled her eyes, frustrated. “I’m not asking you to ditch your boyfriend,” she spat, “but to be careful around him.”
“I could say the same about you and your Witcher,” Tissaia retorted at once, on the defensive. Why would Yennefer throw accusations around with nothing to back them up?
“Excuse me? What does Geralt have to do with anything?”
“Didn’t he tie your fates together without your consent? Should that not be cause for concern?”
It was a low blow, Tissaia knew it. Yennefer had confided in her about this in the upcoming days before the ball in the hopes that Tissaia knew of a solution to their predicament, and she was now using it against her. Hurt flashed in purple eyes before Yennefer took a step forward, invading Tissaia’s space and towering over her. “I expected better from you, Tissaia. To throw such a personal struggle back at me is beneath you,” she said, her voice tightly controlled but anger simmering beneath the surface nonetheless.
Tissaia, her shoulders slumping, realized the weight of her words and the damage they inflicted on their relationship. “I... I didn’t mean to,” she admitted, her voice softer now, laced with regret. “It was a low blow, and I apologize.” Eyes firmly on the ground, she waited for a response, readying herself for Yennefer’s acerbic tongue.
“Why does Geralt bother you so much?”
The question was unexpected and Tissaia blinked in surprise, then dared to meet Yennefer’s inquisitive gaze. “What are you talking about?” It couldn’t be, Yennefer couldn’t have noticed, she’d been so careful not to let anything slip. And yet, faced with her own recent outburst, Tissaia couldn’t help but admit that perhaps she hadn’t been as good at hiding her contempt for the man as she’d believed.
Yennefer’s expression shifted to genuine curiosity. “Every time Geralt is mentioned, you react as if his mere existence offends you. Is there something I’m missing? Is it because he’s not quite human? That’d be disappointing.”
“What? Don’t be ridiculous,” Tissaia chided. “It’s…” She trailed off with a sigh. “I suppose I will never think of any man as good enough for any one of my girls,” Tissaia offered with as much assuredness as she could muster.
Yennefer’s gaze remained unwavering, her curiosity unquenched. “Tissaia, let’s be honest. What kind of person would you deem good enough for one of your girls? If it’s not about Geralt being a Witcher, then there must be some ideal you’re measuring him against.”
Tissaia, now feeling the scrutiny of Yennefer’s probing questions, shifted uncomfortably. Oh, why did the gods want to torment her so much? All she’d wanted tonight was a bath and the comfort of a bed and blankets. The air in the room seemed to tighten as she considered how to respond.
“It’s not about an ideal,” Tissaia finally replied, choosing her words carefully. “It’s about protecting you from the complexities of relationships that may bring harm or distraction. A sorceress must be focused, unburdened by personal ties that could compromise her dedication to the craft.”
At that, Yennefer snorted and put her hands on her hips. “You expect me to believe that? What about you, then? You’re with Vilgefortz. What about your dedication? Or is it only us foolish girls that are not allowed to be loved and wanted?”
“You are loved and wanted,” Tissaia roared, frustration boiling over and taking precedence over cautiousness.
The atmosphere was stifling; Yennefer standing too close. Tissaia turned on her heels and took a few steps towards her desk to put some much needed distance between them; her revelation lingering in the room. Silently, Tissaia berated herself for her inability to rein in her temper. Her former student still had it in her to make her lose control and destabilize Tissaia’s carefully crafted composure. It was maddening.
“By whom,” Yennefer’s hushed voice asked, almost too quiet for Tissaia to hear from where she stood now. When Tissaia remained silent, unable and unwilling to reply for it would put them into dangerous waters, Yennefer closed the distance between them, planting herself right behind Tissaia. “By whom, if not Geralt? He’s the only one that’s ever expressed both. His desire and his love for me—”
“Enough,” Tissaia interrupted with a hiss. She swiftly spun around to face Yennefer once more, but she had not anticipated to find the brunette so close and had to tilt her head back to look up into the fierce gaze of her former student.
The energy of the room shifted as Tissaia’s chaos threatened to spill out of her. Never before had anyone been so capable of testing her grasp on it.
“Enough of what, Tissaia?” Yennefer challenged, unwilling to let Tissaia retreat. “Enough of avoiding the truth?”
