“Tissaia, look at me.”
The words exchanged were stagnant, seeming to spiral in circles, and yet each topic was somehow heavier than the last, each a reminder of the world closing in around them — the recounts of the war, the search for Ciri, the cost of enchantment… But Yennefer’s words seemed to pass right over the older woman. It was like trying to break through a wall of steel. The venerable woman, whose mere presence commanded respect from anyone with a single look now sat hollow and unresponsive.
Yennefer felt a rising frustration. She could almost see the woman’s mind working, spiraling under the weight of guilt and despair; it was a pattern she had become familiar with in herself, but on the Rectoress it seemed… foreign.
“There are worse failures.” The Rectoress finally spoke, her voice flat, devoid of its usual sharpness.
Yennefer bent down until her face was mere inches from Tissaia’s. Her frustration boiled over, voice growing louder and more insistent as she desperately tried to break through the fog of self-destruction that had settled over her mentor. “This isn’t you!”
Tissaia felt herself flinch, but made no move to respond, maintaining an otherwise impassive exterior. She couldn’t muster the strength to argue, to even acknowledge the urgency in Yennefer’s voice. Silence was simpler. If she remained silent, it was easier to let the numbness wash over her, and she could shut out the reality that Yennefer was so frantically trying to make her face.
At least, she thought she could. But her girl was implacable, determined to crack through her defenses until she could no longer withstand the onslaught.
“You are Tissaia de Vries. You are...” Everything , Yennefer had wanted to declare. But the words caught in her throat, the truth too naked, too harrowing to speak aloud. Her brows knit together in frustration as she searched for the right words. “We need you. Damnit Tissaia, I need you!”
Tissaia couldn’t bear it any longer. The words that Yennefer was spewing had finally cut too deeply, each one a painful reminder of just how far she had fallen. She had failed dismally, and the unwavering faith in Yennefer’s eyes, the staggering confidence she still had in Tissaia was the breaking point.
How misplaced that confidence was.
Desperate to silence the stinging torrent of words, Tissaia did the only thing she could think of. Acting on impulse alone, she stood and pulled the younger woman into a tight embrace, arms protectively encircling the girl and holding her close.
A beat passed before Yennefer returned the embrace, sinking into the woman’s hold. She buried her face in the slope of her neck, breathing deeply, savoring that wistfully delicate scent of her perfume.
But the moment was painfully fleeting.
All too soon, Yennefer felt the brunette’s arms begin to loosen around her, and her heart pounded in her chest as she felt the warmth of the smaller woman slipping away. She was hit with a creeping sense of panic, the familiar chill of loss looming over her threateningly. Fear, helplessness, longing, — all of the raw, consuming emotions that had been churning within her had finally brought her to her breaking point. Her hands shot up before she could stop herself, taking Tissaia’s face in a firm, pressing grip.
Their eyes met for the briefest of moments, violet vibrant with a wild intensity and blue widening in startled shock. It was in one swift, heedless move that Yennefer closed the gap between them, bringing her lips to meet Tissaia’s.
The kiss wasn’t particularly long, but every word unsaid, every pent-up emotion Yennefer had suppressed for decades was poured into her actions, begging Tissaia to understand in the only way left that she knew how.
Tissaia didn’t move — couldn't move. Her body was frozen in shock, and meanwhile her mind was racing, trying to comprehend the unexpected heat of Yennefer’s lips against hers. Blue eyes were blown wide the whole time, staring in disbelief at the woman she had mentored and — though she had never admitted it to anyone but herself — loved in her own way.
When at last Yennefer pulled back and her eyes blinked open, the reality of what she had done came crashing down on her. The blood drained from her face when she glimpsed Tissaia’s expression — a nauseating blend of shock, confusion, and something else she couldn’t quite place, something that was unfamiliar on the Rectoress’s normally formidable features. Something she was quite sure she didn’t want to know.
“I’m — sorry, I just…” Yennefer’s voice trembled as she stammered out an apology, her mind scrambling for an escape from the rejection that was sure to come. She clung to her last shred of dignity by the finest thread; it was all she could do to not fall apart on the spot. She began to turn away, her heart sinking with shame and heartbreak. “I’ll excuse mysel—”
The pair of hands that grasped at her face forced her to a halt mid-step. The touch was warm, gentle, but also insistent as Tissaia pulled her back, bringing them face to face once again. The searching intensity in her gaze spoke louder than anything she could have uttered, sending a shiver down Yennefer’s spine. And then Tissaia’s lips were crashing into hers, fierce and demanding in their pursuit.
