By now, she's figured it out. The visions, the monstrous illusions, the way others recoil at times when she touches them. She's realized she can do it on purpose. She's realized how much stronger it makes her feel.

The first time or two had been an accident; now, she lashes out, and when he shudders and gasps, caught in the distraction of the illusion, Ciri can feel the energy suffusing her body, power tingling through her limbs.

She summons a sword. It's cracked and chipped, clearly wrong, but it's better than nothing. The catlike beast snarls and jumps up to free itself, but Ciri takes advantage of it being caught even briefly. She comes in with a brutal swing from above, cleanly detaching its head from its body.

With the danger in a momentary lull (doors tightly shut, that creepy pink goo still trying to slither its way inside), Ciri rounds on her companion as he yells for a truce.

"Why? I don't even know who you are! What do you even want?"