#angel yennefer? sorta?

[bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher]

Statuesque Finale

The final installment of my museum au!

Other Parts Here

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Jaskier looked just as beautiful as he did any other day, carved out in unforgiving grey marble, his eyes pupil-less and vacant. His body was perfectly formed, each muscle, hair, and fold of clothing was carved by a masterful hand. He was frozen forever like that and Geralt hated it. He hated the falseness of the stone grace. There was no trace of Jaskier’s usual charming, nearly perpetual wave of sound. There was no warm smile. No fluttering lashes. No gentle voice that soothed and provoked in equal measure; that teased and placated Geralt like some kind of conversational acrobat. 

Nothing looked back at Geralt but a face made of cold, emotionless stone. It stared into the distance almost mockingly. Was Jaskier even in there anymore or had his soul been forfeited as well as his body? Sometimes the newly born human could hear that familiar dulcet voice at the back of his head, whispering: You did this to me. You made me this way. You tricked me, Geralt. You did! You!

The ex-demon was buried so deeply in his cloud of self-loathing that he didn’t notice a dark-haired woman approaching. She bumped into his hip with her own, jostling him to the side and away from any listening ears. 

“Sorry,” he mumbled, stepping back a half-pace and even further from the gathered audience. She followed. 

“You visit often but you never look around,” the woman remarked, her own gaze equally fixed on the marble figure. “You always choose to stand here, out of the way of the crowd but always within view of this particular statue. You keep your arms crossed and that same sad scowl on your face, staring for hours at this reclining demon carving. What is it about this statue that drives you to brood so violently?”

“Hmm,” Geralt replied. Usually stoicism got him some peace and quiet.

The strange woman was not dissuaded; she continued to talk, almost as if she was carrying on the conversation with only herself as a partner: “He reminds me of someone. An old museum employee, actually, who mysteriously disappeared one night and never returned. Not even to pick up his last paycheck, although that went missing, too. Gone right out of the mailbox without a solitary flicker of an image on the security camera. Do you know anything about that, Broody Bunch?”

“No,” he muttered. “Why are you talking to me?”

The woman gave a slow, quiet half-smile. “So you used to be a demon, huh? That used to be you up there?”

Geralt’s head snapped to the side. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me, Punky Broodster,” the woman smirked, looking him in the eyes now. “You were the demon from before, weren’t you? You fell in love with him.”

“I just needed him to say the words to lift the curse,” he huffed. “Now, as repayment for his kindness, I’m keeping him safe.”

“Admit it, child of darkness. You can tell me if you miss him. You can whisper to me that you yearn to hear his voice and feel his touch, freely and without restraint or limitation. You don’t feel like eating or sleeping even though you’ve been dreaming of your potential human life for years. You barely take care of yourself because every moment that passes feels wrong without him in it. Admit it to me, demon, and I will take it as confession.”

“What are you?” 

The woman shrugged again, just as nonchalantly and noncommittally as before, “I am a representative of the Powers That Be.”

“And what do they want with a little ex-demon?”

“It’s not you that I’m here to look after. It’s him.”

“Jaskier?”

“He has a very important role to play,” she stated. “And now you’ve gone and complicated things.”

“My sincerest apologies,” Geralt grimaced. It was never good to upset the Powers That Be. He was about to go from one curse right into another. “I do love, him though. You’re right. And I miss him more than words in any language can express, human or celestial.”

“Good. Then we can get on with it.”

“Get on with what?”

“I’m here to give you the secret to breaking the spell. It’s going to make you laugh, I promise.”

“Hmm?”

“True love’s kiss. You smooch that statue on the lips,” she pointed, “And he’s all yours.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“Hmm.”

---

Geralt walked across the empty expanse of room; it had looked so much smaller when he was stuck to the pedestal. It seemed to take forever for him to reach the statue now. “I’m so sorry about all of this, Jaskier,” he mumbled as he drew close enough to touch. “I’m so incredibly sorry.”

He leaned forward, pressed his lips to the statue’s, and watched with bright eyes as the dreary grey of carved stone faded to the soft, warm pink of the young man’s skin. “G-Geralt?”

All the ex-demon could do was throw his arms around the human’s slender waist and hold on for dear life. He buried his nose in Jaskier’s soft brown hair and breathed in deeply, so deeply that it pained his lungs to inhale any further. He released it all in a pent up sob, his hands fisting into the material of Jaskier’s scanty toga. 

“I’m so sorry,” he repeated, over and over like a mantra. He knew he was undeserving. “I’m so sorry, Jaskier. I love you, too. I do. I love you.”

Jaskier was clinging back, crying in tandem and snuffling little hiccups against the side of Geralt’s neck. “I missed you. I saw you keeping an eye on me. I saw you. I knew you’d find a way to get me back.”

“The Powers That Be have great things in store for you,” Geralt smiled. “They couldn’t let my stupidity put out that bright spark.”

“You’re half that spark, now,” Jaskier sighed, cuddling closer. “Now take me home and get me some pants, this is awful.”