It was impossible for Yennefer not to lose herself in the moment. She could register little else of her surroundings with the press of those lips against her own — those lips that were somehow even softer than she had ever imagined. Tissaia’s breath was warm on her cheeks, and that intoxicating scent, hints of lavender and jasmine infused with the spiced sweetness of her favorite tobacco blend flooded her senses with every inhale.
By the time the initial shock had worn off, Yennefer’s surprise melted into something frantic, her arms circling around Tissaia’s waist, pulling her closer as if she could never be close enough. Lithe fingers threaded through raven hair in response, yanking her down to deepen the kiss with a surprising strength and making Yennefer inhale sharply.
Breathless, they finally broke apart, their foreheads resting together and their breaths mingling as they shared the same space, the same air.
Yennefer was the first to speak. “Tissaia... I didn’t mean to—”
Before she could finish, Tissaia silenced her, gently brushing the pad of her thumb over Yennefer’s lips, as if to erase the apology before it could take root. A small, contented smile curved her lips, and her eyes remained closed. “No more apologies, Yennefer,” she murmured, her voice low and steady. “Not now.”
Tissaia did not want to hear Yennefer’s excuses — whatever they might be.
Whether the kiss had been out of pity, a fleeting kindness meant to pull her from the depths of her sorrow, or perhaps a reckless impulse spurred by blind lust, she did not care. She did not know what had compelled Yennefer to do it, but she would not allow herself to believe it was anything more than a momentary indulgence.
Not again.
She could not trust her own heart, not after Vilgefortz.
She could not afford to.
And yet, she could not bring herself to let go.
Because this was Yennefer . Yennefer, who she trusted with her entire being, with her very soul. Yennefer, who had a way of slipping past each and every one of her carefully placed walls.
Yennefer, who had held her heart in the palm of her hand for far too long, whether Tissaia admitted it or not.
Just this once, she wanted to exist blissfully in the illusion, to welcome the warmth of Yennefer’s embrace and pretend, if only for a minute, that it was real. That her feelings were requited.
So she held her tighter. Tears were beginning to form in the corners of her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. She did not look at Yennefer — could not look at her; because to do so would mean shattering the illusion she so despairingly clung to. It was a selfish indulgence, she knew, but one she would carry with her in her final breath, a precious memory to cling to as the world around her faded.
And Yennefer seemed willing to grant her that kindness.
For a long pause, they stood entangled in the hug. The younger woman did not pull away, did not release her hold on the Rectoress, but Tissaia could feel the gradual shift in her posture; the slight stiffening, the tension creeping into her frame as she braced herself to speak.
Yennefer swallowed hard. “I just…” She started, quickly trailing off into another bit of silence as her voice faltered. The younger woman’s lips parted again to speak as she carefully considered her next words.
“I needed you to know.”
There was an undeniable edge of something beneath her words, something urgent, as if Yennefer were silently willing Tissaia to understand the meaning behind them — to hear what she could not bring herself to say outright. “And now you do, so —”
Hope. It was a dangerous thing.
And yet, Yennefer’s words sparked that very pull within her; something delicate, but something oh so perilous. The shift in the sorceress’s voice was almost imperceptible; It was a shift so subtle that anyone else might have missed it. But Tissaia knew Yennefer to her very core.
With a slow, reluctant glance, she lifted her eyes… and there it was. Yennefer’s expression was expertly guarded, schooled into a mask that was designed to conceal vulnerability. But Tissaia could see past the facade. The restless flicker of violet eyes, the way her lips parted as she grasped for the words she couldn’t bring herself to say… It was not indifference that silenced her.
It was fear.
Yennefer still wouldn’t look at her, but Tissaia could hear it now — see it now; The urgency in her voice, the yearning woven into the cracks of her mask. Realization dawned upon her gradually, surfacing first as a nudging whisper and then blossoming into a deafening, undeniable truth.
