[ the concept of waiting has always been an interesting thing for yennefer. back before godhood, because the decades turned to centuries turned to more, she had never been much good for it. it did not matter that sorcerers, back on her original continent, had extended lives. it did not matter that she, herself, had seen eighty years before she'd even known abraxas - because what is eighty years, compared to eight hundred?
the only difference is that patience had never been a simple for yennefer. it is something that has been forced upon her, something she has taken on out of necessity, rather than choice. it had been a required habit, something she learned to slip into, but that some part of her could never quite enjoy. in part, it feels like one of the few remaining connections she has to yennefer of vengerberg, before she became a herald, through and through. perhaps it is contrary, that the herald of change would cling to something of her old self, but- well.
waiting for change has always been difficult, will always be difficult, for all.
but waiting for cassian? she hates it, knowing that it will always come back again. that they have found themselves in a repetitive, repeating cycle of destruction and rebirth, of memories forgotten. some part of her wonders if the rush of this, if the enjoyment will ever lessen - but it has not, yet.
with the herald of the fettered on his knees before the herald of rebirth, their cycle begins again. yennefer watches him, his lips a light brush against her skin, his hands leaving stardust and constellations across her skin, and the very air around them shift. changes. eases in and out of what was old and what will be new, again. and he knows, perhaps better than most, who he is talking to when he gives her the option, the choice to be made.
her smile is sharp, is hungry, and so very, very pleased. ]
There might yet be time for both. [ is what she says, eventually, lifting her hand from his head. letting his hair slip through her fingers and relishing in the grounding feel of it. of him. ] But the bed, first. [ and then, to support her choice, she takes steps back away from him - never letting her eyes leave his, but moving with languid steps back towards the bed in question. ]
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the only difference is that patience had never been a simple for yennefer. it is something that has been forced upon her, something she has taken on out of necessity, rather than choice. it had been a required habit, something she learned to slip into, but that some part of her could never quite enjoy. in part, it feels like one of the few remaining connections she has to yennefer of vengerberg, before she became a herald, through and through. perhaps it is contrary, that the herald of change would cling to something of her old self, but- well.
waiting for change has always been difficult, will always be difficult, for all.
but waiting for cassian? she hates it, knowing that it will always come back again. that they have found themselves in a repetitive, repeating cycle of destruction and rebirth, of memories forgotten. some part of her wonders if the rush of this, if the enjoyment will ever lessen - but it has not, yet.
with the herald of the fettered on his knees before the herald of rebirth, their cycle begins again. yennefer watches him, his lips a light brush against her skin, his hands leaving stardust and constellations across her skin, and the very air around them shift. changes. eases in and out of what was old and what will be new, again. and he knows, perhaps better than most, who he is talking to when he gives her the option, the choice to be made.
her smile is sharp, is hungry, and so very, very pleased. ]
There might yet be time for both. [ is what she says, eventually, lifting her hand from his head. letting his hair slip through her fingers and relishing in the grounding feel of it. of him. ] But the bed, first. [ and then, to support her choice, she takes steps back away from him - never letting her eyes leave his, but moving with languid steps back towards the bed in question. ]