#But I also kind of think the townspeople just stay in the shield. For safety reasons. So I'm not sure.

[asjjohnson]

Ta-da—I've finished the first part of this holiday Danny Phantom ghost story. Which I'd thought of the idea for last year just after Christmas.

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Phantom stepped into his lair and the glowing green portal vanished behind him.

It had been a good day—tiring, but good. For him, that was.

With a practiced ease, he turned and flopped onto a large melted stump of a stalagmite, as though flopping onto a couch, and put his arms comfortably behind his head.

Valerie may have erected that shield of hers, but he had other methods of getting his fun.

Today he'd blasted an impassable trench all along the circumference of Amity Park. A canyon surrounded by jagged metal.

No one would be able to enter or leave.

It might've been too late to stop Amity Park from having their food and gifts, but their celebrations would be tainted by foreboding. The knowledge of his blockade, of their days of plenty soon transitioning into dwindling supplies and starvation.

A different type of ruin and destruction.

A grin stretched across his face as he imagined it.

But the thought was cut short. An uncomfortable tickle of vapor brushed through his nose and triggered a gasp.

He tensed, and pushed himself up on one elbow, eyes narrowing as he scanned his shadowed surroundings.

His lair was a large cavern, dimly lit by a sourceless glow. The floors were littered with chunks of broken cave formations that he’d left lying after having blasted them apart.

Nothing looked out of place. He saw no movement, and heard only a slow drip of water from the cave ceiling.

No one could enter his lair. He knew this. There were no entrances or exits other than through his own portals.

It must not have been his Ghost Sense after all, but instead a thread of cold air passing by to tickle his nose, or else indigestion.

He shouldn’t have eaten that blob ghost earlier.

He rubbed his nose in annoyance and laid back down.

But he still felt uneasy. A feeling of paranoia, of an imagined something watching.

Simply the idea of someone else being in his personal lair bothered him. It was a place formed from his inner essence. Even he didn’t understand what a cave could mean to him. But, whatever it did mean, it was something deeply personal that he didn’t want to share. A look into his core.

It was a long several minutes before the subject faded from his mind. He began to doze, insubstantial wisps of pleasant dreams pulling him toward sleep and energy recovery. His own laughter. Valerie's face. Jagged metal.

His ear twitched and he started awake before the dreams fully took hold.

There was a noise—very faint, but unnatural to his lair.

It echoed along his walls and ceilings, making it hard to pinpoint the direction.

He stood. And waited. Ectoplasm pumped through his limbs, preparing for a possible confrontation.

The noise grew steadily louder. It was now possible to make out two distinct sounds: the high clinging of chains, and a grating noise of something scrapping against rock.

Then—it was to his left. He spun around.

There, nearly invisible, with glimmering chains draped over his shoulders, was the ghostly form of Vlad Plasmius.

His chest constricted with the shock. "You're gone!" He pushed off of the floor and away from the figure, firing a Ghost Ray straight through its middle. The ray slammed into the far wall. Not even a chain link shifted. An intangiblility that somehow felt unnatural, even for a ghost. He fired again. "You no longer exist!" Another Ghost Ray. "You're a hallucination! You aren't real!"

The figure remained unmoving, hovering with his hands clasped behind his back—visible through his translucent torso. He raised one eyebrow. "Are you quite done, Daniel?"

"What are you?!" Phantom shouted.

"You already know."

It didn't make sense. Plasmius couldn't exist, Phantom had destroyed him a long time ago, the ghost had been completely absorbed.

This figure couldn't be real. It had to be his mind playing tricks on him, or a dream, or a ghost who had followed him through his portal—maybe Amorpho.

But the fear coursing through him said otherwise—said this was the spirit of Plasmius back from oblivion, somehow pulled from his own core. A face he had been certain he would never see again. It couldn't be true. Instinctively, the repercussions of such a thing terrified him. Absolutely and completely.

"You couldn't have at least decorated the place?" the figure asked. "Perhaps some Packers memorabilia? A few pennant banners along the ceiling goes a long way."

Phantom sneered, pushing the fear to the side. "You have no say concerning my lair."

The figure somehow seemed amused by the words.

Phantom glanced at the long chains trailing down to and across the floor. "As though your taste in decoration is any better. What did you do, decide to carry the ruins of your mansion with you?" Broken pieces of gray brick and assorted other objects hung from the chain links like a giant charm bracelet.

