Afraid Not

"If we are to use you as bait to lure our possessed Witcher here to Kaer Morhen, do you understand what that entails?"

Jaskier nods, but he remains quiet. A slight tremor works its way into his right hand, and Yennefer smirks at its appearance.

The sorceress scoffs faintly, and she approaches him. There is something in her violet eyes, like a spark that proceeds the wildfire it causes as she comes close, her voice growing low and sharp.

"He will hunt you," Yennefer whispers, as though she is reciting some sort of spell, bewitching as she is sardonic, "You cannot hide from him. You cannot outrun him. You cannot overpower him."

Jaskier swallows, but he does not waiver. Not even as Yennefer begins to circle him.

Despite the tears in her dress and the dirt that clings to her form, she remains as entrancing as ever. It's as though she's a fever dream Jaskier can only spot from the corners of his eyes.

Her words come to Jaskier like a mirage, a silhouette muddled in fog. The only solid sensation coming from her being the race her words bring to his heart.

"You will be at the Witcher's mercy."

That should scare Jaskier.

But it doesn't.