[ The spring sun has finally grown warm enough that it's comfortable to lie out in the Singularity's crater. Julie could always exert magic if she really wanted to, make it always a midsummer's day even in the dead of winter, but the seasons are a way to track time. To let the plants rebirth themselves every year. Keep the animals on their natural cycles. To know when each year passes, so that everything isn't just a blur of sameness in her head.
She's been here for a while, it's clear — wisteria and honeysuckle have begun to climb the stony base of the Singularity, taller than she is. Jasmine perfumes the air around the monolith, the smaller white flowers peeking between the more colorful blooms and their crawling vines. Reclining against the side of the Singularity, Julie is lazily weaving tiny flower crowns. A handful to be taken back home, to the Horizon, with her, but also a stack that she is considering putting on the heads of squirrels in the forests closest to the mortals, just to laugh at their confusion. Who is making such small, intricate wreaths? Why are they crowning the squirrels? How many could they have possibly done (answer: a lot)? Perhaps she'll add tiny hats for the crows in autumn.
Everyone has their own hobbies.
When Geralt's mossy undergrowth meets her wildflowers, she rises with a grin and falls easily into the long-established custom; she runs through the grass until she is close enough to throw herself at him, arms wrapped around his neck. Maybe it seems dramatic, after all these years, but her excitement for his returns has never waned, one of the few clear memories she has from her earliest years in Abraxas. He comes and goes, and when he comes, the same flutter has been in her stomach for all the time she can account for, now and then.
Her fingers tangle into his hair when she kisses him with a muffled coo. Her own locks fall far down her back now, past her hips, half tied up with braids and dotted with small strings of pearls gifted to her by Nanaue. Still clinging to Geralt's neck, she breaks away just enough to speak with a soft laugh. ] Why be jealous when you're the one who gets benefits?
[ With another kiss and her hand on his cheek, she finally releases him to put her feet flat on the ground. She takes the snake with a murmur of adoration, and it's honest — Julie keeps everything her friends give her, and has for centuries. His carvings fill an entire wall of shelves by now, starting with a blocky little wolf she can't even recall receiving now. The snake will join the others once she returns to her domain. ]
Was the Dimming really so long ago? [ Her free hand slides along his arm, laces their fingers together. She has always refused to let the Dimming pass without ensuring he receives a gift, even though it's during his annual retreat into the snow. In the first years she was able to follow him easily, she would leave packages at the door, unsure if he was willing to see even her, and before she could travel that quickly, she would hide the gifts in secret compartments she made in Roach's tack, as if challenging him to find them. But now, she appears at his door on the night she can feel the Singularity most deeply quiet in her mind, crocuses sprouting around her in the snow as she knocks. One night, sometimes two, that she stays, then returns to her own realm of sunshine and vibrant colors for the rest of the winter.
She squeezes his hand, gives a teasing smile. ] At this rate, I'll barely have time to miss you before you come back down.
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She's been here for a while, it's clear — wisteria and honeysuckle have begun to climb the stony base of the Singularity, taller than she is. Jasmine perfumes the air around the monolith, the smaller white flowers peeking between the more colorful blooms and their crawling vines. Reclining against the side of the Singularity, Julie is lazily weaving tiny flower crowns. A handful to be taken back home, to the Horizon, with her, but also a stack that she is considering putting on the heads of squirrels in the forests closest to the mortals, just to laugh at their confusion. Who is making such small, intricate wreaths? Why are they crowning the squirrels? How many could they have possibly done (answer: a lot)? Perhaps she'll add tiny hats for the crows in autumn.
Everyone has their own hobbies.
When Geralt's mossy undergrowth meets her wildflowers, she rises with a grin and falls easily into the long-established custom; she runs through the grass until she is close enough to throw herself at him, arms wrapped around his neck. Maybe it seems dramatic, after all these years, but her excitement for his returns has never waned, one of the few clear memories she has from her earliest years in Abraxas. He comes and goes, and when he comes, the same flutter has been in her stomach for all the time she can account for, now and then.
Her fingers tangle into his hair when she kisses him with a muffled coo. Her own locks fall far down her back now, past her hips, half tied up with braids and dotted with small strings of pearls gifted to her by Nanaue. Still clinging to Geralt's neck, she breaks away just enough to speak with a soft laugh. ] Why be jealous when you're the one who gets benefits?
[ With another kiss and her hand on his cheek, she finally releases him to put her feet flat on the ground. She takes the snake with a murmur of adoration, and it's honest — Julie keeps everything her friends give her, and has for centuries. His carvings fill an entire wall of shelves by now, starting with a blocky little wolf she can't even recall receiving now. The snake will join the others once she returns to her domain. ]
Was the Dimming really so long ago? [ Her free hand slides along his arm, laces their fingers together. She has always refused to let the Dimming pass without ensuring he receives a gift, even though it's during his annual retreat into the snow. In the first years she was able to follow him easily, she would leave packages at the door, unsure if he was willing to see even her, and before she could travel that quickly, she would hide the gifts in secret compartments she made in Roach's tack, as if challenging him to find them. But now, she appears at his door on the night she can feel the Singularity most deeply quiet in her mind, crocuses sprouting around her in the snow as she knocks. One night, sometimes two, that she stays, then returns to her own realm of sunshine and vibrant colors for the rest of the winter.
She squeezes his hand, gives a teasing smile. ] At this rate, I'll barely have time to miss you before you come back down.