What truth could the impossible woman be talking about? Tissaia was desperate, feeling her control slip away bit by bit. Yennefer’s proximity made it difficult for her to collect her thoughts and center herself. “I’ve listened to your concerns about Vilgefortz, now you may leave,” she tried feebly, although she knew it was pointless. Yennefer was stubborn, a dog with a bone, and would not let go until the answers Tissaia gave her satisfied her curiosity.
“I tried to talk to you at the ball, I wanted to,” Yennefer said, retreating to what seemed a safer topic. “But he was always around, always by your side like a puppy.”
Tissaia’s jaw tightened but she chose to let the jab go. “What did you want to talk about then? He’s not here now. I must say, if you’re going to bring up accusations again—”
“You looked beautiful,” Yennefer interrupted softly, effectively making Tissaia’s words die in her throat. “Did you feel my eyes on you? I felt yours.”
“Stop it,” Tissaia whispered harshly, her eyes closing as her head turned to the side and she tried to take in a deep breath to steady herself.
“Why,” Yennefer shot back vehemently, pushing Tissaia’s buttons, goading her into voicing her thoughts, her truth. “How long are you going to hide behind all that decorum?”
Tissaia’s eyes remained closed, a weak attempt to shield herself from the intensity of Yennefer’s probing. The hushed atmosphere crackled with unspoken truths, leaving little room for the restraint Tissaia had clung to for so long.
“How long, Tissaia?” Yennefer pressed, the words cutting through the quiet like a knife. “How long will you deny what we both feel?”
At that, Tissaia’s eyes opened and met Yennefer’s.
“What we both feel,” she repeated, not quite certain this meant what she desperately hoped it did. Yennefer remained silent, but there was something in her gaze, willing Tissaia to bare her heart, to be honest for once. It was as if Yennefer knew, as if she’d always known what Tissaia was hiding, and was now asking her to be brave and forego all pretense. It was just them in this moment, within these walls, in the safety of the room. To what extent had Yennefer guessed what Tissaia felt for her, she wondered. What could she say, what should she keep to herself? What would send the other woman running for the hills? Yennefer had not rescinded her words. What we both feel, Tissaia mused. You looked beautiful. Patiently, but no less expectantly, Yennefer watched as Tissaia struggled to come up with the right words.
The choice lay before her: to succumb to the forbidden or to retreat behind the walls of duty and propriety. Tissaia, so brave in the face of adversity, could not risk it. What “it” was exactly, she wasn’t sure. In fact, she wasn’t sure of anything anymore. She’d been so certain that whatever she felt for Yennefer could never be reciprocated, and that certainty had been pulverized with just a few words. It was too much, too dangerous. She would not allow her selfish wants to ruin them both.
“I’ve chosen the path of restraint and duty for a reason, Yennefer,” Tissaia began. “To yield to the pull of emotions would jeopardize everything I’ve worked to build.”
“So you admit it,” Yennefer interjected. Her hands rose to touch Tissaia but the older mage took a step back and shot her a warning glare.
“There are lines even you shouldn’t want to cross,” Tissaia stated. But she knew Yennefer like the back of her hand, knew this would never be reason enough to stop her.
The tension in the room escalated, a palpable force that seemed to echo the internal struggle of both women. Yennefer, undeterred, took a step forward. “And what if I want to cross those lines? What if I’m willing to risk it all?”
“And what do you expect to find beyond those lines?” Tissaia questioned, her voice tightly controlled to appear detached. “Do you believe that surrendering to this... desire will bring fulfillment? Or are you simply chasing a fleeting moment of pleasure at the cost of everything else?”
At that, Yennefer looked offended. “A fleeting moment of pleasure? I will not let you cheapen what I feel for you and reduce it to nothing but mere lust,” she roared, utterly unable to keep her voice down. Her words were loud, but her eyes spoke of hurt instead of anger.
Tissaia, unyielding, met Yennefer’s gaze without flinching. “Feelings can be deceptive, Yennefer. What you think is love may be nothing more than a passing infatuation. I’ve seen many drown in the tumultuous sea of emotions, sacrificing reason for transient passion.”
Yennefer’s frustration resurfaced, her voice taking on a sharper edge. “You speak as if you’re immune to such emotions. As if you’ve never desired something beyond the confines of Aretuza.”
