[Gods what a world he describes. The more she learns the less she likes. Better for him to be here than there. Though who is she to say? The world has never been tender nor sweet. There's always a bitterness. A price.]

Take heart. Those that live are the last. Kaer Morhen was sacked and the elixirs and potions used for the Trial of the Grasses has become a lost art. Or so they say. Man must solve the problem on their own. Or cry to the likes of you and I.

[Both battling. Though right now all she can think of is how miraculous Geralt's existence is, how somehow his bloodline will thrive.]

When we touched you felt a transference. If what I saw was parts of you, you then must have seen parts of me.