A/N: Hello, my lovely lurkers and readers! It's been quite a difficult semester at University (which is why I haven't been writing as much). I'm about done, so hopefully will be able to update more! Anyway, I hope you guys enjoy this chapter, and I hope you all are well/enjoying life. And as always, leave a comment, short or long, doesn't matter. I just love to read what you all are feeling and thinking. :)

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Unburnt

He crouched behind a large evergreen tree, sliding his misshapen body into the safety of the prickled branches. Tears gathered in the corners of his eyes, and he wiped them away angrily with the back of his hand, biting the inside of his lip to keep them from falling. He hated himself. He hated this place, how it mocked him with its soaring mountains and shimmering heaps of snow. He hated the awkward weight of his gangly limbs, the bruises and broken blood vessels along his arms and legs. They were punishments for his imperfections with a sword, with added beatings and public humiliation, and the solitary confinement in the sky cell if he was bested by another boy in a fight. Gods, he hated the witcher that paced back and forth with a coiled bullwhip, the one with the haughty face and sagging yellow eyes. In some sick way, Erik envied him; he wanted to be stripped of these ragged emotions, he wanted to undergo the mutations that would morph his distortion into something dangerous and beautiful. He was close, too…only a couple more weeks of winter that he would face until the trial of the grasses. There were other boys with him, of course…but he could not call any of them his friends, for they took part in shaming him, laughing when he stumbled over a blow to the neck. Deep down, he hated them too, just as much as the witcher, Greydon, who oversaw all the combat exercises they were forced into, no matter how exhausted or sleep deprived they were. Now, Erik peered through the branches, scanning the slopes of snow for the pale she-wolf. He must kill her with naught more than a heavy wooden crossbow, and if he failed to do so, his mutations would be put off for another winter. He breathed warmth onto his spidery fingers, clutching the crossbow to his chest as he moved languidly out from the protection of the evergreen, wading through the knee deep snow. There was slight movement beyond the clustered trees, and he crouched down again, setting an iron bolt into place with a heavy heart. He did not want to kill her, but his life had to matter more than hers, didn't it?

She walked out from behind the cluster of trees, her coat gleaming in the light of the sun. Erik watched her with wide eyes as she stepped cautiously, perhaps sensing the danger of his dulled iron bolt. She was as beautiful as the perfectly laden snow, and his heart throbbed bitterly, loathing himself for what he was about to do. But there could be no mistake, no path for her to be free. He must kill her in order to protect himself, in order to undergo mutations and either live as a witcher or die in wretched agony. The bolt was set, aimed right through her silvery fur, aligned with where he assumed her heart would be. As he released the bolt, a tear dribbled down the twisted skin of his face, and the she-wolf fell instantly to the ground, the bolt sticking out slightly from her now bleeding heart.

He closed his eyes and let the crossbow fall from his hands, whispering a prayer to a God that he hoped might exist. After a moment of silence, he urged himself forward, pulling a thick bundle of cord from his satchel. Erik walked over to where she lay and knelt beside her, roping her limp body with the cords, as he must drag her all the way back to the fortress, alone. As he fastened the last knot, he heard a faint whistling upon the breeze, and an arrow flew out from the brush. Had he not ducked his head at the last moment, he was sure it would have landed between his eyes.

"How dare you!" a voice called out from the trees, hidden and wavering with emotion. Erik froze beside the she-wolf's body, squinting his eyes at a figure that danced between prickled branches and knotted tree trunks. His throat became dry when he tried to speak, so he stayed kneeling, almost fascinated by his scrape with death. Her arrow was painted red, matching the blood that stained the snow from the she-wolf's heart. She walked out from behind the trees, her blue eyes glistening clearer than the southern river in spring. Her hair was golden, tied into a strange array of braids behind her head. And she stood with her bow pulled back, another blood red arrow ready to pierce his heart. Erik did not move, he could not move. He stared up at her in awe, wondering if she might be nothing more than a figment of his jarred imagination.

"I'm sorry," he choked out, breathing heavily, his hands running through the thin tendrils of his greasy hair. "If you want to kill me, then do it…but make sure you aim for my heart." He stared up at her, his hands empty of any weapon – although Greydon might say that a witcher's hands alone were a weapon. But he did not wish to harm her in any way; she was too perfect, too lovely upon his eyes. He waited for her to speak as he stayed kneeling, unarmed. She moved forward slowly, pulling the arrow from her bow as she knelt on the opposite side of the she-wolf.