Rejection. Yennefer was afraid of rejection.
Tissaia had been so consumed by her own doubts, so tangled in her relentless spiral of despair that she had failed to see the truth standing right in front of her.
“Needed me to know what?” Tissaia pressed. Her tone was neither harsh nor soft, but there was a tightness behind the quiet command. The fervor behind her glacier gaze only made the younger woman shift more uncomfortably as it locked onto Yennefer, searching, unyielding, and painfully unreadable.
Yennefer felt the Rectoress’s grip on her shoulder tighten — not painfully, but enough to make it clear that Tissaia wouldn’t allow her to slip away. The woman’s unrelenting stare silently willed Yennefer to face her, but violet eyes still darted around the room in a frantic search for something — anything to latch onto; Anything to avoid the woman before her. But deep down she knew; if there was one thing their years of estrangement had taught her, it was that ignoring Tissaia was impossible.
Especially now, when said woman stood so damn close; close enough for Yennefer to smell her, close enough to feel the warmth of her breath ghosting over her face.
“You know what,” she muttered tersely under her breath. She was fidgeting now, hands twitching nervously at her sides where they had fallen, unable to remain still.
"Indulge me."
Yennefer scoffed. “Is this really necessary?”
“If it weren’t, I wouldn’t be asking.” Tissaia countered smoothly, raising an expectant eyebrow.
A humorless laugh escaped Yennefer as she shook her head, frustration simmering beneath her skin. Her violet eyes flashed defiantly as they finally lifted to meet Tissaia’s. “Then pull it from my mind if you’re so desperate.” She bit back sharply, defensively. “You’ve certainly never hesitated before.”
Tissaia’s expression darkened, and her voice was stern when she replied, “I will not take what you refuse to give.” A beat of silence passed. She exhaled slowly, and when she spoke again, her voice was lighter, gentler. “If you truly want me to know, you must tell me.”
The younger woman’s jaw tightened and her fists clenched tightly at her sides, her frustration growing as much with herself as it was with Tissaia.
Yennefer had already taken that first leap. She had risked everything; had made herself vulnerable in a way she never had before. And then Tissaia had kissed her back . Shouldn’t that alone have emboldened her, given her the courage to speak her truth?
And yet the weight of that reckless decision only pressed down on her more and more heavily until it became suffocating. Did she really need to spell it out? Was it not enough that she had already laid herself bare, exposing the very depths of her heart in a single unguarded moment?
How could Tissaia still not see? How could she not already know?
But the smaller woman only studied her in measured silence, waiting with the same maddening patience that unsettled Yennefer more than the silence itself.
For a moment she stood stiffly, chin lifted in defiant challenge — but the longer Tissaia simply stared at her, the more the fight drained from her limbs. She suddenly felt weary. “Do not wound my pride further by forcing me to say it aloud.” She whispered, unable to conceal the quiver in her voice.
Tissaia’s expression softened, but only slightly. “Say it,” she urged, voice quieter now but just as firm, her hand’s grip on Yennefer’s shoulder squeezing tighter. “Please, Yennefer. I need to hear you say it.”
The tension inside Yennefer snapped.
“That I love you!” She shouted back in exasperated defeat, the words tearing from her throat before she could summon the restraint to stop them.
The silence that followed was deafening as the words echoed between them. Her heart pounded beneath her ribs so violently she was certain Tissaia could hear it too. With a huff of frustration, Yennefer lifted her head, violet eyes burned with a mix of frustration and desperation, but as she met Tissaia’s tearful gaze, her shoulders sagged wearily, any ounce of fight she had left melting away.
“I love you, Tissaia,” she repeated much softer this time, the confession coming as barely more than a whisper. “Is that what you were waiting to hear?”
Another harrowing stretch of silence settled between them, and it only seemed to last longer than the first.
This time, it was Tissaia who broke it.
"Only you could make a love confession feel like a battle," She murmured with a fond sigh.
She hesitated then, exhaling slowly as if steadying herself. When she spoke again, her voice was quieter, softened by trepidation, as though she feared her confession would shatter everything if spoken too quickly.
"I..." She continued cautiously, her grip on the younger woman’s shoulders tightening a fraction. "I had hoped that you felt the same." There was a note of timidness in her voice, and the corners of her lips twitched upward into a tentative smile. "But hoping and knowing are not the same thing."
