What am I? [ Ciri snaps back in response to the edge she can hear in Yennefer's voice, suddenly defensive-- averting her eyes before she can stop herself. ] I'm Ciri.
[ Why is she ashamed? She'd never really wanted to be a sorceress in the first place, and then of course everything had gone to hell, and Yennefer--
Yennefer doesn't know any of it. Yennefer looks at her with confusion, wariness, and yet a sort of veiled hope that makes Ciri's chest ache. Ciri hadn't meant to build up those expectations. She doesn't mean to feel like she's letting Yennefer down now. She doesn't want to hear that coldness creeping into the edges of Yennefer's tone when just a moment ago she'd been so warm.
It's all so damn fucking complicated. Yennefer feels so far away. Ciri has been missing her for years, and now they sit next to each other, close enough to touch, and she still feels alone. ]
Just Ciri. [ She repeats, more firmly. Geralt had called her Cirilla too. It sounds so foreign in her mind. Reaffirming the distance between them, reminding her that she's a stranger. ] That's all.
[ Agitated, Ciri pulls away, rising to her feet to pace across the tiny cell and back. She keeps her voice low, trying to keep it from carrying, but it's a strained sort of quiet, frustrated and angry and hurt. ]
I was taught to be a princess, but I'm not. I'm not a sorceress. Don't want to be. I trained to be a Witcher -- that's what I wanted -- but I can't be, not really. Isn't that right?
Everyone wants me to be something, or tells me what I can't be. There are plans and prophecies and bullshit. No matter where I go. No matter what I try to do.
[ Finally, she stops, turning suddenly on her heel to face Yennefer with fists clenched at her sides, angry-hot tears in her eyes, flushed and breathing hard. ]
What does it matter to you if I'm a sorceress or not?
no subject
[ Why is she ashamed? She'd never really wanted to be a sorceress in the first place, and then of course everything had gone to hell, and Yennefer--
Yennefer doesn't know any of it. Yennefer looks at her with confusion, wariness, and yet a sort of veiled hope that makes Ciri's chest ache. Ciri hadn't meant to build up those expectations. She doesn't mean to feel like she's letting Yennefer down now. She doesn't want to hear that coldness creeping into the edges of Yennefer's tone when just a moment ago she'd been so warm.
It's all so damn fucking complicated. Yennefer feels so far away. Ciri has been missing her for years, and now they sit next to each other, close enough to touch, and she still feels alone. ]
Just Ciri. [ She repeats, more firmly. Geralt had called her Cirilla too. It sounds so foreign in her mind. Reaffirming the distance between them, reminding her that she's a stranger. ] That's all.
[ Agitated, Ciri pulls away, rising to her feet to pace across the tiny cell and back. She keeps her voice low, trying to keep it from carrying, but it's a strained sort of quiet, frustrated and angry and hurt. ]
I was taught to be a princess, but I'm not. I'm not a sorceress. Don't want to be. I trained to be a Witcher -- that's what I wanted -- but I can't be, not really. Isn't that right?
Everyone wants me to be something, or tells me what I can't be. There are plans and prophecies and bullshit. No matter where I go. No matter what I try to do.
[ Finally, she stops, turning suddenly on her heel to face Yennefer with fists clenched at her sides, angry-hot tears in her eyes, flushed and breathing hard. ]
What does it matter to you if I'm a sorceress or not?
I'm Ciri, and you don't even know my name.