"Why?" she asked him, her blue eyes burning into his. "Why did you kill her?"

"I had to," he answered softly, his eyes falling from her gaze. "I'm to undergo the trial of the grasses soon. Everyone must kill a wolf and eat it's heart. It's a ritual of the guild," he explained, his voice still quiet and calm. The girl laid her bow down in the snow, shaking her head slowly as she continued to look upon him.

"You're to be a witcher, then?" she asked, her eyes filling with a strange sadness. Erik nodded, ducking his head to avoid looking at her. It made him feel strangely uncomfortable, talking to a girl. The only women at Kaer Morhen were the sorceresses who came to stay during the winter, and even then, non-witchers were not allowed to speak to them. Erik had stolen glances upon them, though, and they were flawless through their own mutations, with glowing skin and silken, see-through robes. Some witcher's would even give their furs up to the sorceresses for added warmth, and they pined over these women, humbling themselves in order to perhaps parlay for a kiss upon the lips. Erik had always wondered what it might be like to kiss someone so lovely, and had often dreamt about it in his tiny, stone-walled cell.

"Are you a sorceress?" he asked, tracing a circle with his finger in the snow. The girl let out a long sigh, pulling her cloak tighter around her throat.

"No, I'm not. I've never been able to do magic. I guess becoming a witcher must be really important to you…because it's bad luck to kill a she-wolf. She has babies, somewhere, that are now without their mother…because of you."

"I don't have a mother," Erik commented angrily, glaring up at the girl. "Sometimes I have dreams that I did…but they aren't real. Maybe her babies will die, but I can't…I just can't stand the punishments, anymore. I'm sad all the time. I forget what it was like to feel…happy, I guess. Do you know what that's like?"

The girl's expression softened, and she shook her head silently, her eyes never leaving his face. "I don't know what that's like. I suppose you will still honor the wolf, in a way, if you keep her furs for protection."

Erik nodded, his face numb from the wind that pushed against his skin. "I didn't know there were people that live outside the fortress. Where do you live?"

"I live high up in the mountains. There's a small village there, where I live with my family. They make me happy, although winters are harsh. And I'm taught to avoid any contact with witchers. But you…you seem different. And you haven't lost your emotions, yet."

Erik stretched his lips into a small smile. "But I want to lose them. I can't wait to be rid of them."

The girl cocked her head at him, and he hoped she wouldn't leave – not yet, at least. He wondered if she was disgusted by his face, by his twisted nose, his worm-like lips, his yellowed skin. "Have you ever seen anyone…anyone like me, before? Someone who's face is…well, like mine?" He asked sadly, glancing up into her face with a grimace. The girl nodded her head slowly before answering. "I've seen some that are disfigured be healed by magic. A sorceress came to the village, once, and healed all those who were…different. She hasn't been back in a handful of years, though…but maybe if you ever meet one, she can…she can maybe take away your scarring and unevenness. Although I don't mind your face….I'm not afraid of you, if that's what you're asking."

Erik sighed noisily. "I know you aren't afraid…no one is afraid of me. I'm weak…I cried before killing the she-wolf. Everyone who trains with me laughs at me. I can't parry very well, and holding a sword makes my limbs ache. I just wish that…maybe before this, I had a mother. A mother who…who loved me. But that can't be true either, can it? Because the only thing I remember from being a child is…is swallowed up by the witchers who train me. They're all I remember."

The girl extended a hand across the body of the she-wolf, and Erik slowly grasped it before quickly letting go. "I'm Aurora," she said quietly, watching him retract his hand. "What's your name, 'soon to be witcher'?" she added with a small laugh, and Erik grinned at her, his heart warming within the calm nature of her eyes, her lips, her smile.

"I'm Erik. I don't have a last name…but I'll be granted one if I pass the trials…the mutations."

"Well, Erik, the 'soon to be witcher'…I hope to see you again, maybe out in the forest. And be careful eating the she-wolf's heart…they taste slimy and bitter, and make you want to puke." Aurora stood up, brushing the snow from her dark colored trousers.

"But how will I find you?" Erik called out after her, for she moved nimbly through the snow and the trees, away from him, stealing a part of his heart as she left.

