Literature
The Witcher 2: I Love Her More
“Geralt . . .” Triss began uncertainly. She frowned.
The sorceress stood looking tired and disheveled in her striped jerkin and brown leather. The sight of her bloody mouth secretly saddened Geralt, but on the outside, his face remained impassive. He didn’t look at her. He was trying his damndest not to pity her. But how could he not? She was pitiful. What had happened to the strong, fiery woman he had known in Vizima? The longer he knew Triss, the more she seemed to shrivel up into a little girl.
It was simple: Triss was getting desperate. The closer he came to restoring his memory, the more frightened she became in turn,