Novigrad, Present

The letter addressed to Geralt from Dandelion arrived in Toussaint not long after they'd sent the bard back to Novigrad.

Instead of the words on the parchment reflecting Dandelion's refined calligraphy skills - something which the bard had often prided himself on - it was filled with erratic scribblings, urging his friend to come quickly.

Priscilla was missing.

Geralt, ever the professional, was sure to take note of the red wine stain on the top corner of the parchment (Toussaint Red? No… Château de Conrad Cabernet. 1294) , as well as the various spelling or grammatical errors throughout. It was clear that his friend was more than a little distraught:

"I can only pray that she's alright and not badly hurt. Come Geralt, I beg of you. I know I have asked more than my fair share of favors, but my heart hurts just thinking about what may have happened to Priscilla… I won't hesitate to remind you that I quite literally saved your neck not too long ago…"

If there had been a follow-up letter, Geralt never received it, for he set out promptly the next morning to embark on the long journey north, back to Novigrad. Yennefer offered to open a portal, but Geralt, vehemently and without hesitation, declined. He hated portals. And anyway, he missed the path. It had been a while since he'd been on the road, and despite the welcome break in Toussaint, his witcher's spirit was prone to a chronic restlessness that sometimes drove him mad.

He told Yennefer she was welcome to come along, or at least meet him at the Chameleon if she became bored or missed him; she just laughed and laughed and laughed… and then asked him to refill her drink.

The trip was almost suspiciously smooth, not that Geralt was complaining. He made good time, often clearing 20 to 40 miles a day, despite the horrible rainfall. There was one issue near Vizima, where a flash flood had caused a three-hour detour, but other than that the path was clear all the way to Novigrad.

When Geralt finally made it to the city, it was well after nightfall. He had seemingly appeared from the fog and out of the gloom, stepping onto the well-lit path to the Gate of the Hierarch. He was exhausted, wet, hungry, and smelling exactly as one would suspect after two weeks on the road. His clothes were disgusting from riding through mud, and his hair was completely ratted. Perhaps he was just tired, or perhaps it was the fact that he felt like he 'd been spending way too much time in the company of his beloved horse, but he couldn't remember the last time he'd wanted to sleep in a warm bed this badly.

Geralt tied Roach to the hitching post and hobbled stiffly up to the door of the Chameleon. The aching in his limbs permeated down to his very bones, and his stomach was rumbling for some properly cooked food.

When he pushed open the doors to the cabaret, the bright and warm main hall was packed with bountiful, silver-dusted tables. Dozens of people were eating, laughing, and drinking themselves into a gluttonous stupor.

The biggest drunken fool of all, however, was the familiar bard on the stage.

Dandelion hadn't noticed Geralt enter, he was too busy strumming almost violently on his lute, his head bobbing hard to the loud, rhythmic drumline behind him. He was beyond engrossed in the music, almost like a man possessed.

At least Dandelion's particular madness could pass for insanity, Geralt decided. It certainly didn't seem to be harming him, although at times the bard seemed close to throwing himself off the stage with all of his swaying. He sang his heart out, a female bard sang backup:

'Cause these plates, they smash like waves (Place your smile in mine)

And the wine stains, hide the tears (Why stay? Hide the–)

But that breathing you hear, don't mistake it for sighs

Don't you realize they're just battle cries, dear?

And these lines aren't wrinkles, dear heart (Hardly knew the words)

They're just dollops of paint on a new work of art (I'm dolled up, love, don't I deserve to–)

And as I walk away I know that I've been through the wars

But that creaking you hear in my bones, it's not pain, it's applause

It's not pain (It's applause), it's not pain (It's applause)

Geralt slowly drifted past a table of a group of nobles and wisps of applause followed him around as he sat at an empty table in the back. Some of the patrons were joking and drinking, and some of them were dancing, but no one was paying Geralt any attention at all.