Yennefer’s breath stuttered in her chest and her heart swelled with a surge of emotions at the admission; relief, wonderment, disbelief, all of it came crashing over her, submerging her in a warm flood of affection.
There was such sheer vulnerability in Tissaia’s confession; the fragile sincerity of her words, the slight tremble of her voice, the tenderness in her expression —but what struck Yennefer most of all were her eyes.
They were not the cold, steely voids that the world saw — stern and impenetrable; The kind of look that sent even the boldest of students and grown men alike scrambling to correct their mistakes before a single word of reprimand was spoken. The kind of gaze that could pierce your own and reveal nothing in return.
No.
Few would have described Tissaia’s eyes as expressive, and yet that’s exactly what Yennefer saw. The Rectoress’s gaze was completely unguarded, stripped in a way that granted Yennefer an unobstructed view into the very depths of emotion that she had always seemed to conceal so expertly.
And not for the first time, Yennefer found herself weakened by her gaze, defenseless in its path. She was drawn in, rendered completely and utterly helpless by those entrancing pools of blue. Tears had begun to glisten in them, yet rather than dimming their brilliance, they only made the azure depths shine more vibrantly.
She was carefully pulled from her daze when Tissaia’s hands slid down the younger woman’s arms to gently grasp her wrists.
“Now I know,” she breathed, letting her thumbs trace along the delicate lines of raised flesh and resting idly over the younger woman’s pulse point. It was such a simple touch, yet so restorative in the sheer reverence the gesture carried, sending another shiver through Yennefer.
A weary, self-deprecating chuckle escaped her lips.. "And here I was, preparing to take this secret to my grave," she mused, shaking her head slightly. “But here you are, saving me again.”
Yennefer felt it before she had fully comprehended the words — the nauseating twist of dread that coiled in the pit of her stomach and made her blood run cold. Tissaia’s lingering touch resting over her old scars suddenly burned.
A smile ghosted the Rectoress’s lips, but there was something in her voice, in the way the words left her — hollow, detached. Her gaze had clouded over, growing distant, lost somewhere far beyond the walls of this room that made Yennefer’s blood run ice cold.
Yennefer had stood on that precipice before, had teetered at its edge, prepared to let the darkness swallow her whole. And now, Tissaia… Tissaia had nearly let it take her too. She didn’t know what frightened her more; that the woman she loved had been slipping away… or that she hadn’t even noticed until now.
“ Tissaia, ” Yennefer breathed out sharply, voice cracking around the lump that had formed in her throat. She took hold of the smaller woman’s shoulders. “ No. ”
The older woman blinked at her, startled by the sheer force in her grip, the burning intensity in her voice, in her eyes ...
“None of this — none of it is your fault.” Yennefer pressed with fierce insistence. Her grip on Tissaia’s shoulders was desperate, wordlessly willing her to hear, to listen . “You still have so much left to give. Don’t you dare think for even a second that this world would be better off without you.”
A small smile ghosted Tissaia’s lips, but it was something far more resigned, a painful sort of acceptance. Her head shook with quiet finality.
“Three girls were killed, slaughtered . My wards, my responsibility, and now their bodies lie mangled beyond recognition beneath these very floors,” She offered bitterly, “All because I failed to see what was plainly in front of me.”
“And what of the ones who wait in Loxia? They’ll be returning soon, are they not also your responsibility?” Yennefer countered, “You’ve been the pillar of this academy for centuries. I’ll say it again; Aretuza, its staff, its students — they need you now more than ever.”
Yennefer’s hands found their way to Tissaia’s face once more, letting her touch convey what her words could not quite yet. Fingers delicately tracing the sharp lines of the woman’s jaw before settling, palms cradling her as though to emphasize the fact that she held something precious, something irreplaceable.
Because she was .
And Yennefer needed her to feel that. To recognize, to understand the weight of this simple gesture and take it for the silent vow that it was.
She swallowed hard as she studied Tissaia’s expression — detached, lost, broken. There could be no more hesitation, no more uncertainty on her part, her pride be damned.
“And so do I.” A heavy beat passed, and then the very words that had lodged in her throat earlier finally found their release. “Because you are my everything.”
