ᴛʜᴇ ʜɪᴅᴅᴇɴ ᴍᴀɢᴇ 一 ɢᴇʀᴀʟᴛ ᴏꜰ ʀɪᴠɪᴀ

𝕏𝕀𝕀. 𝕂𝕣𝕒𝕦𝕤𝕤

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ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ᴛᴡᴇʟᴠᴇ

ᴋʀᴀᴜꜱꜱ

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       Eleanora felt her insides twist and rot all at once as the content in her stomach were just begging to be thrown up at the sight before her. She wanted to scream and yell and fight, but the shock was too much to the point of stillness and silence.

"Why?" remained the question that lingered in the girl's mind. "Why would he do this?"

       Bile was making its way up her narrow esophagus, the acidity burning everything in its path. The stench of her parent's blood hovered in the air above, filling the room as though she had just walked through a red rose garden. Red... God, was the blood red. It was sticky, hot, and thick, the crimson substance staining Eleanora's slender fingers. Only did the deep, psychotic laughter push the older girl back into reality.

       "Look here, girl." but she refused. The man behind the voice used the heel of his heavy boots to slightly kick her, but just as before, she refused to give any sort of attention. This only seemed to agitate the man even more. "LOOK AT ME!" Goosebumps littered themselves across the princess' skin as she immediately flinched away in fear. "Look at me, you disgusting half-breed." His words oozed out with venom, his hatred towards the girl being more than evident. "Let this be a message for ya'. Filths like you don't deserve to live; I did them a favor." He aggressively jabbed his foot right into the Queen's gut, a sickening 'crunch' of her spine resonating through the princess' ears. "You should be thanking the heavens; I could slit your pretty, little throat and let you bleed out like the rest of 'em. But he wants ya' alive." And that was all it took for Eleanora to stand on her feet and raise her arms. Her whole body shook with an array of emotions before finally lifting her head up, catching sight of a horrid scar that ran right across his face.

A flash of white alongside the screams echoed throughout the castle, urging Irvin and the royal guards to speed up towards the noise.

The only thing engraved into Eleanora's brain was the identity of the man who killed her parents.

It had to be him; with a scar like that, how could it not?

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       "Your quiet." Eleanora continued to kick the small stone, too lazy to respond to the Witcher's words. "You're never quiet."

"Well, there's a first time for everything Geralt."

       "Not when it comes to silence." The young woman could only shrug at the statement. The bumpy path they were walking on seemed a whole lot more interesting than this conversation, and more importantly, it helped Eleanora stay focused on her memory, on that face. It wasn't hard to tell that Eleanora was conflicted. As much as Geralt resisted the urge to leave the woman and let her loathe in peace, the inner feeling of sympathy was much more powerful.