After the sound of the music swelled to a point of climax, it began to diminuendo into a softer, quiet strum of only Dandelion's lute. He earnestly finished off the final verse, alone in voice and in accompaniment:

All it took to unearth in the dust and the dirt

Some release or respite from the heat and the hurt

Was taking the time now and then to ask how I am

And now at the end (At the end of all things)

I'm not gonna scream, beat my chest at the wind

I'm doing… fine…

It didn't take Geralt more than a few moments there to see that Dandelion, actually, was not fine.

Geralt studied his friend thoughtfully. He looked worse than he'd seen the bard, and not just because he'd just finished a passionate performance. He was normally quite put together; Dandelion would often put a lot of care into his appearance, but not tonight. His clothing was not only disheveled, but lacking its usual bright colors and eccentric flair. Tonight, his clothing was dull and gray and monochromatic, as though he was mourning. Dandelion hadn't shaved in days, maybe weeks. His hair was matted to his forehead with sweat, and his wild eyes looked as though they were tearing up from more than sheer exhaustion.

He was also clearly drunk. The part that felt off to Geralt was that Dandelion hadn't ever been a moody drunk - he was usually jovial and chatty. But tonight his face was stoic, and he was almost frightening to watch because he seemed to be oblivious to the crowd altogether, almost as though he wasn't playing for the crowd at all. He was playing for himself, as if this were some sort of cathartic moment for him. He wasn't acting or performing or putting on a show, no. He was expelling some kind of pain from himself.

It was a curious sight indeed.

Geralt sat there in his seat a little while longer, despite the protests from his stomach, as he watched Dandelion stumble across the stage. The band of musicians behind him began to play another song, but he didn't join them this time. He clumsily rested his lute against a bench and stood off to the side with a satisfied, drunken smile on his face. He picked up a nearby goblet and easily gulped down the last of his wine before reaching for the bottle to finish off on his own.

Dandelion shouted at the top of his lungs over the music to the crowd: "Ladies and Gentlemen, you've been a lovely audience! Enjoy your wine and the beauty of the night! I'm not ashamed to say I have fallen in love with all of you, and you are all beautiful to me!"

The crowd exploded with cheers and applause. Dandelion, swaying unsteadily, took what appeared to be his final bow of the night. Another chorus of cheers came at once. His drunken smile was gone, replaced by a distant look - no, Dandelion wasn't fine.

Geralt saw the look of recognition in Dandelion's eyes when he finally spotted his friend among the crowd, his eyes widening as though he'd seen the king at court. Geralt gave the bard a nod of encouragement and a slight smile before Dandelion hopped down from the stage to greet him.

"Geralt! You're here! You've come!" he slurred. He sat down heavily in a chair across from his old friend, slumping slightly as his head spun. He cradled the bottle against his chest as though it were a babe

"Did I really have a choice?" Geralt said both flatly and rhetorically. "You made sure to remind me that you recently saved my neck in your letter... a few times, actually."

Dandelion took another swig straight from the bottle, his lips curling at the bitter taste. After a couple of gulps, he set it down on the table and leaned back against the chair. His arm slid off the arm and hung limp.

"Can't help but notice you seem a bit… distraught," Geralt observed.

"Me?" Dandelion hiccuped, carelessly waving his friend off. "I am great. Wonderful, even."

"Dandelion," Geralt warned, shaking his head, "you know… I'm not going to be happy if I find out that I just made this journey up here for nothing. Now's not the time to be nonchalant. What happened?"

"With what?" Dandelion asked absent-mindedly. Geralt had a hard time believing his friend could be this clueless, even blitzed out of his mind.

"With Priscilla," Geralt growled, his patience wearing thin quickly. He was still hungry, tired, and worn down from the road.

"Oh, yes, that-"

"Oh yeah. That," Geralt parroted back at him, sardonically. Dandelion paid him no mind, giving a slight, albeit sloppy, shrug.

"What do you think happened? She's left me."

"Left you? As in… of her own free will?"

"How else would she have left?"

Geralt sighed, shaking his head, "your letter made it sound like something nefarious had happened to her-"

"Something has happened to her. She's gone. Vanished without a trace, left before I returned to Novigrad."