Tissaia let out a shaky exhale, parting her lips as if to interrupt, but Yennefer wasn’t finished.
“Vilgefortz’s empire was built on nothing but deception, and it was a charade we all believed.” The younger woman continued darkly, a scowl briefly taking root on her lips.
She never liked him. Even before his true nature had been unveiled, there had always been something about him. His arrogance, his unchecked ambition… He had been insufferable from the moment she met him.
And he betrayed Tissaia. He had manipulated her, humiliated her, and destroyed everything she cared about. And one day, when their paths crossed again, and Yennefer had no doubt that they would, he would pay for ever hurting her. She would make sure of it.
Her features quickly softened as she shook herself from her thoughts, focusing on Tissaia once again.
“But for all his self-proclaimed brilliance, he underestimated a great many things. His arrogance cost him the one thing he never deserved in the first place.”
Yennefer’s touch was impossibly gentle as her thumb brushed the older woman’s cheekbones, delicately wiping away the stray remnants of tears that had fallen.
She took in the woman before her, truly studied her.
Tissaia de Vries. The woman who had infuriated her, shaped her, challenged her at every turn. The woman who had seen past her flaws when no one else had. Who had cared for her, even when Yennefer had fought her, resented her, pushed her away. The woman she had always fiercely loved, even when she was too proud to admit it.
“The rarest treasure in the world was his, and he neglected to cherish it for what it was.”
Her thumb stilled on Tissaia’s cheek.
“And that will forever be his greatest failure.”
A shuddering breath. A pause.
And then —
“I love you.”
The words left Tissaia’s lips in a whisper, but the truth in them was deafening.
This time, when their lips met, it was not a plea borne of hopelessmess or grief, nor was it burdened by uncertainty. It was an answer, a promise — chaste, tender, and filled with mutual reassurance that this was now a love they could share.
When Yennefer pulled away for a breath, Tissaia let out a small sound of protest, leaning in closer to chase after the younger woman’s lips. A fond smile curled at the corners of Yennefer’s mouth, and she braced a gentle hand against the other woman’s shoulder, holding her at bay for just a moment.
Tissaia’s hair, usually meticulously arranged, was beginning to slip free from its intricate updo. Stray strands had fallen loose around her face, framing her features in a way that made her seem so achingly soft.
Her hands reached for the ornate pin securing the style in place, hesitating when her fingers rested on the cool metal and meeting Tissaia’s gaze in silent question.
A barely perceptible nod granted her permission, and she slid the pin free with deliberate care. A cascade of shocking white curls tumbled free, spilling over the woman’s shoulders in silken waves.
Yennefer's breath hitched. She hadn’t thought it possible for Tissaia to be any more beautiful than she already was, but she had never seen the Rectoress with hair down. And gods, she was breathtaking.
She reached out, fingers threading through the strands that felt so impossibly smooth and silky against her skin. She breathed in deeply, savoring the comfort, the familiarity of its scent.
She could have spent hours admiring Tissaia’s hair, but it seemed the older woman did not have that same patience, if the pleading look she sent was any indication. And so Yennefer relented, closing the space between them once more.
Tissaia’s arms wound around Yennefer’s neck, using the leverage to deepen the kiss. A pleased hum escaped her lips as lithe fingernails threaded through her hair, raking lightly over her scalp, and she could feel the younger woman grinning against her lips. Clearly feeling encouraged, Yennefer’s hands began to wander, tugging ever so gently on the silky strands before sliding lower, sliding down the plane of her back.
Time had lost all meaning.
Both women were living in a trance-like state. Minutes, perhaps hours, could have passed since their lips first met. But all Tissaia knew was the burning heat of Yennefer pressed against her and the spark of electricity the younger woman’s touch sent rippling down her spine.
Neither realized they had been moving until Tissaia felt the edge of her desk press firmly against the backs of her legs. She released a startled gasp when she felt Yennefer’s hands grip her waist, hoisting her up with a surprising bout of strength so that she was now seated atop the polished surface.
One glance at Yennefer was all it took. Raven hair mussed, pupils blown wide with unmistakable intent, and any restraint Tissaia may have yet held came unraveled in an instant. Their mouths met in a fervent clash, parting only when necessary for the occasional stolen breath.
