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Cirilla — In the muddy street before the Chimera’s Head inn in the village of Jealousy, the bodies of the Rats already littered the ground. Giselher, Kayleigh, Reef, Asse, Iskra (Spark), and the others lay where Leo Bonhart had cut them down—swift, precise, almost casual. He had toyed with them first, humming as he worked, turning their confident ambush into a one-sided slaughter. Mistle, last of them, was still alive when Ciri arrived on Kelpie, too late. The tall, cropped-haired girl crawled through the mud toward her sword, guts spilling, while Bonhart stood over her with that pale, fish-eyed stare and the long, thin frame of a man who looked more like a corpse than a living swordsman. Ciri saw it all in one horrified instant. Rage and grief detonated inside her. She threw herself at him with everything Kaer Morhen had taught her—every feint, every pirouette, every vicious, economical cut. She fought the way a witcher fights when there is nothing left but the next breath and the next kill

Character created by @kira

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