"I don't have the patience for this tonight," Geralt said, gruffly, rubbing his temples to relieve the pressure of irritation building up behind his eyes. "I need food. And rest." Dandelion looked back up at Geralt and nodded, sitting back up and clumsily spilling wine down his shirt. Geralt took in the sight of his friend before adding, "you could probably stand to use a little food yourself."

Dandelion blinked, trying to hide a momentary pang of confusion, "am I… hungry?" he asked, hazily.

Geralt sighed again, "you're drunk."

"Yes. I am," Dandelion agreed, clenching the arms of the chair and breathing deeply. "And I am hungry," he added, his eyes darting around the room to find someone on the serving staff. He successfully waved down a pretty young woman on her way by, asking her to bring two plates of literally anything she could. She hurried back with a platter of some bread, cheeses and fruit to start, and the two of them tore into it, ravenously.

For a good few moments, the two of them filled up in silence. The crowd of patrons began to trickle out of the bar and head to their homes. The musicians started packing away their instruments for the night.

"Quite a show you put on tonight," Geralt said between bites when it was finally quiet enough to speak without shouting. "I don't think I've seen you play that way in... well, maybe ever..." Dandelion said nothing, just somberly reached for another piece of bread. Geralt watched him, a sly smile tugging at his lips. "She really did a number on you, didn't she? Never seen you so broken up over some woman like this."

Dandelion held onto his piece of bread but did not eat it, merely picked at it on his plate. Geralt could see the drunkenness was beginning to give way to pure exhaustion in his friend's eyes and voice.

"Priscilla, my dear friend..." Dandelion began, wearily, "was not some woman. She was the woman. And she was much more than that - she was a goddess, my muse. My beloved. My dear heart-"

"Yeah, yeah," Geralt waved him off, "forgive me if I've heard all this before." Once again, Dandelion was uncharacteristically quiet. His eyes cast down to his plate, and Geralt could once again see that sadness in his friend's face, that faraway look in his eyes he'd had before on the stage when no one was looking. Geralt cleared his throat, feeling a bit bad for belittling Dandelion's heartache. "But to be fair, your actions right now are actually matching your words this time."

"Ah, Geralt, this… is truly an unpleasant journey of discovery. Let me assure you that this is no easy revelation for me."

"Clearly."

"I really hurt her, Geralt," Dandelion said in a solemn tone, shaking his head in disappointment at himself. "I got caught up in Anna Henrietta and all the memories I had with her... But I realized immediately that I don't want her. I don't want anyone else. Anarietta is my past, but I want to be with Priscilla. She is my future. But I am too late. And I messed it all up."

Geralt stopped chewing and stared, suddenly feeling rather helpless, "did she leave any clues as to where she might have gone?"

"A letter," Dandelion recalled, "I read it a hundred times, but there are no clues. I've asked after her, but none of our friends - well, her friends I suppose - will tell me anything."

"Hmm… sounds like she doesn't want to be found. Do you have reason to believe she's in some kind of trouble?"

"I can't be sure… I've heard such terrible rumors…"

"Like what?" Geralt asked, sitting back in his chair and folding his arms over his chest.

"I've heard she joined a new troubadour group and fell madly in love with another bard, called Odin or Orrin, or something like that." Dandelion's face soured at the mention of another potential lover, and Geralt could tell that this possibility stung. "I've heard she returned to Kovir to live with her parents. I heard she made some pact with a local hag, who has hidden her away as payment. I've even heard that she caught the pox and..." Dandelion paused, refusing to finish the sentence. It was too awful to think about. He shook away the thought. "I like that one least of all."

"I'm sorry," Geralt said, "No truth to any of those rumors?"

"Not that I've found, most sound like complete rubbish." Dandelion glanced up, eyeing Geralt closely, "this journey has shown me the folly of being too rash with my heart."

"Or, perhaps, the folly of being too rash with someone else's heart?" Geralt mused. Dandelion scoffed, shifting uncomfortably in his chair.

"If you're offering to tutor me on the art of love, I think I'll pass," Dandelion said, light-heartedly, his head slightly slumping from fatigue. Geralt could tell he wasn't going to offer much more insight tonight.