Without thought, Tissaia’s knees parted, making space for Yennefer to move closer. And the younger woman wasted no breath, erasing the last trace of distance between them as she hurriedly stepped forward. Tissaia’s hands fisted into the fabric at Yennefer’s shoulders to tug her forward, to deepen the kiss with an eagerness that surprised even herself. Not that either of them had the will to fight it.
Especially not when Yennefer’s lips began to trail downward, marking a featherlight path along the sharp line of her jaw and reaching the patch of skin just below her ear. Tissaia released a soft sigh, a pleased little sound that was almost too quiet to catch, but Yennefer heard it. She must have, because there she lingered, kissing, nipping, and laving over her pulse point, intent on coaxing out every noise she could from the older woman.
Their shared breath soon filled the room, interspersed with the soft, involuntary sounds that slipped free as hands began to roam with growing boldness.
Tissaia’s touch was light, exploratory as she mapped the delicate landscape of Yennefer’s torso. Her fingertips lightly skimmed the younger woman’s back, occasionally drifting to tease at her sides, her ribs, her abdomen until every curve, dip and line was committed to memory, every inch accounted for. All the while, Yennefer’s breasts brushed maddeningly against her own with each movement, with every breath, driving her to press closer, to hold her tighter.
And Yennefer’s deft hands had begun their own work; Tissaia had been so engrossed in her own exploration that she was caught off guard by the sudden loosening at her waist as the fastening of her robe was undone. Seconds later, a current of cool air found newly exposed skin as the buttons of her gown came undone, one by one. Yennefer’s mouth had not strayed far, trailing heated kisses down the graceful column of her throat, and Tissaia readily tilted her head back, granting her more room to work.
A small whine of protest escaped her when the younger woman’s hands abandoned their task, but her objection was cut short when said hands eagerly settled on the curve of her hips, pulling her impossibly closer.
She felt a gentle tug at the hem of her gown, and she gasped softly as Yennefer’s fingers slipped beneath the fabric, bunching her skirts up to her knees and leaving trails of fire on bare skin.
There was hungry intent in the way her touch traveled up her legs, and Tissaia’s breath quickened, fingers curling around the other woman’s waist in anticipation as Yennefer traced and kneaded the soft flesh of her thighs, creeping higher, closer...
The knock on the door startled them both.
Without waiting for a response, the door swung open.
Both women froze when the intruder appeared at the threshold.
“Tissaia, the service for—” All the color drained from Triss’s face the moment she took in the scene before her. A furious blush quickly spread across her face. Clearly, she hadn’t expected Tissaia to have any visitors.
“Oh gods,” She squeaked, a flustered panic overtaking her features. “Yennefer, why —”
The redhead hastily spun on her heel, throwing a quick, stammered apology over her shoulder and promptly slamming the door behind her.
The loud thud reverberated in the sudden silence, and for a few seconds, both women remained motionless, listening to the muffled footsteps rapidly retreating down the hall over their labored breathing.
And then Yennefer let out a snort of laughter.
Her giggles swelled into full blown laughter, shoulders shaking as she turned to look at Tissaia — still sitting rigidly atop the desk, cheeks ablaze with a shade of crimson Yennefer had never seen on her before.
That only made her laugh harder.
Tissaia shot her a sharp look, half mortified, half indignant. But as the shock began to wear off and the absurdity of the situation settled in, the corners of her mouth twitched, and she let out a huff; a single incredulous chuckle.
Then another.
And then she was laughing too.
Not the polished, diplomatic chuckle she summoned during social functions or political gatherings to placate, to charm, to deflect. No, this was her laugh — genuine and full of warmth, ringing from her chest in a rich, melodic lilt.
Yennefer could count on one hand the number of times she'd heard it, and it was the kind of laugh that made Yennefer’s heart flutter giddily every time.
Leaning in, Yennefer rested her forehead against Tissaia’s, still trembling with the remnants of laughter. “I suppose we should’ve checked that the door was locked.”
Tissaia groaned. “I’ll never hear the end of this.”
“Oh, absolutely not,” Yennefer said, pulling back just enough to meet her eyes, one corner of her mouth quirking upward. “Your face was priceless. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you turn that shade of red.”
