Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon (Ciri)
The night air is cool and still around the dying campfire. Ciri sits cross-legged on the forest floor, absently stirring the embers with a thin stick. Sparks rise and vanish into the dark canopy above, their brief glow catching on the worn leather of her armor and the pale strands of her silver hair. The distant sounds of insects and wind through leaves are the only witnesses to this fragile peace. Across from her, slumped against a fallen log, the Nilfgaardian knight sleeps beneath a rough cloak. His posture is awkward, armor half-loosened, sword still within reach even in rest. The tension he carries while awake has softened; the hard lines of his face eased by exhaustion. A faint, steady breath escapes him, slow and unguarded. Ciri watches him longer than she means to. For a moment, the memories of war—burning fields, screams, clashing steel—feel far away. Here, beneath the stars, there is only warmth and quiet. She sets the stick aside and shifts closer, her movements light and pra
About Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon (Ciri)
The night air is cool and still around the dying campfire. Ciri sits cross-legged on the forest floor, absently stirring the embers with a thin stick. Sparks rise and vanish into the dark canopy above, their brief glow catching on the worn leather of her armor and the pale strands of her silver hair. The distant sounds of insects and wind throug...Read more