"How about we discuss this more in the morning," Geralt suggested.

"A wise suggestion, indeed." Dandelion yawned and gave him a little smile. "If we're going to continue this journey of discovery then I'm going to have to rest my eyes for a moment. It seems I've been on the go for days now, and I'm really quite tired."

Dandelion sat back in his chair and closed his eyes, and in only a matter of moments it was clear the bard had fallen asleep where he sat. The woman Dandelion had stopped before arrived with their food, but Geralt didn't wake his friend.

He happily ate for both of them.

Ellander - Two Years Ago

Dandelion couldn't stop thinking about Priscilla that night they'd first met.

He tossed and turned in his feathered bed, wondering what it was about her that had bewitched him, so. He wondered when he would see her again, and when he did, what it would be like.

To his surprise, he didn't have to wait long.

Some time, in the wee hours of morning, Dandelion awoke to find Priscilla sitting next to him on the edge of his bed, staring at him with wide, glistening eyes. She was perfectly illuminated in the moonlight that poured in through the chamber window, painting her in the most ethereal light. Her fingers were wrapped around the fabric of her bed clothes to clutch together the more exposing, and there was an expression on her face that couldn't have been mistaken for anything else. He quickly wiped the sleep from his eyes and blinked, wondering if the specter would vanish.

She didn't.

He rose up onto his elbows, his heart pounding in his throat. He was shocked that she somehow knew where he was staying - how did she find him? And how did she get in here?

"I'm sorry, Dandelion. I don't mean to intrude..." her voice chimed in the most angelic, sing-songy tone.

Dandelion sat up more, staring at her through a mask of wide-eyed horror and delight, "I can say with certainty that I have never been happier to have an intruder.," he assured her. Priscilla looked him up and down, slowly. She bit the soft, fleshy part of her bottom lip, scooting closer to him in the darkness. "But... Wh-what are you doing here?" he uttered before his mind got away from him.

"I had the strangest dream tonight, Dandelion," Priscilla whispered, tilting her head to the side, and he watched as her hair cascaded over her shoulder in glossy waves.

"Is that so?" Dandelion closed his eyes, swallowing hard.

Waiting.

"I… I was in the woods, surrounded by trees. Singing a song - you know the one. I could hear birds and the wind, and it felt like everything was alive, and beautiful, and bright, and full of love." She spoke slowly, her voice dripping with awe and emotion, hanging on to each syllable as though she were devouring the most delectable feast and she didn't want it to end. He even thought she might be crying, but it was hard to see for sure in the shadows. "And then there, in the middle of a clearing I found the most ornate, lovely mirror. I looked into the mirror and there was a face. It was yours, Dandelion. I saw your reflection. And you looked beautiful."

"And... then what?" he croaked, his voice low and hoarse.

Dandelion felt his heart beat faster in his chest. She was still staring at him, a smile slowly breaking across her lips, "And then… I woke up."

Priscilla..." he whispered, leaning closer to her. Priscilla's arms snaked up slowly to wrap around his neck, and he felt her heart beating as she held onto him.

Priscilla's eyes glistened as she gazed at him, "You want me, don't you?" She leaned her face close to him, her forehead pressing lightly against his. He reached up and touched her silky, golden hair. He smiled and rubbed her shoulder gently.

"More than anything in this world," Dandelion whispered. And he meant it.

He felt her smile against his lips and then she pressed gently against his, her tongue slipping out. Dandelion felt her fingers slinking beneath his shirt and he withered under her delicate touch. Priscilla's grip tightened around his waist, and Dandelion felt a shiver roll up his spine and wrap around his heart.

He wrapped his arms around her as well, pulling her onto him. She groaned as she pressed herself tightly against him, her leg coming up and over to straddle herself over his lap. She slid even closer to him yet, bending her head down as she touched her lips to his again, this time soft and fleeting, and he could feel the quickening of their hearts, beating in unison. His hands roamed down the length of her body, resting on her rounded hips.

