"No," Ciri says too sharply and too quickly to invite an argument as she takes too long a stride between where she landed and deeper into the forest of ancient bones. After taking hurried steps into the shadow of a complete Anglosaurus exhibit, she turned and asked as she fiddled with the sigil around her neck.

"What is your mother's name?"

Don't let it be Cirilla, don't let Eredin be right that she had a child with the elder blood and doomed another innocent life to weigh the world's fate on such small hands.