The figure looked down at himself. He unclasped his hands and lifted his arms to either side, chains and objects clanking noisily and grinding across the cave floor with the movement.

The figure remained with his arms stretched wide, gazing at Phantom, as though inviting Phantom to examine the chains he wore.

The objects on the chains continued to sway. Broken pieces of gray brick. Books—one with a stylized ghost on the cover, and one with the year 1981 printed across it, but also other books. Cracked picture frames and photos. Quarters—a lot of dangling quarters. Test tubes stained with dried ectoplasm. Small bones, as though from animals. Broken machinery—computer monitors, an incomplete ring of metal that resembled a small Fenton Portal. A red fabric mask. A shredded white t-shirt. A pair of metal gauntlets. And so much more.

"These are the failings I'd gathered in life," Plasmius said. "I carry these burdens with me. My guilt."

Phantom snorted in disbelief. "How is the money a failing?" The coins still looked perfectly usable. He continued to idly run his eyes across the chains. There were also papers and folders—business contracts and deeds. And his eye caught the gleam of a small, familiar ring.

Plasmius's face twisted in hate, his eyes glowing a brighter red.

Phantom unconsciously drifted backward, the fear again coming to the forefront.

Plasmius loudly rattled the chains and screamed, "I wish I had never deceitfully gained one cent! I was a fool! I had traded away everything that mattered!"

The horrible sound of the rattling chains gradually died down and Phantom uncovered his ears, not remembering having covered them.

Plasmius still wore a glare, but he now talked at a normal volume. "You have done much more than I have. Your chains are ten times this long, not counting the ones you have inherited."

For a moment, Phantom imagined he could feel the invisible weight. Imaginary heaviness across his shoulders, and pushing him down toward the floor. Chains from Vlad Masters, Danny Fenton, and from the years of his current existence.

All of the steel beams and other debris surrounding Amity Park, trailing behind him like a king's long coronation robe.

Phantom crossed his arms. "That's ridiculous."

"You say that, but you worry for your fate. Your soul is uneasy. A child realizing there are consequences to his actions, fearing his Father's punishment—"

"I am not a child!" Phantom shouted.

"You will be visited by three spirits—"

"No! You aren't real! None of this is real!"

"Daniel!"

The name was said so firmly, so whiplike, the equivalent of a grounding slap, that Phantom snapped his mouth shut.

"You will be visited by three spirits tonight," Plasmius said. "Your participation is not optional. You will listen to them, go anywhere they want you to go, and observe whatever they want you to observe."

"Do you count as one of the three?" Phantom grumbled.

"You know how the story goes. Three visitors in addition to myself."

"So I'm basically in one of those Scrooge movies."

Plasmius slowly grew more transparent. "You know that isn't the title of the story." His voice grew quieter, fading.

"How would you know whether I do or not," Phantom said to himself. He could never remember the official title.

Plasmius was gone.

Phantom hovered alone in the empty cave chamber.

He whispered, "Bah. Humbug."

[missingartist]

The Witcher’s Mate Chapter Four

The noise in the tavern was loud, but even with all the rampant rodgaring and laughing Adva was very sure of what she heard.

‘Dwarven Spit?’ She blinked down at him, confused.

‘You are Adva, aren’t you?’ Geralt eyes piercing through her as she nodded dumbly. ‘Well, then I require Dwarven Spit to make the Thunderbolt potion.’ The Witcher spoke clearly, tilting his head as he observed her.

‘Of course, I do, I have some Thunderbolt already prepared, Lord Fagen wanted it for his men when they first tried to kill the beast.’

‘Hmmm,’ Geralt observed her once again. It was the first clear view he had got off the being that’s scent overwhelm him.

The women would barely come up to his chest; perhaps 5ft5, making him over a foot shorter than him, his mind couldn’t help but wonder about how his large body would cage hers as he moved over her, how easy he could manipulate her body with his massive form, consume her, possess her. But also how pretty she would look over him, riding him, his hands guiding her as she did, lush, full lips parted as she screamed and moaned, eyes wild. Adva had sparkling blue eyes, dark like the ocean in a storm, with flecks of silver waived through them, emotion breaming, that gave everything but revealed nothing. Her face was soft and pale, a healthy cream with a natural flush that travelled around her cheeks and down her neck, that peeked out over her flimsy blouse. Even under the ill-fitted garments that wrapped her, he could see a pear-shaped body, broad hips and narrow waist leading up to pert breasts. Easily a handful to play with as she rode him or to fondle as he pounded her from behind. Then there was her hair, dark brown hair in loose ringlets that faded into a dark gold, which would look attractive wrapped around his fingers as he was buried inside her or sprawled across his pillow or bounces side to side as she rode on the back of Rouche. Even in his fogged haze, there was a brief moment of comparison between Adva and Yennefer, Yennefer with her purples eyes and sweet scent, slim body, full breast and quick wit against the plump body of innocent Adva, flower of a merchant trading town with her shy glances and tender smile.