Her body felt hot and soft against his, and he felt her breath sliding against his neck. Dandelion was lost in her scent and warmth, and he couldn't remember the last time he had felt this way. It was as though he was falling into another world. He wasn't sure why or how this was happening, but he didn't think too hard about it. All he knew was that he wanted to stay in this moment forever.

She pulled her mouth away from his and looked deeply into his eyes. Priscilla waited, expectant, and a smile played at the edge of her lips.

He leaned back up to her, and their lips lingered for an endless moment. He savored the taste of her lips, and loved the way she kissed him back. Priscilla pressed her mouth into his a little tighter. He felt her fingertips on the back of his neck, and Dandelion slid his hands up to the back of her hair.

Suddenly, she pushed him gently away, "I have to go now, Dandelion. I have to go," she whispered, and Dandelion felt like he'd been dropped from the sky with a thud to the ground.

"What? Why?" he asked, dumbfounded at the abrupt change of pace.

Priscilla reached out to touch his lips with her fingertips. "Because I have to leave."

Priscilla was already starting to go when he pulled her closer to him again, kissing her deeply. Dandelion's eyes closed as he felt her soft hands cupping the back of his head, her hair brushing softly against his cheek.

"I don't want you to go," Dandelion whispered hoarsely, not above begging.

"No," Priscilla resisted breathlessly, even as his lips found the soft, crook of her neck. "No, I must-"

"I would give anything for you to stay here with me."

"If I don't leave now, I'm afraid I never will," she replied, rather ominously.

"Is that the worst thing?" he spoke into her skin. She pulled herself from him, staring into his eyes and cupping his face in her hands.

"We would destroy each other, Dandelion, don't you understand that?" she said, suddenly very serious with him. She stroked the sides of his face comfortingly, lovingly, as she said, "We are both too much for this world, too much for each other-"

"If it were up to me-" he began.

"Well, it's not. It's not up to either of us," Priscilla whispered fiercely back. She sighed a deep, forlorn sigh. "It's… just the way it is."

Dandelion stole one last kiss from her selfishly before she finally pulled away. She rose to her feet and held out her hand. He reached up and took it, without hesitation...

...And then, he awoke.

After a few hazy moments, Dandelion realized that it had all been a dream. He felt wrung out, empty, and exhausted. He closed his eyes, laying his head against the bedding for a moment.

He could still smell her lingering scent in the air. He breathed it in and tried to hold onto it for as long as possible. Dandelion felt a strange, longing surge through him. He could still hear her voice in his head, singing his favorite song. He thought about her lips that tasted so sweet, and how her skin felt so warm…

Daylight poured through the window, a cruel reminder that his mind had taken advantage of him and offered him something that had seemed so real, but wasn't.

Dandelion couldn't shake the oddness he felt for the rest of the day, even as he ate his breakfast and prepared for the first day of the tournament. It was the Annual Balladry Contest that took place at the court of Duke Hereward, a true patron of the arts. Bards and artists had come far and wide to Ellander at a shot to make history, although very few became legends.

It wasn't until the second day of the contest that he finally saw Priscilla again, despite her never being far from his mind. When he did see her, his heart leapt in his chest. She, on the other hand, barely paid him any mind.

The festival was packed, both with people and artists. Scores of people were climbing up the stairs, covering each railing and surrounding the ballroom with ribbons and flowers. Dandelion was not at all surprised at how many of the onlookers were taking notice of him, smiling and waving at him. But not just him… Priscilla as well.

The Balladry Contest was split into several different rounds. The artists were always judged based on the presentation of their performance. And this year, the performances were fairly impressive, Dandelion thought. He listened to every song being sung, taking it all in. He was amazed by some of the techniques and styles that these artists used in their performances, and the intricate harmonies…

And then, Priscilla took the stage.

She was a sight to behold, all four seasons in one day. Her smile was as bright as the sunlight and her voice was as beautiful as the rain, but there was a dangerous air around her. Priscilla's eyes were full of fire, while her golden hair seemed to glow under the ceiling lights.

She sang, as she'd practiced over and over again, about the troubles of the world. She sang about a girl named Lia, who needed a champion to fight for her - one that wasn't afraid to lay down his life for her, even if it meant burning himself to a cinder. She sang of a court, a kingdom, and how it was once held in a world that seemed as different as the moon.

