ᴛʜᴇ ʜɪᴅᴅᴇɴ ᴍᴀɢᴇ 一 ɢᴇʀᴀʟᴛ ᴏꜰ ʀɪᴠɪᴀ

𝕏𝕏𝕍𝕀. 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕨𝕠𝕞𝕒𝕟 𝕚𝕟 𝕓𝕝𝕒𝕔𝕜

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ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ᴛᴡᴇɴᴛʏ-ꜱɪx

ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴏᴍᴀɴ ɪɴ ʙʟᴀᴄᴋ

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barmecide (adj.) : illusory or imaginary and therefore disappointing.

She was a living lie. 

A hidden secret. 

A false notion. 

But he already knew that 一 fully aware that there was more to her than she'd let on.

But God, he still loved her. He loved her when she'd gaze up at the stars every night. He loved her every time she fell off her horse. He loved her when she was full of anger and empty threats. He loved her when she loved him back. 

And he still loved her even after she lied.

It still hurts, though.

An unexplainable mix of emotion consumed him.

Disappointment might have been the only way to describe it.

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Nightfall had already taken its place by the time the witcher, princess, and their dying friend, a bard, made it to their destination. After a strange encounter with a very naked Mayor of Ginde, nothing could have prepared the trio for the scene ahead. 

Geralt and Eleanora awkwardly glanced at one another as Jaskier stared ahead in horror, unsure if they were all witnessing the same nude and sexually driven individuals. Leaving Jaskier into the wandering hands of a horny couple, Geralt and Eleanora made their way towards the woman in black.

There was something off about her, the woman in black. Eleanora couldn't help but feel a sense of familiarity, a bad one at that, as she stood within her presence. She was sure they'd never met.

"I, uh..." Geralt said, raising the jug upward. "Brought you apple juice."

"And quite a bit more." The woman's eyes scanned over Geralt's physique before slowly shifting over to Eleanora's, the tiniest of smirks gracing her perfect face. "You're immune. You both are."

"You must be the mage." Geralt gruffly responded. The word itself filled Eleanora with guilt and shame.

"Yennefer of Vengerberg."

"Hm. Chireadan didn't mention that, uh..." the man trailed off, his unspoken words lingering in the air.

"What did he fail to mention?"