Tissaia’s response was measured, despite the violence of the inner turmoil she found herself in. “Desire is not the same as surrender. I’ve learned to master my desires, to channel them into the pursuit of knowledge and power. Whatever you think could happen between us would only lead to destruction.”
“What about Vilgefortz then,” Yennefer cried, desperate, her hands coming up in irritation.
“Vilgefortz is mere company,” Tissaia replied evenly. She’d never paused to question her relationship with him. He was clever, ambitious and quick-witted. He was available and pliable. Nothing more, no matter how much he tried to compare himself to Yennefer.
“You said he loved you,” Yennefer pointed out.
“You said Geralt loved you,” Tissaia fired back.
Yennefer shook her head and scoffed, placing her hands on her hips. “Ah, you are maddening. You stubborn, insufferable woman. Why, why, out of everyone on the continent did I have to fall for you?”
Choosing wisely to ignore that last part, lest she did something she’d regret, Tissaia asked a question that had been plaguing her for a while now. “If Geralt had stayed tonight, would you have come to me?”
She knew the answer, of course, but wanted to see if Yennefer would be as honest as she urged Tissaia to be. The dark-haired sorceress considered her question for a few seconds. Her gaze shifted, avoiding direct eye contact. The vulnerability beneath her usually confident exterior flickered for a moment. “I don’t know,” she admitted, her voice betraying a hint of uncertainty. “Maybe I would have stayed with him, or maybe I would have sought you out later. It’s hard to say.”
Tissaia, despite her composed demeanor, felt a twinge of disappointment. She had hoped for a more definitive response, an assurance that Yennefer’s feelings for her held a priority over other connections.
“I would have thought of you all the same,” Yennefer continued. “Even if I’d been with him, it would have been you in my mind. You’re always on my mind,” she finished quietly.
“Yennefer…”
“I could feel your jealousy, you know? At the ball.” She laughed mirthlessly. “I felt it so clearly, so strongly, and that’s why I couldn’t put this off any longer. Why I needed to talk to you tonight.”
“And what is it that you’re looking for? Confirmation? You have it. And then what? You’re so quick to follow your heart, you forget to listen to reason. What do you expect to happen now? Will you renounce Geralt and your entwined destinies?”
Yennefer’s expression shifted, and she took a deep breath before responding. “I don’t know what the future holds, Tissaia. All I know is that I can’t keep denying what I feel. Geralt, destiny, it all fades into insignificance when compared to the ache in my chest whenever I see you, whenever I think of you with someone else.”
Tissaia’s resolve wavered, and for a moment, she allowed herself to feel the weight of Yennefer’s words. The carefully constructed walls around her emotions began to crumble, and her features softened.
“You’re playing with fire, Yennefer,” Tissaia warned, a hint of regret in her voice.
The younger mage closed the small gap between them, gently but firmly grabbing Tissaia’s hands with hers.
“Maybe I’ve always been drawn to the flames,” she replied, her eyes never leaving Tissaia’s.
Would it be so bad to surrender to the fire, Tissaia wondered. Yennefer’s hands were warm, holding hers with such determination that she couldn’t find it in herself to even try to pull them back. Let Yennefer have them, Tissaia thought. She already had her heart and soul anyway. Teetering on the precipice of abandon, Tissaia closed her eyes and bowed her head. There would be no coming back from tonight. No taking confessions back. No more pretending.
The air around her shifted and crackled, and she opened her eyes at once, at the feel of magic. In front of her, Yennefer stood in the attire she’d worn at the ball. The expanse of skin it showed was sinful for Tissaia’s standards but she found it impossible to avert her gaze.
“Do you like it,” Yennefer asked, sounding breathless. “I was hoping to catch your attention.”
Tissaia wanted to laugh. Did Yennefer not know she’d always had her attention? Her sarcastic response died before she could form the words when Yennefer brought one of Tissaia’s hands to her exposed midriff, placing the palm against smooth and warm skin. Tissaia withdrew at once and stumbled back, hitting the desk stood treacherously behind her.
“Don’t,” she tried to warn, although to her own ears it sounded like a plea. Yennefer allowed her the illusion of retreat even though they were only a couple of feet apart at most.