She hadn't been afraid to talk about what was painful and ugly, a world of war, hate and destruction. She sang, her voice rising to the sky as she sang of a world that had turned its back on its children. A world that had taken away the hope and happiness of those who came before her. The words of her song were beautiful and true, and they sang of how the truth was something that needed to be shared with everyone in the world, even if it meant holding a mirror up to everyone.

Priscilla sang, her voice strong and unbreakable, while others around her covered their eyes and cried.

Dandelion couldn't take his eyes off her. It wasn't just that she was a beauty, but her grace, her radiance, her passion… And that passion, it was like something that he'd never seen before. Her words reached through his body and wrapped themselves around him, gripping him in their beautiful depths and holding him tight.

After she finished singing, the crowd went wild, cheering wildly for her. Dandelion couldn't think, he was just so lost to her. Priscilla's eyes were lit with happiness and excitement as she danced around the stage and waved to her fans. She smiled at Dandelion, running her hands through her golden hair, smiling and laughing as she ran off the stage.

She won.

Of course she won.

He didn't mind, he was anxious to see her again and congratulate her properly…. For his prize was one he planned to collect after the contest. Priscilla was the other half of him he'd waited all these years for.

Dandelion wasn't always sure about much… but this, he knew more than anything. She was meant for him, and he was going to spend the rest of his life returning the favor.

Novigrad - Present Day - The Chameleon

The very next morning after Geralt had arrived back in Novigrad - or, better yet, afternoon - Dandelion was cursing Lebioda, Melitele, and any other deities he could think of for punishing his gluttony with a raging headache, overwhelming nausea, and a thirst that no amount of water could quench.

The sun was high before he emerged from his dwellings, but didn't make it far - the smell of the food cooking in the kitchen made him retch. Just as quickly as he'd come out, Dandelion retreated back to the safety of his bed.

"Here," Geralt grunted. He was standing at Dandelion's bedside, holding a cup of some curious liquid. He nudged it at him, and Dandelion took it graciously, sitting up against his headboard. He rubbed his eye with his knuckle and then studied the drink, skeptically.

"What is this? Some magical, mystical, witchery elixir that will cure me right up?"

"Something like that," Geralt mumbled sitting in a chair nearby, "drink it."

Dandelion did as he commanded, taking a huge mouthful and despite the immediate urge to spit it out, he somehow forced himself to get the liquid down. He winced almost painfully and gagged, frantically wiping at his tongue with his bed linens.

"Gods! What is that?" he choked, swallowing down what was desperately trying to come back up.

"Don't know." Geralt shrugged. "It was Zoltan's concoction. Says it'll cure what's ailing you. Dwarven medicine." Dandelion plugged his nose and drank the rest, a small tingle running through his body.

"Thanks," he said breathlessly, wiping his mouth with the sleeve of his undergarment tunic. Perhaps it was his imagination, but he was already feeling stronger. He stretched, the throbbing in his head beating like a war drum.

"Don't mention it." There was a brief silence between the friends, and Dandelion traced the rim of the cup with his thumb. He felt very foolish for making Geralt come here to find his missing Priscilla.

"Geralt, I'm... I'm sorry I made you come all this way. You were right, last night. Priscilla... clearly doesn't want to be found." Geralt was mostly just shocked Dandelion remembered anything from the night before at all. Dandelion waited for his friend to respond, but noticed Geralt seemed fixated on the writing desk in the corner of the room.

"Wha-"

"Shhh," Geralt hissed, slowly rising to his feet. He could sense it, the gentle pulsing of his medallion. He thought he'd noticed it last night in his room, but now it was even stronger.

He neared the table slowly, focusing on the strange presence his medallion was picking up on - he could feel the energy pulsing through, vibrating against his chest. His hands ran along the length of the wooden desk, rising to rub against the bumpy, dried wax from the candle that had dripped down the leg and onto the floor. It was a candle that had been burned down until it could not light anymore - strange, he thought.

