Edited to change the dates to be consistent with the Battle of Sodden Hill and the Destruction of Cintra in the books and stories.

April 5th 1263

So, I was given this journal and some quills and ink as a "tip" last night. I've worked as a whore in Crippled Kate's for six months now and this is the first time a customer has been so kind as to give me something to keep for my own. I never meant to end up as a whore in Novigrad, it's not what I wanted out of life, but after the cobbler's son raped me and then made my shame known to the whole village, my father dragged me out of the house, spit on me and tied me to the back of the wagon. I'll never forget being pelted with rocks, rotten vegetables and road apples as he set off for the spires of the city dragging me behind. It was my fifteenth birthday.

It took all day to get here from home and my feet were bloody raw meat by the time he pulled the wagon to a stop and sold me to the madam. I had no more tears left to cry by the time I heard the clink of a few coins in his hands and he cut me loose. The girls and boys here were kind, dressing my feet and helping me. I couldn't walk for the first week.

I will always remember the first customer Madam made me wait on. He was ferocious looking, with a horrid scar across the right side of his face. He was a witcher and he terrified me. But Madam, she told me I had to pretend to like anyone who bought a night for services, and I had to pretend not to be frightened of him. The thing is, he was the first since Bryan had … I can't even write about it. Even still so many months later.

The witcher's name was Eskel and he was gentle. Maybe he sensed how frightened I was, but he treated me like I was something special and not a prostitute. He treated his swords that way too. I've now seen my fair share of men come and go, and you can always tell how they will treat you by the way they set their swords down before they get their money's worth. Some will just toss them down, in a hurry to loosen their codpiece, stick in their willie and get off on top of me. Others will hurl their weapons to the floor, and I know then I will hurt for days afterward and the bruises and scrapes will take as long to heal. Eskel laid his two swords lovingly down on the bench, followed by his clothes, which he folded neatly, then he made love to me. It wasn't just sex, he actually made love. I wasn't a piece of meat to him and I felt so special.

I cried for a long time after he left, but I had to hide my heart. Madam informed me that I had a quota to meet, and if I could do that, I might someday be able to purchase my freedom and choose my own path. Speaking of, there is a customer coming up the stairs. I will write more later.

August 24th 1263

Eskel came to the brothel today and asked for me. That surprised me, but Madam told me later that most men will stick with specific girls over time. It's not like any of them would marry us, but they like routine, I guess.

He was every bit as gentle and kind as the first time he lay with me. I will always consider him my first. The others are just business transactions, my body a mere commodity. But this witcher, this mutant that is scorned and spit on did not treat me like that.

Men will usually get up and leave when they have had their fill of fun at my expense. They don't talk much and they certainly don't expect me to say anything to them unless it is to fake passion when they are inside me. Eskel asked to stay with me all night. He ASKED. That never happens. And he talked to me. I think it was mostly he wanted to talk to someone. He told me about his latest contract, a bruxa he called her. He hadn't wanted to kill her, he said, because she was sweet in her way. But she had been preying on a village's children and wasn't going to stop. He had been contracted and those kids deserved to live.

Madam had Duloris start teaching me massage, so I practiced on him. I think he enjoyed it, at least he groaned when I rubbed and tugged the muscles of his back. Funny thing. Witchers are covered in scars. I guess it's the trade they ply. I found the fresh one from the bruxa at the base of his neck and felt a little sick that she had come so close to taking him away from me.

December 7th, 1263

I haven't seen Eskel in months. Not since August. And I worry about him. Madam said that witchers retreat to their fortresses in the winter because travel is much harder and there aren't as many monsters about. It's like all the land dies in the winter, then when it comes back to life, the witchers do too. I miss him, though.

I've a few "regulars" now. There's two Church of the Eternal fire priests who are .. not exactly harsh, but not kind either. They preach to me about my sins while they are ploughing me. I try to just get through it without laughing at them. Then there is the Redanian Infantry officer who likes to talk about his wife in Aen Gavael. He's kind of sweet, and lonely. I don't mind his kind. He treats his swords with a decent amount of respect, but doesn't stay long when he does come in. Then and there is the Witch Hunter. They serve the Church of the Eternal Fire and are known for their cruelty. His name is Conrad Bael and he terrifies me. He is here every Thursday at 7 by the last ringing of the bell. He crashes his swords upon the floor and he always leaves me bloody and bruised.

Tomas, one of the boys, said it would be better if I would take the fisstech before he comes. It dulls the pain. But I see him when he's coming off it. He isn't healthy and that drug is what's killing him. He's only seventeen, but he looks like he's thirty. He has a regular from Bael's group too, when they come in together, an old man with a sour face and rotting teeth. We take care of each other every Friday morning and take turns putting cold cloths on each other's faces.

February 6th 1264

There are more soldiers coming in to Novigrad. They say a war is under way and there was a huge battle on Sodden Hill where fourteen sorcerers and sorceresses gave their lives. I wonder what it is like to have the freedom to choose like that. To actually have a life worth laying down in a cause greater than yourself.

I cried myself to sleep this morning. It's Friday, after all. HE was more brutal than usual, celebrating a promotion or something. He didn't take off his gloves before he thrashed me across the face, and I know I have bruises between my thighs. He didn't put his swords down this time. He used them on me. How does anyone become so unnatural?