“I wanted to dance with you,” she simply stated. “I’m sorry we did not get that opportunity.”
“You danced with him the entire time,” Tissaia said bitterly, looking away. “He loves you so much,” she added after a beat.
To that, Yennefer offered no reply. There was none to give, for it was true and she knew it, she’d seen into Geralt’s mind and knew his feelings to be true. “At the ball…” Tissaia trailed off, unable to finish. Recalling his confession of love, the way Yennefer had reacted to it… oh, Tissaia remembered all too well, she’d heard them, she’d seen them share a kiss after, and had felt her heart break a little bit more. How could Yennefer stand before her now, and speak of love, of desire for her? How could she tempt her so?
“I didn’t say it back, did I?”
Yennefer’s question pierced through the heavy and melancholic fog clouding Tissaia’s mind. She dared to look back at the brunette, and somehow she knew to wait for whatever next move Yennefer had planned.
“I’m going to step closer now,” Yennefer started, her voice soft but unwavering, resolute. “And I’ll only stop if you blast me away with magic.”
Achingly slow, eyes never leaving Tissaia’s, Yennefer inched closer. “Geralt is not you,” the younger mage continued. “I danced with him, yes, but my heart sought you in every step, every beat of music.”
Toe to toe now, Yennefer raised a hand, gently cupping Tissaia’s cheek, the touch a delicate caress that Tissaia felt entirely powerless to shy away from.
“Geralt loves me, yes,” Yennefer acknowledged, her voice gentle. “But he doesn’t know me like you do. He doesn’t see me as you do. And he doesn’t make me feel the way you do.”
“Yennefer, you can’t just—” Tissaia began, her voice trembling with the internal conflict. But before she could finish, Yennefer bent down and closed the gap between them, her lips silencing the unspoken words.
There was no blast of magic, no violent rebuttal, only surrender. In that stolen moment, the world outside ceased to exist, and the flames of desire engulfed them both. The kiss was a revelation, a merging of emotions that had long sought expression. Tissaia, initially caught off guard, succumbed to the tender warmth of Yennefer’s lips against hers. Yennefer’s arms wrapped around Tissaia, drawing her closer, the layers of restraint giving way to an unrestrained desire. Tissaia was acutely aware of her state of undress, aware that if Yennefer pulled on the tie of her bathrobe, she would be bare for her eyes to see, for her eyes only. She shivered at the thought. Her hands timidly found purchase on the taller woman’s hips, and when her thumbs delicately swiped at the skin there, Tissaia sighed into the kiss. This was both too much and not enough. Tissaia had long thought to be consumed by everything that Yennefer made her feel, but it was now, in truth, that she discovered how wrong she’d been.
Pressing more urgently against her, Yennefer deepened the kiss, and Tissaia submitted easily. What else could she do, when she had everything she’d ever dreamed of in her arms, clinging to her possessively, forever imprinting herself on Tissaia’s heart? She would let Yennefer cross every forsaken line for the chance to be with her, to be held by her, to be loved by her.
Too soon, the kiss ended, and Yennefer’s forehead came to rest against Tissaia’s, their breaths intermingling and sounding oh so loud in the otherwise quiet room. This was only the beginning, and neither woman had the need to voice it. There would be countless trials, myriads of reasons to not be together, but there was no taking back tonight and what had transpired between them. With the dawn, they would face the world once more, Geralt, Vilgefortz and whoever could stand in their way, but not now.
For now, time stood still. Tissaia’s gaze turned downward briefly, watching as Yennefer’s hand reached for the tie of her robe, before going back up to meet purple eyes shining with undisguised want. Yennefer made no move to pull on the tie, waiting for Tissaia’s consent quietly, and in the split second that it took her to search herself, Tissaia found no panic, no fear, only yearning and anticipation. The bathrobe, a fragile shield, seemed as flimsy as parchment in the face of the impending blaze and she was eager to cast it into the flames. Imperceptibly, she nodded, and as Yennefer deftly unraveled the tie, Tissaia looped an arm around her neck, pulling her into a scorching kiss.
If this was to be the fire that consumed her entirely, so be it.
She hoped the inferno would burn fiercely, madly, endlessly.