He brought his fingers to his nose and could make out a distinct scent from the oily residue from the candle...

Wyvern oil? No... Basilisk. But not a normal one...

He could sense the familiarity of some kind of enchantment, although he wasn't sure of the context. He turned to Dandelion, who was peering at him curiously from the edge of his bed now.

"This candle... where did it come from?"

Dandelion shrugged, shaking his head, "I have no idea. It was here when I got home, just like that. In fact, other than finding her letter, I haven't touched that desk. It's exactly as she left it."

Dandelion found the will to get up out of bed and neared the desk himself, trying to find what it was that seemed to have Geralt so interested. He watched on as Geralt began to thumb through the parchments, noticing the news periodical that outed Dandelion's affair with Anna Henrietta. There were other things, writings and sonnets, some scratched out. Works in progress, all seemingly belonging to Priscilla. But shuffled somewhere within the papers was a different kind of parchment - most local parchments were made of split sheepskin or calfskin, but this was made from another animal… no… a monster.

Chort or Fiend skin.

He pulled the parchment out and noticed the handwriting was different, and the words were not in the common tongue, but in Elder Speech. Geralt still wasn't fluent, but he knew enough to muddle through. He could make out enough words to know that the parchment held an incantation.

Geralt seemed taken aback by the sudden revelation and quickly moved out of the room, disappearing down the hallway. He returned not long after, holding on tightly to a bewitched amulet Yennefer had given him before he left. All he had to do was say a simple conjuration and she would be able to sense she was needed.

"Caemm 'ere" he whispered into the stone in imperfect elder speech.

"Are you going to tell me what the bloody hell is going on?" Dandelion asked, his hands finding his hips indignantly. "Should I be worried? You seem worried…"

Geralt didn't respond, just felt the tingling in his medallion grow and grow until a flash ripped through the room and a portal opened. After a few swirling seconds, Yennefer slipped through gracefully but looking fiercely annoyed.

"Oh, this is bad," Dandelion nearly whimpered.

"No, this better be good," Yennefer said, her hair still wet from having just left a bath. The portal disappeared as fast as it came, and she just stood there, expectantly, folding her arms over her chest, "well?" Dandelion tried to avert his eyes from her sheer robe, as she wore very little underneath.

"What can you tell me about this?" Geralt asked, handing her the mysterious note with the strange Elder Speech on it. She took it from him and her eyes drank in its contents. Her stern, narrowed eyebrows unhinged and her gaze softened.

"Where did you get this?" she asked, her voice slightly above a whisper. Her obvious concern made Dandelion's heart free fall into the pit of his stomach.

"What? What is it?" he demanded. Both Yennefer and Geralt ignored Dandelion as though he were a young child interfering in an adult conversation to beg for treats.

"Found it here. In Priscilla's belongings."

Yennefer's eyes cast back down to the paper she held delicately in her hands, and she swallowed. She crossed the room slowly, nearing the desk to study it herself. Without being aware of it, she approached the desk the same way Geralt had just approached it - running her fingers along it and pausing at the burnt out candle. She knelt down, following the wax trail to the ground with her eyes.

"She was tricked," she said, shaking her head. "There's no way she would have done this if she knew…"

"Okay, can I just say you are both really starting to-" Dandelion didn't finish, Yennefer stood abruptly and whipped around, her dark hair falling over her shoulder as she faced them.

"This," she began, holding up the parchment, "is a curse. It's a binding curse. And it means certain death for those who invoke the demon associated with these words." Geralt and Dandelion waited, knowing that once Yennefer had composed herself more, she would surely go on. Dandelion felt his breathing become shallow - no matter what Yennefer was about to tell him, no matter how bleak… there was nothing they couldn't fix, right?

Right?

"I've heard about creatures like these," she continued. "They thrive on pain, and they do the bidding for demonic entities. They will seem kind and benevolent, act as though they are a healer of some kind. A soothsayer. A palm reader. Something that makes it easy to gain their victim's trust. And they are gifted with foresight or healing abilities, really anything they want. Because payment for those gifts are collected in the currency of souls."