Her cheek earned her a light swat to the shoulder and an exasperated huff, which only widened her smirk.
“Insufferable.” Tissaia muttered, covering her face with both hands. “I won’t be able to look her in the eyes for at least a decade,”
Yennefer snorted. “You won’t have to. She’ll make herself scarce, trust me. You’ll be lucky if she ever enters this room again.”
That pulled a snort of amusement from Tissaia, but the humor of the moment was fading, and their laughter had dissolved into a somber silence — not uncomfortable, but heavy, leaving plenty of room for reflection.
Yennefer’s smile faded with it, and she reached for the older woman’s hand, gently threading their fingers together. “We should head down soon.”
Tissaia nodded slowly, the weight of the past several days that she’d momentarily forgotten settling back atop her shoulders like a shroud. Her eyes found the door and stayed there. She didn’t move.
Yennefer didn’t miss the way her expression dimmed, how her posture subtly stiffened again.
“You don’t have to go if you don’t want to.”
A forlorn little smile curled Tissaia’s lips. “I hadn’t planned to,” she admitted softly, “but you’ve snuck in and broken down my barriers, weakened my resolve... pulled me from the edge,”
There was a wryness to her voice when she spoke again, but it was not enough to mask the vulnerability that rested behind the words. “Is this how it’s always going to be between us? Back and forth, one saving the other?”
Yennefer hummed thoughtfully. “It does seem that way, doesn’t it?”
“I have to go.” Tissaia resolved, offering Yennefer a reassuring nod. “I want to.”
A few beats passed as Yennefer studied her carefully, searching for any trace of reluctance. Then, seemingly satisfied, Yennefer took a step back and nodded gently.
“Alright.” She held out a hand for the smaller woman as she gracefully slid off the desk. She gestured toward the door that led to her bedroom. “Come on then, let’s get you dressed.”
Tissaia hummed in agreement, releasing the younger woman’s hand to reach for the silver hairpin that had been discarded moments ago on the desk. But before her fingers could close around them, Yennefer grasped lightly at her arm, stilling her.
“Leave it down?” She asked gently, voice tentative.
Tissaia blinked, lifting a single incredulous eyebrow. “Why?”
Yennefer’s gaze searched her face. “Because… it softens you. Lets people see more of you — not the Rectoress, but the woman who cares, the one who hurts, who mourns.” Her hands had returned to the woman’s face, brushing a thumb in tender circles along her cheek. “Grief unravels us all. There’s no need to armor yourself in the wake of it.”
Tissaia hesitated, her chin trembling and her eyes slipping shut for a few fragile seconds. Her hand hovered over the pins a moment longer… then slowly fell away. She exhaled slowly through her nose. “Alright,”
It sounded like more of a surrender than an agreement, but a fierce pride swelled in Yennefer’s chest, a pride that only deepened when Tissaia emerged from her bedroom a few minutes later.
It was a strange contrast, seeing the Rectoress clad in one of her usual stiffly tailored gowns, hair unbound and falling freely past her waist — she had even forgone the high collar that usually accompanied her ensembles.
Meeting her in the middle of the room, Yennefer offered her arm. “Shall we?”
Tissaia slipped her hand into the crook of Yennefer’s elbow, giving a faint but deliberate squeeze. Blue eyes bore steadily, deeply into violet.
There were so many things she had planned to say; parting words carefully considered and revised, drafted and rewritten dozens of times in her mind.
But even perfectly annotated, it would have been incomplete. Abbreviated. The feelings were too vast — no matter how she shaped the words, ink and parchment could never capture the depth, the extent, the truth of them.
The version she spoke was cut short, but it was the heart of it all; the truest part.
“In a life I didn’t think had room for light, you’ve been the bright spot that’s always been able to reach me.”
She didn’t need ink and parchment to say it.
Yennefer would never read the letter, because in this new path forward, there wasn’t one.
There didn’t need to be.
Because everything she would have written could now be said aloud, in their own time and in full; not in carefully chosen phrases on a page, but in the late-night conversations, the moments of passion, the petty arguments and mended words — in the life they’d share.
And with this thought, the guilt, the despair, the insurmountable sorrow that had threatened to lead her down a much darker path felt bearable.