The air hung heavy with the intoxicating aftermath of indulgence, and in the dimly lit chamber, the only audible symphony was the rhythmic pulsing of her throbbing head.
Each heartbeat seemed to echo through her temples, a relentless reminder of the revelry that had unfolded hours before.
With a soft, involuntary moan, she attempted to shoo away the intrusive cacophony that assaulted her senses.
A banging echoed through the room.
As her consciousness wrestled against the veil of intoxication, she found herself entangled in a sea of sheets that clung to her like a memory refusing to fade.
The ambient glow of flickering candles revealed the aftermath of a night marked by indulgence and excess.
Her tousled hair, a cascade of unruly curls, framed her face like a dishevelled halo.
The remnants of a once-immaculate silk dress clung to her form, precariously hanging from one shoulder and draped elegantly around her legs.
The room, adorned with opulent tapestries and shadowed alcoves, seemed to spin in tandem with her foggy consciousness.
She squinted, her eyes reluctantly adjusting to the dancing flames that cast flickering shadows across the chamber.
As if the gods themselves conspired to deepen her disorientation, the door of her chamber yielded to an unseen force, swinging open with a resounding thud.
The intrusion was as sudden as it was unwelcome, and she recoiled against the pillows, vulnerable and disoriented.
In the doorway, a silhouette emerged, framed by the ambient darkness from the hallway beyond.
Nefeli's breath caught in her throat, a sharp gasp escaping as though the air itself had been stolen from her lungs.
Her eyes widened, reflecting the flickering candlelight in pools of sheer horror and disbelief.
Nefeli's confusion was replaced by a mask of raw astonishment.
The room, once suspended in a state of inebriated stillness, now crackled with an unexpected tension that hung in the air like static electricity.
The ominous creak of the door slamming against the wall echoed through the chamber.
In the doorway, fury personified stood the White Wolf.
His customary stoic demeanour was obliterated, replaced by an unbridled fury that radiated from every pore.
Dishevelled strands of white hair framed a face etched with lines of righteous anger, and his piercing eyes bore into her with an intensity that seemed to pierce through the hazy veil of her lingering intoxication.
Clad in his signature all-black leathers, the Witcher's presence was an imposing silhouette against the backdrop of the dimly lit room.
The leather creaked softly as he took a step forward, the weight of his anger palpable in the charged atmosphere.
Nefeli, caught in the crossfire of his wrath, instinctively retreated, her previously carefree demeanour replaced by an uneasy vulnerability.
As their eyes locked in a collision of emotions, she felt an invisible force wrap around her, squeezing her heart with an icy grip.
Geralt, once the embodiment of stoic composure, stood in the doorway transformed into a living wild storm.
Fury, a raging inferno, consumed him, and his very presence crackled with the electric charge of unrestrained wrath.
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the angels hidden blade
FanfictionNefeli, or "Cupid", as the infuriating beast likes to call her, has never been wanted at anyone's side, and she sure as hell has never been loyal to a single soul. The stoic and fierce Vesemir bled the ability out of her, just as he tainted her blo...