"A Beldam," Geralt recalled, the pieces of the puzzle seemingly coming together.

"A what-now?" Dandelion quipped. Again, the two ignored him.

"More or less," Yennefer said with a slight shrug. "More like a trickster, or a Hym… but also not unlike your old friend, Gaunter O'Dimm. She barters souls despite the victim not knowing what they've offered. She offers them something they cannot refuse, something they will offer anything for. Usually… love." She glances at Dandelion, cocking one eyebrow, "people in love will do stupid, foolish things."

"Can someone just tell me what is going on?" Dandelion asked, running an exasperated hand through his hair. "I've had it with cryptic words and confusing terminology. Is Priscilla in danger?"

"I'm sorry, yes," Yennefer finally said after a moment's pause, not one to mince words or waste time coddling someone's feelings. "If I had to venture a guess… Your Priscilla came in contact with one of these beings. Maybe to find solace for a broken heart or will her lover to return to her." Dandelion hung his head in shame, realizing that his actions had dire consequences that were going to hurt his beloved more than he ever could have merely on his own.

Geralt hummed, shifting his weight from foot to foot, "So, I am guessing that's not what the Beldam gave her."

"Precisely," Yennefer replied, somberly. She neared the desk again, her fingers trailing down the candle wax. "She was given this candle and this parchment that told to recite the incantation under a blood moon. She didn't know what she was doing, but she wasn't casting what she thought she was. She was binding herself to a demon, offering up her very soul as payment and getting nothing in return."

"What happens then?" Dandelion somehow found the courage to ask. "A-after you bind yourself. How does she…. Collect."

"That's the worst part," Yennefer began hesitantly, biting the fleshy part of her bottom lip. "It's not swift. It will begin with dreams. Then, nightmares. Eventually, those nightmares will spill into waking life, she won't be able to tell what is real and what is not. It drives its victims mad, torments them and tortures them. It progressively gets worse until the first full moon since the spell was cast…" Her words trailed, and Dandelion waved her on to continue, but she did not.

"And then what?" he asked, but instead of answering, her eyes fell to Geralt. Dandelion tried again, louder and with much frustration boiling underneath, "and then what!?"

"And then her pact is fulfilled, Dandelion," Geralt finally said, quietly. "And it takes her."

Dandelion stepped back, shaking his head and chuckling without humor, "no. No way. No. There's something we have to be able to do for her-"

"We don't even know where she is," Geralt tried, nearing his friend. He placed his hand on Dandelion's shoulder, trying to offer comfort, but Dandelion writhed from his touch.

He rubbed his hands down the length of this face, and then stared at the two of them, angrily. He shrugged, "oh, so that's it then, hmm? Priscilla made a deal with the devil and now she just dies, is that it?"

"Dandelion-" Geralt tried, but he could not stand to hear it.

"You're a witcher! A legend!" Dandelion hollered in Geralt's direction, then his eyes bore into Yennefer. "And you! You're the most powerful sorceress there is. And you're both going to stand here and tell me there's nothing you can do about this? That, oh well! I guess that's just the way life goes sometimes, hmm?"

"Dandelion, calm down," Yennefer said, her voice oddly calming when she wasn't so severe. "We will try. I just can't make any promises."

"And we need to find her," Geralt said, determinedly. "Need to follow up on these rumors, see if any ring true." Dandelion stared at a fixed point on the floor, biting his thumbnail, apprehensively.

"How long?" he wondered, his voice low and far away. His eyes raised to meet theirs, and he asked again, "how long do we have."

"The blood moon was 12 days ago, so she hasn't been gone long," Yennefer deduced. "And the blood moon was a full moon this year… A full moon cycle is …"

"29 days," Geralt finished for her. Dandelion let this information sink in, and did the math in his head.

"So. What you're saying to me is that we have 17days to find Priscilla and break this curse, is that what you're saying?"

The two of them said nothing, merely nodded at him.

Dandelion paced for a moment, the nerves becoming too much to just sit still. He put his hands on his knees, taking in a deep breath through his nose. He stood, exhaling.

"Alright then. What are we waiting for?"