It's when I am in the most pain, I think of my witcher. I daydream that he has fallen in love with me and will ransome me away from this horrible place, take me to his keep and I will be safe ever after. It's just a daydream and, bruises or not, I have to work tonight. The thought makes me want to cry, but I won't. What worth are a prostitute's tears?

May 3rd 1264

A different witcher came in today. They are rare, but they do come by. This one had a wolf medallion like my Eskel and I asked Madam if I could serve him. There is, of course, no guarantee that any man from a particular fraternity will be like any other man from said fraternity, but there is a chance. It's been three days and the bruises have washed to green. Bael has limited himself to beating me about the body after the last time he left me unconscious for three days. Madam threatened to turn her bully boys on him.

This witcher's name was Lambert and he was full of anger and bitterness. He wasn't as careful of his swords as Eskel is, but he wasn't rough with them either. He just wanted some fun in the sack and didn't say much when I insisted on keeping my under shift in place. It hid the bruise on my shoulder and and I think he didn't notice my wincing when he turned me on my back. It doesn't really matter. The only time a whore is damaged goods is when she can't plough.

I didn't ask him about Eskel, though they must know each other. Sometimes the other girls and boys will draw the customers out and let them know who of their friends has been visiting their pallets. I haven't done that. Maybe I just feel too ashamed and don't want anyone taking notes on weather I'm a good bargain for the lay.

June 27th 1264

He's here today! And he asked for me! It has been nearly a year since I saw him and I almost cried in relief to know he hadn't got himself killed on a contract somewhere. I can imagine how Madam would taunt me and lecture me not to fall in love. This is just business. But Eskel is different than any of the other men. I'm so nervous! I have to powder my face. I don't want him to notice the shiner a customer gave me last night. I can't very well serve Eskel with a flour sack over my head. I'm used to keeping a short sleeved tunic on now, and my regulars are used to it as well. I've done my best to make it part of the act. Only Beal insists I take it off, because he wants to see my bruised and beaten back. I have scars he put there and he counts each one.

Enough. Eskel will be in my room any moment. I won't think about that man when HE's here. I won't think about pain, only about sweet pleasure.

September 24th, 1264

It's Thursday and Bael will be here in the next hour. Madam usually lets me have the day to myself, not making me service anyone else when that man comes in. He has become more and more twisted and vindictive each week. Last week, he brought in a knout and beat my back and sides with it until I vomited. He kept screaming at me to confess. He knew I was a filthy witch. Why else would he keep coming back.

Then he used a switch and I vomited again when he was through. There was nothing left inside me, so it was all dry heaves. The scabs from my last beating hadn't yet healed.

I'm shaking so much. I'm thinking of taking the fisstech tonight, to drown out the witch hunter and his cruelty. Oh, if I could only escape this place. There is nowhere to run.

Boots drummed on the floor and the witch hunter opened his eyes to look at them. They didn't have spurs, though they were well made and relatively clean. His jaw hurt. The mutant had cold cocked him soon as he came into the warehouse, empty and abandoned long since when the owner had bought a newer one. The witcher crouched down and just looked at him with his evil, cat-like eyes. The man's face was horrible with his scar bisecting it top to bottom. Bael didn't know what was worse. The scar or the eyes that were cold and impersonal.

He was hauled up and thrown into a chair and the witcher started to beat him then. His fist pummeled and pummeled until Bael's nose was a mass of raw meat in the middle of his face, his lips were split open. He had long since spit out all his front teeth. A round house took him by surprise and when he woke up again, he was hoisted by his hands from a beam, his clothing in a ragged pile underneath him. His feet swung just above the floor.

The witcher took Bael's knout, then, and the witch hunter started to shake in earnest. He begged. He pleaded for his life. He cried and threw himself on the mutant's mercy all to no avail. Then, in desperation, he invoked his wife and children and whined that they should not be left without a husband and father.

The first slice of the knout across his back made him gasp. The second made him scream. After the fifteenth he couldn't scream any more. He could only moan. Each cut with the knout was met with a moan as his face dripped blood. The witcher never said a word. Never had said a word from the start of this nightmare.

The man had taken his time with the whipping. Bael had lost track of how long. He was hanging limp and shivering as the cold rays of first light trickled into the abandoned warehouse, the muscles in his chest and shoulders were on fire.

He watched the witcher pull out Bael's witch hunter broad sword. That blade he had oiled and sharpened for hours. He heard the boots pacing on the rotten floor again and felt the man come up behind him. Then he felt the cold steel of his blade kiss him between the cheeks and grunted as the witcher rammed it to the hilt into his rectum and twisted it twice, first one way, then another.

Then the booted footsteps melted away and it took a very, very long time for Conrad Bael to die in the abandoned warehouse.

The owner of the boots mounted a piebald gelding and if someone would have followed him, they would have found themselves at a pauper's graveyard on the outskirts of the Bits, outside the walls of Novigrad. They would have seen him arguing with a friar, pointing to a shrouded remains that was piled with others and ready for the mass grave. They would have seen coin change hands and the friar shake his head while he pulled the body from the pile and laid it in a wooden box. They would have witnessed the stern, terrible man lay a book gently in the box with body and then stand with his arms crossed, scowling with his terrible face, while the friar directed a stout boy to shovel dirt over the box. If someone would have watched till the friar and the boy had left, they would have seen the man put a hand to the mound of dirt covering the fresh grave and clench it in a fist before he mounted his horse and rode away.