‘A healer, alchemist and a tavern maid… not something I would expect in a trading town. But not all trading towns have rampant Griffins wondering about.’ Geralt pondered, taking a hearty gulp of strong-smelling mead.

‘Griffian…why would it be a Griffin?’ Adva questioned. The half-bird, half-cat creature did not have toxic claws or attack random towns, hell the town was not even near any mountains, she supposed that the nest could have been attacked or robbed but why it was terrifying this town, why now?

‘Sit down… eat with me.’ Geralt ordered, cutting into the lamb in front of him.

Adva hesitated, she didn’t want to sit down the Witcher, that dull throb was back between her eyes and her body ached, all over, but the glare that Vivian sent across the room to her forced her to sit across from him. Vivian was kind mistress but a harsh businesswoman, she took care of her own, but business was business and gods help anyone who stopped her getting coin. Geralt hacked off several thick bits of meat and tossed then to a side plate that he pushed towards her. Blood oozed from the meat, the buttery smell mixed with the lemon and rosemary causing her mouth to salivate. When had she last eaten? Honestly she couldn’t remember. Edgerly, she took a slice in her hand and started to devour it, the flavour burst in her mouth and she gave a satisfied moan, she felt like a beggar who had been given her first meal in months. Poking her plush pink tongue from between her lips Adva licked greedily at every drop of the salty meat juices, only to find the White Wolf staring darkly at her causing a tingle of some unknown feeling to surge through her. An embarrassed flush rose from her neck and turned her a rich shade scarlet.

Geralt watched as the blushed travelled across her chest with a vast degree of pleasure, the hum of magic throbbed intensely in the air, he had never been on for tales of romance especial those of soul mates, but he made been a Witcher for many years and seen the power of them between the humans but for Witchers were just tales romanticised by people like Jaskier. There was an attraction, something he had never felt before not even with Yennefer. This woman was not even his type, too virginal and shy, bookish even. She was eye-catching for sure, could make a fair bit of coin in a place like this, or at least marry well; instead, she hid in the kitchen. Geralt was sure she could even persuade Lord Fagan to send her to train with the best mages in the world, yet here she stood cooking his meal, looking dead on her feet. Why?

For a while, Geralt busied himself with devouring his meal, he had too stopped himself from moaning with every bite he took, while his companion sat fidgeting in her seat. It couldn’t be helped that his mind filtered back to his naughty daydreams, how she would squirm under him as he slowly.

‘How do you know it was a Griffin? I thought they only lived high on the mountains?’ the healer asked quietly.

‘Because I am a Witcher, its what I do.’

There were several more moments of silence as Geralt demolished the leg of lamb, the girl staying almost perfectly still, like a poor little mouse who had caught the eyes of a passing snake and froze to the spot praying that the reptile would continue passing by.

‘Know much about Griffins? Doesn’t seem the sort of thing that a small-town girl would know. I don’t think parents would approve of a sweetling flower knowing that.’ Geralt questioned as he pushed the plate away, leaning back against the cool stone wall.

Adva observed him for a moment in silent contemplation; she had nothing to hide but her questions made her uneasy. Did the Witcher believe that she was hiding something? Adva had not even considered that the Witcher might want to investigate her, perhaps what was what the strange feeling that overcomes her, some Witcher power to make suspect reveal the truth. That was it, no other explanation for it. If she told him what he wanted this feeling would lift, and the man would move on with his hunt and leave her alone.

‘I was abandoned as a toddler, so I really don’t think they would care. I apprenticed with Tradi for a brief time and now I help the Lady Cersi if she requires. I have learnt a lot from both.’ Adva softly spoke, trying not to twitch under the intense, unblinking gaze of the man.

‘Apprentice to the Great Tradi of Browdon such an honour.’ Geralt replied in a dry tone, Adva did not know to take it for sarcasm or not. ‘Hard to see why a hard-working maid would no longer be in his service?’ he uttered leaning forward in his seat, his face close enough to fell it hot puffs against his skin.