"I'll find you!" She announced, turning back to look at him one last time. "I can hear you breathe."

As she disappeared completely, Erik stood up, his heart hammering with excitement and an uncomfortable warmth in his belly. He pulled the red arrow from the ground and shoved it into his satchel – even if he never saw her again, he wanted to dream of her at night…for now, his nightmares might subside…because there was someone in the world who had looked him in his eyes and made him feel a little bit more whole.

…

His eyes were upon her now. She, the unburnt.

She walked gracefully through the flames toward him, her eyes beseeching his own through the slanted holes in his mask. His flesh crawled delightfully as he devoured her from a distance, his eyes raking up and down the curves of her body – a body he wished to see completely naked while he sat with his thighs open. He imagined what it would be like, as he mirrored her dance through the flames; would she scream out his name when he came inside of her? Would she allow him to take her virginity in his hands, his tongue darting out of his mouth like a snake, kissing and licking her skin that was laden with her secret, enigmatic desire for him?

They stopped mere inches from one another, and he fell deeply into her eyes. They were bright green and wide, attached to him by some invisible cord that used to sting the flesh of his back. All of his fevered dreams, his premonitions of her blurry face, the sickened torture of hearing her voice in his head came to fruition as she lifted a hand toward him, a single tear glimmering from the middle of her palm. It was one thing to live beside her, to walk through the sullied flames in his dreams – those dreams that had driven Aurora into madness. But he could not love her, anymore, when he dreamt of the woman that would take away his pain. She was always the one, from the very day he had been conceived in his wretched mother's belly…

She, the unburnt. She, the maiden of earth and sky.

The most powerful sorceress that would undoubtedly be his.

Erik pulled off a black leather glove, his pink, scarred up hand revealing itself to the warmth, the reddened colors of the air. He held it out to her, his heart pounding with the anticipation of her decision to touch him – to free him, to heal him, even if it was just one tear; one scar. She slipped her hand into his, her auburn braids framing the prominent cheekbones of her pale face – and he felt it come into him, the single droplet of life.

She withdrew her hand from him slowly…had she felt it too? Erik turned his palm upward, and reveled at the tiny smooth center of it, surrounded by the angry white and pink scars. His lips curved into a smile behind the mask – something he was grateful that she could not see. And she still stood in front of him, even though she had dropped her arm back down to her side…and he, the witcher, had done the same, mirroring her again within their bizarre, erotic dance. He turned away from her slightly, letting out a low whistle from his lips behind the mask – a call to his pitch black mare, for he would need the shackles that rested inside of the saddlebags…

As his horse trotted nearer, through the fires and the piles of dead villagers, the young woman opened her mouth slowly, needing him to look back into her eyes.

"You want me to heal more of you, dark rider? You are the one that Seraphina spoke of…you are her son, here for me, for my tears…my tears that can replace your scars with…with…" her voiced trailed off with a slight uncertainty, and she bit the edge of her lip. Erik did not look at her, nor did he answer her plea; her voice that was like music inside of his head…divine, untouched by fear, like silk falling into his hands. His mare was near enough, now, with two magnificent swords strapped to the side of her saddle, mirroring the flames that encircled him, whispering as if they were alive. Erik reached inside of a dark leather satchel, pulling out a gleaming pair of shackles.

Shackles that prohibited one to use their own magic. He grinned underneath the mask, turning back toward the young woman who still stood there, waiting in the flames, the dying and bleeding village surrounding them, burning with the stench of death. How strange was it that bodies piled up around them, flames licked the earth and sky, but the two of them stood tangled in each others eyes, untouched by the very entity that massacred her neighbors, her friends, but had spared her family. Erik knew she must remain hopeful, and this was why he chose to spare the house with the rose garden…he could smell her sweet scent from the dirt her hands had touched, where the roses pushed their heads up, lifting a reverence to the sun.

Erik stepped forward, closing the distance between them. The nose of his mask brushed her forehead, and she bowed her head low; perhaps she was confused, perplexed, even? God, how his loins ached when he was this close to her…how badly he wanted to take her right there, to rip the clothes from her body, to fuck her hard from behind, to soil her skin while the fire from his fingertips engulfed them…

He breathed softly, his long white braid – riddled with blackened blood – almost brushing the curves of her breasts. He lifted his ungloved hand, his palm open toward the sky, and she hesitated for a moment, her green eyes flittering to the highwaymen scattered around them.

