[ without any specific understanding of how it is she is changing, yennefer has nothing to hide when he looks at her more closely. she does not know what he sees, and a while a part of her feels the intensity of the stare, a stronger, fully part refuses to back down from it. there is something in her that he can't quite look away from, no matter if she is the one he wants or not. yennefer likes that feeling, likes his attention, when it's on her. likes the fact she can stop him, mid-step, with a single comment.
truthfully, she isn't sure exactly what she wants. she wants him to stay, but upon seeing him turn away, some part of her wants him to go, that wants her to have the chance to be alone in this room that she feels so intricately attached to. without her realizing it, she had begun to hope something in here may tell her who she is, who she was, if she had the time to find it. especially now that he won't give her any of that insight.
except that he does rise to meet her, does match that tension, and she can't help but be drawn to that. to the way he comes to meet her. the way he rises and falls like the tide. it's a bit addicting, in a way - to know that she can shift and he will shift with her. that, given the right words or wrong tension, she can pull a reaction from a man she is certain (though she's not exactly sure how) doesn't usually react to much. ]
I don't remember anything. [ she says, just as coolly as before. like some part of her wants to say it isn't special, that he isn't special, just because she doesn't remember him. (or maybe she means to say that she didn't mean to forget him at all, that more than anything she wants to remember him). because even while his voice is quiet, her's is still firm. still tense.
when you do he says, and yennefer feels that defensiveness rise in her again. this time, she's not confident from where - if it's the idea that he knows better and the tone at which he says it in, the fact that before anything she wants to say don't patronize me though a good part of her somehow knows he isn't. he reaches for the door to leave and yennefer watches him go, feeling some odd combination of vindication - that he is the one to leave, rather than her - and loss. always loss. why does the view of his back draw such a visceral feeling of it in her gut? if anything, she's glad he's got his back turned to her, so he won't have to see the way that feeling pulls an actual, visible reaction from her.
she won't say don't go. she won't. no matter how much she might feel the urge to. ]
I think I find martyrs quite boring, actually. [ she will say, either to his back, or to the closing door. whatever it is she finds meeting her.
yennefer has no intention of leaving this room, so if he will leave instead, it will give her time to investigate. to turn back to the few items, the limited furniture, the smell. she has things she wants to look into, things she needs to touch, to feel, to hopefully use to spark something. anything. because her memories are what is important, here, and this is the closest thing she's found to something familiar. ]
no subject
truthfully, she isn't sure exactly what she wants. she wants him to stay, but upon seeing him turn away, some part of her wants him to go, that wants her to have the chance to be alone in this room that she feels so intricately attached to. without her realizing it, she had begun to hope something in here may tell her who she is, who she was, if she had the time to find it. especially now that he won't give her any of that insight.
except that he does rise to meet her, does match that tension, and she can't help but be drawn to that. to the way he comes to meet her. the way he rises and falls like the tide. it's a bit addicting, in a way - to know that she can shift and he will shift with her. that, given the right words or wrong tension, she can pull a reaction from a man she is certain (though she's not exactly sure how) doesn't usually react to much. ]
I don't remember anything. [ she says, just as coolly as before. like some part of her wants to say it isn't special, that he isn't special, just because she doesn't remember him. (or maybe she means to say that she didn't mean to forget him at all, that more than anything she wants to remember him). because even while his voice is quiet, her's is still firm. still tense.
when you do he says, and yennefer feels that defensiveness rise in her again. this time, she's not confident from where - if it's the idea that he knows better and the tone at which he says it in, the fact that before anything she wants to say don't patronize me though a good part of her somehow knows he isn't. he reaches for the door to leave and yennefer watches him go, feeling some odd combination of vindication - that he is the one to leave, rather than her - and loss. always loss. why does the view of his back draw such a visceral feeling of it in her gut? if anything, she's glad he's got his back turned to her, so he won't have to see the way that feeling pulls an actual, visible reaction from her.
she won't say don't go. she won't. no matter how much she might feel the urge to. ]
I think I find martyrs quite boring, actually. [ she will say, either to his back, or to the closing door. whatever it is she finds meeting her.
yennefer has no intention of leaving this room, so if he will leave instead, it will give her time to investigate. to turn back to the few items, the limited furniture, the smell. she has things she wants to look into, things she needs to touch, to feel, to hopefully use to spark something. anything. because her memories are what is important, here, and this is the closest thing she's found to something familiar. ]