‘Lord Fagen didn’t like his treatment of those in his care and saw fit to move me, I end up here. Vivian housed me from the orphanage.’ Adva stated in a matter of fact, pushing her back against the chair in a bid to create enough space as possible between them.

‘Why not sent you to train you at the Guild of Sorcerers.‘

‘I assumed he isn't want to waste their time with someone with weak magic.’ Adva bit out, not going to the guild had never bothered her, she saw herself as nothing special, and she didn’t have a desire for power or gilded palaces being waited on hand and foot, it was tone in which he spoke, cold and with hidden meaning.

‘I find that hard to believe; someone could use nettles and rosemary to fight off a vicious toxin seems like a powerful individual to me.’ Geralt raised an eyebrow, noting the hum around her had become agitated as it fizzled and popped nervously.

Adva shrugged and remained silent, trying to avoid the scrutiny of his eyes. Whatever spell the gold eyes where wielding she wanted to end, it was consuming her, gnawing at her bones. Her skin was beginning to itch and prickle like from some fevered heat.

‘Or perhaps the noble Lord of Brightwater wanted you to himself, Madam Vivian seems to the intent of selling your virginity to the highest bidder, that if you even still have it. I can't imagine anyone staying pure in a place like this ’ Geralt prodded.

It had all become too much, the look, the magic, the feeling creeping through her bones, fizzled and popped and it took all her control not to surge her power and pin him to wall and kick him square in the pants or kiss him, but she just enough grip on her sanity to raise elegantly from her seat and smiled ‘I will retrieve your Thunderbolt potion Sir; I’m sure you will want to get on with your hunt so you can collect your gold.’ Adva puffed out and marched her way back to the safety of the kitchen.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Geralt stalked through the streets, silver shield in hand, Jaskier cowering behind him, his only weapon a quill held in shaky hands. All the townspeople were barricaded in their homes — no sign of the creature. Geralt cursed under his breath as he made his way down a darkened alley, the scent of Adva still clung to his clothes, lingered on his skin, it was the faintest of traces but still enough to get him harder than steel, battling a monster was hard enough, but with a cock as hard as steel was enough to make him want to kill every man in sight. In the tavern, he had received several offers after Adva left, but the smell of her made it impossible too even consider the offers. It was like trying to persuade some to have a piece of bread after tempting them with a juicy roast. A hushed voice broke Geralt path of though. Elvish if he was not mistaken.

‘Is that Elvish?’ Jaskier asked scribbling frantically on his parchment.

‘Hmm,’ Geralt frowned.

The Witcher inched closer to a yard that seemed to be the source of the voice. The building was a little way off the main street, at the back of a large building. The Whitchers golden eye found a significant gap in the wooden fence and eyed the yard. It seemed to be a builders yard, field with scraps of metal and wood, large crates lay scattered around a cellar door. A figure stood behind a box as he mumbled obscure words, producing an ominous grey cloud. The medallion around his neck began to vibrate fiercely against his chest. Dark magic hmmm, would explain the toxic claws of the creature. Jaskier leaned against Geralt sword arm as he perched to look through the gap as well, earning a dark look from his friend. The man continued his spell for several moments till with a flourish he stepped forward and released a catch on the celler door.

‘Isn't that Tradi… what's he doing with that book?’ Jaskier whispers as a deafening crash broke through the yard. A magnificent Griffin broke through the doors, hovering silently above the man's head staring deadly ahead at the man, a grey cloud absorbed itself into the creature whose eyes turned a murderous red but remained still hovering in the air. Waiting.

‘We have waste to much time; the Witcher has arrived. Kill Adva; I don’t care if you have to drag her out the whorehouse. Take her far from here and dispose of her. I will follow and take her book. Kill any person you see. This is my command.’ Tradi spat, snapping the book closed before disappearing into the night as the creature screeched into the air.

‘Fuck’ xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The night was quiet; the tavern had long fallen into silence apart from the odd giggling woman or the occasional thud of someone moving in the rooms above. The moon hung high in the inky black of the sky, illuminating the workshop. Adva worked tirelessly in the silvery light, even in the near darkness her eyes could make out every mark she penned in the large book in front of her, the young woman eyes only leaving the stiff pages of the old book to carefully eye the brewing potion on the hearth. The concoctions needed careful and constant attention which was enough to keep the women from her rest, though her eyes were heavy with the want of sleep. Honestly, she couldn’t remember when she had slept last but she couldn’t, that itch clunge to her skin, it gave her restless energy. Damn that Witcher and his strange magic.

