𝓩𝐈𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐋.

amara’s brows lift at the sudden hhhmph, a soft laugh slipping out before she can stop it. “better be?” she echoes, tilting her head as her thumb brushes lightly along the edge of ciri’s jaw. “little wolf, if i meant it, you’d know.”

you want me to beg, hmm?

little * old me? hmm. i’m sure there are younger, more attractive sorceresses about.

awfully so, makes for quite a distraction.

suppose it depends on your decision too, hmm?

amara lets out a soft sigh, one hand lifting to brush a stray strand of hair behind her ear as she watches that pout form. “oh, hush,” she murmurs, amusement softening her tone. “i’m joking.” she steps closer, tapping a finger ⠀˟

oh. just a pesky witcher.

maybe longer. who knows. i haven’t decided yet.

i’ll keep you around. just a little longer.

amara’s brows lift, a soft huff of laughter slipping past her lips. “admitted?” she repeats, sounding downright amused. “little wolf, i admitted nothing except that i can imagine things. i don’t need it to see you’re lying through a smile.”

she’s just a little bit cute. maybe.

“is that what you think?” a soft scoff, amused rather than dismissive. “gods, you’re impossible.” her hands still for a beat as ciri tenses again, then resume with slower, firmer pressure right where the muscle knots underneath ciri’s skin.

just a little. it’s endearing.

you might be delusional, young swallow.

amara’s gaze catches easily held, not stolen and the corners of her lips curl in a slow, knowing smile. “oh, i can imagine many things,” she says, voice soft as dusk, “but i don’t need to when you hand me all the evidence yourself.”