"Why did you have to kill them?" she asked him gently, lifting her hands up to his face – and he seized them both in an instant, forcing the gleaming shackles around both of her wrists with a deafening crack. Christine cried out, horrified, trying to pull away from him, screaming, and then crying. Erik's smile became wider under the mask as he shoved her closer to him, running his ungloved hand along the side of her face.

"You are mine, now," he growled, pulling her by the middle of her shackles harshly, causing her to stumble.

"Please," she cried, resisting the sting of the steel cuffs with all of her strength, "Please let me go. I can heal you, I can give you whatever you want…just let me go back to my family. Please!"

Erik spun upon his heels, pulling her along behind him, ignoring her wailing and her crying. "Your family will be safe," he murmured as she struggled against him, using his other arm to pull a handful of cord from his saddlebags. His mare whinnied, and he stroked her with one hand, letting the woven cord unravel and fall to the ground. "Seraphina!" Christine screamed, and Erik bellowed with laughter, turning toward her swiftly, twisting the cord around her delicate neck.

"Strange that you ask my mother for help…the very woman who sold you out to me. Poor, sad, beautiful Christine. She does not care for you. No one will come looking for you…none will be able to find you once I hide you."

Christine wailed as he tied her up with the scarlet cord, first roping it tightly around her neck, then her waist…he stopped and marveled at her figure, running his opposing gloved hand down the side of her body.

"Don't touch me!" She screamed, pulling away from him – but he had her tied, good and tight – oh, how good he was at tying people – and animals – up! He had done plenty of it at Kaer Morhen, and even had it done to himself, a fair few times…

"No one is coming for you, lonely little sparrow. No one will take you from me." Erik hoisted her wriggling, roped form over his shoulder, and threw her on the back of his mare. She continued to cry and kick, but his cords held perfectly, and he used the remaining amount to secure her to the back of his saddle.

"If you continue screaming, I will drag you behind my horse. Or I could gag you. Whichever you desire," Erik sneered, and she began to sob, her whole body shaking with the separation of her own mind from her magic, her inability to fight back. Erik swung a leg up onto his horse, digging the heels of his boots into the sides of the mare. The rest of his men began to round up their horses, following their master as he raced through the flames. Upon the edge of the village, they finally broke through the fire and into the night, and Christine could not stop sobbing, for her whole life had been destroyed the instant he had shackled her. This man, this beast, this twisted soul was her destiny now…

As she continued to weep and struggle against the cords around her neck, she could have sworn she heard singing off in the distance, perhaps coming from the hill of Seraphina's house. It was a melody of a shattered heart, and it wound itself inside of Christine's head, a lament to her freedom that had been stolen from her. She promised herself that she would never heal another part of him, no matter where he took her. The other highwaymen rode their horses behind his, laughing at the bodies they'd piled up, at the innocents who were now in the afterlife – if there was one, anyway.

She hated him. She loathed the smell of his leather, of the blood that was dried in his white, silken hair. She wished him dead within her mind, because her magic was seemingly gone – had the shackles numbed it, prevented it from running through her veins, her fingers, her eyes?

There were no more tears that she could shed, and she felt as if her soul had splintered in two as her body twisted uncomfortably on the back of his horse. She was his prisoner, now…ripped away from her family, from her sisters, even from her father who still mourned their missing mother…and now, might mourn the death of his second eldest daughter. For she felt as if she had died. And this beast of a man had taken her life in his hands with woven, scarlet cords; with trust that he pretended to extend to her, through the unbroken union of their eyes. Why had she went to him? Why had she thought he might take her in his arms, why had she fell victim to the strength and power of his hands, those hands that could both create and destroy?

She began to feel faint from the constriction and weak from all the fallen tears, and as she slowly began to black out, she wished for her own death…that she may never make it to where he was taking her. And just as the shadows crept over her, intruding her mind with sleep, she felt the canter of his horse slow down, and she swore that she could hear him singing softly to himself; a sound so smooth and faultless, she heard it repeat itself within her restless and darkened dreams.

…

A/N: Welllllll? What are we feeling? Any comments make my entire day, like I said, long or short! And as always, thank you for reading. Love, L. :)