Resting the quill in ink, she stretched, feeling the soft clicked of her tired joints. Standing she tended to the cauldron and checked the various herbs that were drying and added more of her secret elixir to the leathers soaking in the trough she had cared away in the stone floor. Her room was a converted scullery, a crooked room, far away from everything, drafty and damp but it allowed her privacy to study, the room held a small selection of books, mostly one she had managed to buy cheaply from passing booksellers, some gifts from Cersi and Lord Fagen. The Lord of Brightwater had been very generous in her education. It would not be dawn for a good few hours, and the potion was coming along nicely but slowly, she could make use of the next few hours and start replenishing the various wares she sold or organising her ingredients but instead, she pours herself a glass of weak tea and sat herself back in the worn chair, it squeaking and squalling in protest as she did so as she picked up her quill and began to frantically glide her nib against the yellowed pages. Adva had written no more than a half-page when a muffled cry broke through the silent night air. She could feel every hair stand to attention and the impending dread fill her body. Standing shakily, Adva moved to the small window in her room; it was only a couple of inches high and just peaked across the ground in front of the tavern. The only thing to be seen as the gentle grass dancing in the soft breeze and the shining eyes of two rabbits that had broken cover in the night to hunt for food.

Tentatively, she pulled open the squeaky door, cursing as its sound cut through the night's air. Casting her eyes about, the landscape looked calm and tranquil only the gentle breeze was felt. Then another cry caught her attention. It was faint but in the silences of the night sounded as if it had been screamed. ‘Hello?’ Adva called out into the night, nothing or no one answered.

The bush in front of her shivered in the night, rustling as if something thrashed gentle from within. Adva advanced carefully; her eyes wandered the landscape. Peering over the dark fern leaf to see a large pair of red eyes glaring back of her. Time was still, she wasn’t sure how long she stood looking at these glowing eyes, she wanted to scream but her voice caught in her throat. A thousand thoughts raced through her mind; she could run, hide, scream or shout, throw a blast of magic or a rock. All of the thoughts faded into black as the creature growled and slowly slid forward. A glistened claw snapped out and clamped down on her waist; the tip of the claws pierced her skin.

The bird-like creature launched into the air, jerking her arm as it lurched into the air, her legs flailed helplessly in the air, and the ground disappeared from underneath her, eyes struggling to focus on something, anything. Pure evil seeped from the bird and fizzled against her skin; it felt wrong and dark. Her other hand clawed at its talons, her fingertips stinging as the sharp edge sliced into them, as she tried blindly to free herself in the face of the burning wind that attacked her face. After what felt like an eternity, the creatures movements halted as it let out a mournful cry releasing her from its steely grip. A soundless cry left her lips as she plummeted to the ground, her body jolted as it made contact with something solid. Opening her eyes, she came face to face with Geralt of Rivia, or at least that looked like him; deep black veins covered his face that was now a sickly white.

Adva didn’t have time to react before she was dropped onto her feet and the Witcher removed his blade from behind his back swinging it a deadly swish as it cut through the air. The beast was ensnared by a thick silver chain, that it struggled and strained against, she could hear the chain groaning with every pull. Reality began seeping in; the Griffin had tried to kill her and still might. The creature burst free, shards of silver ricocheted across the field, the feathered cat wiggled its wings as it launched for the Witcher. The fight was a ballet, elegant forces as he twirled and darted across the grass, the roar of the bird and the swish of the sword-singing as it slashed against the talons. The travelling bard appeared from nowhere shouting encouragement as he rushed over her side. ‘Yes, Geralt! Saving the damsel in distress. This will make a brilliant Ballard.’ The young man gushed at her.

Adva felt her grip loosening on what was happening; it felt like a nightmare. One minute she was caring for a young child in the healer's hut than being interrogated by a Witcher who was now suddenly defending her with his life, his own personal bard shouting his praise from the sidelines. When her brain was finally able to catch up she found Geralt being throw again a tree. A wave of angry surged through her as his body splintered through the young tree, and the breast roared around as it charged around at the two petrified companions. In her angry Adva body reacted in a way it had never done before, she forced her hand to waved over the ground and summoned a ball of water that gurgled and thrashed as it ranged in the air, without a second thought she threw the ball toward the cat-like creature. The creature flew back with a terrible screech.

