Vibrant optics lit up. Triumphantly, the witcheress stood over her attacker clutching a wing swept hilt of a steel sword. After taking a step back she froze. Muscles tensed up once realizing her vision was impaired. Pangs formed at the right side of her abdomen. Medium sized hand pressed against the origin of the pain. Fingertips brushed a wooden hilt of a dagger, which pierced through her armor and lodged in her gut. What strength resided in her quickly diminished as she fell to her knees. Everything appeared to move at a much slower pace. Body leaned back as she caught glimpse of the cloud filled skies and was greeted with transparent droplets hitting her visage. Dark brown tendrils caressed her cheeks as she descended.
I won, she thought dreamily regardless of her current situation. Finally, she proved that she was capable of overcoming her limitations.
Strong arms slipped underneath the dazed young woman and lifted her from the mud-covered surface. The sound of a heart thumping could be heard when her head rested against the man's chest. Youthful visage flushed from a combination of anger and dread, in which the latter drove him to unthinkingly bolt down a dirt ridden road.
"Eskel," she managed to utter weakly, but was met with silence.
Minutes went by and the witcheress' companion appeared to be winded by the ordeal. His movements slowed and he clumsily maneuvered through the wilds. Suddenly, he lost his footing and tumbled down a miniature hill. Instinctively he shielded his female counterpart from additional harm. Once again the witcheress called out to him mutedly, brown tresses untamed and strewn about. Eskel planted a large hand at the back of her head and gently stroked. Uncertain of whether it was her selfless nature and overconfidence which led to this day. Part of him pondered whether to chastise her for this degree of carelessness, but instantly erased it from his mind. Thin lips planted themselves on the young woman's forehead for he understood why she challenged the man and why she had gone so far as to spike his drink. Oddly enough, he would have done the same if the matters concerned her.
Softly she muttered, "Squass'me…" her voice faded near the end.
"Save your strength, Valeska," he responded. By pressing his forearm on the bark of a tree he was able to lift himself up, and then positioned his companion on his back. Attempting to alleviate his own fears, he chuckled as he recalled a time where Valeska posed as him when they were children to spare him from punishment. Despite her radical changes, she was still the same at her very core.
"Angry…I was so angry at you when it finally wore off," he admitted. "I thought of giving you a good finger wagging because I thought you were doing it solely for the glory and to prove that you were capable."
The witcheress slightly tilted her head as she grew colder with each passing second. Eskel's voice was amplified once the sound of the rainstorm drowned out. His soothing tone was the only thing that kept her intact with the world of the living.
"You make me so angry that it clouds my thinking. But now I understand why you do things on impulse and…I appreciate that. Valeska, I—" A clash of thunder blocked the last portion of his sentence. Finally, the duo reached a cave. The warm glow emitting from a small fire lit the grotto and offered a bright orange glow.
"So, you were too late," a raspy voice said.
"No," Eskel stated sternly, "but if we wait idly, then me bringing her would be all for naught."
The older man hobbled over to him and inspected the injured woman on his back. Valeska's fingers were interlocked in front of Eskel's neck and it appeared as if she might have lost consciousness only a few moments ago. Mentally noting that the male witcher was correct with his assessment, yet also aware that Eskel was too blind to realize how slim her chances of surviving were.
The next few hours were a blur for the injured witcheress as she teetered on the brink of life and death; she walked a thin tightrope between the realm of the living and the dearly departed. Time spent in the world of the living consisted of her withholding screams of pain as the older male tended to her wound, but failing miserably as a she released a light squeal from the immense pressure, and the land of the dead was a dreadful place. One filled of cloudy skies and constant downpour. Lightning striking at every turn and an endless open plain with decaying flowers painted her possible end. Briefly, she saw glimpses of men and women she never encountered woven in intricate webs of their untimely demise. Valeska could feel herself grow colder the more time she spent in this godforsaken place. Through sheer will and stubbornness, she was transferred to another area where she glided down an empty road. Spotlight shone brightly down on her as she stalked down this dangerous path unable to determine whether this was the right choice. All she saw was a thin scarlet string, which was securely tied around her wrist that led to an unknown destination.
Waves lapped against the ship as they grew closer to shore. A series of taps on the door revived the slumbering witcheress as she lifted her head off a small vanity table. Fingers briskly ran through silver locks as she pulled it back, revealing slightly pointed ears. The guard, who was playfully seduced and narrowly escaped La Valette Castle, entered. Eyes remained glued to the wooden floors, fearing the woman would once again seduce him once more.
"Commander Roche has informed me that we're almost at Flotsam," he said timidly.
Valeska nodded in response as she took once last glimpse of her slit pupils and piercing golden optics. Tresses once reached the middle of her back in dark waves, yet now they were devoid of all color and skin beyond pale compared to the healthy glow she had as a child. She rose from her seat and approached the exit as the man quickly shuffled away from her. There was a time where fear and sexual advances did not mix, but further precautions deemed it necessary. Past experiences taught her to lure captors into a comforting embrace and eliminate if their intentions were not pure.
"My apologies once again, Donovan," she uttered.
Donovan froze when his eyes finally settled on the woman. Never had he mentioned his name but she still knew it as if she ripped the information from his brain.
"Master Geralt is chatting with the sorceress," he said blandly.
Instead of heading towards the deck she took his hand and eased him into her cabin. Soft lips planted trails of kisses along the nape of his neck as she gripped his hair. She could not help what was in her nature, though primal in its essence she was unable to resist indulging in it. Ultimately, the girl who resided in her nostalgic dreams died quite some time ago.