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The red light of the setting sun as it enters fiery through the window serves as a mere accessory before her beauty, a frame to fit around her and set her ablaze.
Jaskier's breath hitches.
A witch, he thinks, standing at the door as he watches her slip on her earrings for the ball in Thanedd, for her wicked glance through the mirror could mean nothing else but a silent spell to make his knees weak and his heart race and his mind blurry. The sun hits his eyes, or it could be the red of her lips, and he swallows.
"That's enough magic for today, witch," he says, although his voice trembles ever so lightly.
Yennefer smirks, presses her lips together in front of the mirror. "Magic? There is no magic, bardling." Her tone is indifferent but he knows better than that, as well as he knows he's past falling for any spell of hers. It didn't work the first time, and it never would.
This is no spell.
Yet there is something different in her eyes, something that was not there yesterday. A kind of shadow that runs deeper than what he has already known. Secret, unfamiliar. He doesn't ask. Because she notices at once the line between his brows and fails to hide behind her reflection.
He would be proud of seeing through her once more if he was not afraid.
Yennefer doesn't speak. She only clears her throat and lowers her head, as though she can't bear looking at him through the glass, so fragile and deceiving. Instead, her hand creeps down a box in the dresser, and she wraps her fingers around something he can't yet discern. Her knuckles turn white. A peculiar dread suddenly makes his limbs numb.
She never holds on to anything with such might.
At last, she turns around and walks up to him, still avoiding his eyes but keeping her head high nonetheless, and takes hold of his hand. Her grip is almost bruising. He doesn't mind.
She pries his fingers open, and something cold fits inside his palm. He looks at it, eyes wide. A ring.
Before he has time to wonder, Yennefer speaks with ease as though to dismiss it. "I wanted you to have this." He meets her eyes, then, and they speak with a tone much more desperate than her voice. Much more regretful.
Confused, almost out of breath, he tries to see. "Why?" There is an ache in his chest, painfully familiar. An ache of forthcoming grief that has not yet settled, but makes its place quietly in the corner previously molded in the shape of her hand. At once, he knows. "You are leaving."
Somehow, he always knows when they are leaving.
Yennefer chuckles silently, her voice choked. "No, I'm..." Swallows. "Just a strange feeling, is all." He wants to fall on his knees, beg, ask, understand. Instead, he tilts his head bewildered. She takes a sharp breath, her voice suddenly firm. "That's all."
Her hand is still holding his, and she makes to pull away, but he catches her. Inside his hand, he feels her fingers shaking, cold. Alas, they are never cold.
Give the ring back. A way to persuade her, perhaps, to keep her close or to avoid a promise that will only tear him apart. But suddenly, her eyes blaze like fire, almost like a threat or a promise in despair. Of course. She was never bound to stay.
His grip on her hand eases to no more than a caress, and he sighs. "Gods, Yennefer." Resigned, fond all the same. Not accusing, never. "What are you planning?"
"Nothing." She looks at him straight, as though she wants him to pry the answer from inside her eyes. Then, she shakes her head. "Just forget it."
"Yennefer–"
Suddenly, her lips on his, fierce, and it's as though the setting sun drags him down along as his knees give in. It's bittersweet. He knew it would be bittersweet. And yet he can't help but whimper silently and run his hand through her hair and kiss her deeper, just for a moment, and then it is over quickly so that they won't miss it as much.
As they stare at each other, they know it doesn't matter. They will.
Her eyes are watery, a lake he wants to drown in, if it means he can stay there forever. A lake he wishes he could just carry her away from, and see her smile.
She cups his face in her hand and he has to hold his breath so as not to lean into the touch. "The ring. Don't you dare ever give it back to me." Her voice emerges steady among the tears she swallows.
Heart already missing her warmth, he nods.
A promise, then. We will meet again. He won't give it back when they do.
He will only hope.