Geralt readied himself its time to see the monster being pushed back with a bone crashing force of a ball of water. Adva stood in front of Jaskier or Jaskier coward behind her as the women eyes glowed a bright blue. The creature choked back water as its great talons scraped along the stones as in a deadly threat. Without a though, Geralt brought sword up above his head and sliced into the beast's wing, causing it to collapse on the floor then with lightning speed thrust his sword true to pierce the heart of the possessed creature, watching it sink to the ground.

With a grunt Geralt moved slowly he watched as her eyes returned back to normal, the aura around her was clear and bright, throbbing with energy and vigour, she smiled wearily at him which Geralt couldn’t help but smile back. There was a nervousness that took over her aura as her hand rung out in front of her. As he approached her mouth opened several times but no voice spoke out. ‘You have got to teach me that…’ Jaskier panted out. ‘…Will come in useful when Geralt runs off.’

‘Water Manipulation is a rare talent among Mages…unheard of in healer.’ Geralt grunted.

Before Adva had time to reply a smash caught her attention, turning her head to observed her house in the distance, a bright yellow glow shone through the thin window of her room. Even in the pain that stung her side she was well aware she had not left any candles burning, she never did, her eyes were well adapted to the dark. Another hideous clattered sounded out and she flung herself up the verge the beast had carried her down and back into her room.

Standing at her desk the Mage Tradi stood gripping a book from her shelves, starring angry at its pages. His hair was damp from sweat that glued his wavey mane to his forehead and neck. His green obs were wild and murderous as they turn to look up.

‘Is this it? Is this your book? Where are the notes? The spells?’ he spat, hand flailing wildly with the book. ‘I possessed a Griffin, murdered those pathetic fools for this? A bunched of scribbled gibberish? What does it all mean? Tell me or ill have that Griffin pull you whore friends bodies apart slowly and make you watch!’

‘Tradi….’ Adva pleaded stepping into the room entirely.

The man lunged aggressively; a sharp searing pain tore through her already exposed side. Where the Griffin had torn open her dress leaving weeping scratches, now were open in deep gouge. In Tradi’s other hand was her paring knife, a curved blade she used to prepare her potions, it glistened in the darkness, smeared with her blood. Geralt was suddenly there, his silver sword pushed under the Mages throat, the Witcher white teeth bared angrily.

‘You possessed a Griffin that is very dark magic. Any last words.’ Geralt spat against the man's face, pushing him harder into the wall as the weaker man kicked and struggled against him.

‘You cannot kill me! I now possess the book of ultimate power. I am invinsa….’ The man crumpled to the floor as the Withers blade cut through his throat, almost severing his head from the body. Blood viciously spurted out across the room, coating Geralt with a healthy spray and he sheathed his sword and picked up the book in clasped tightly in the deadman's hand. Jaskier was now helping the young girl to her feet as she stared in horror at the deadmans body as its entire contest of blood flooded onto the floor. Her dark blue eyes rose to meet Geralt’s in a silent plea. It was only now that Geralt though of how young she looked and how small, something so innocent and tiny that in one brief moment it could disappear at the snap of someone fingers. The fact that someone as close as Tradi, someone she worked with could be a threat and not even realised the danger she was in. Or the fact she possessed something that made her a target, that was a deep worry at the core of his soul.

‘He wanted one of your books, why? What is so important that is would cause a Mage to possess a Griffin?’ Geralt eyed her suspiciously. The woman appeared shocked and confused, her heartbeat pounding at the breast, the magic that surrounded her hummed softly calling to him, demanding his submission. ‘I don’t…’ Her doe-like eyes pleaded with him for help understanding.

‘You don’t expect me to believe that.’ Geralt spat, he temper flaring violently in him, whatever spell she had cast was driving him insane; he didn't know if he wanted to choke the life out of her with his bare hands or push her skirt off and fuck her against the wall, the emotions that he felt surging within him were conflicting and overwhelming. Not since a child had he felt such an abundance of feelings, not since that night, his mother gave him away.

A whimper broke from her lips as she cast her eyes down to her side, her hand pulled away from the dark material of her dress to reveal the thick layer of blood coating her hand. Geralt looked down confused, frozen in surprise. There was so much blood in the room the coppery smells had mulled together he hadn’t even noticed the potent smell of apples and ocean intertwined with it. The rage he felt at her had clouded his vision, blinded him to the blood pool into her skirts. emotions pounded in his chest as he watched the woman crumpling into Jaskier arms.

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