I

...

Olfina swore one day she would kill the sun. As its rays shone mockingly through her drawn curtains, her eyes burning and her head pounding, she ran through every magical formula she knew in quick succession to find a way to blot it out forever. Of course, every plant and animal on the planet would die within a week, but that was an acceptable consequence if it meant she never had to wake up hungover anymore.

Olfina had blacked out the night before, that much was obvious. Had she been of sound mind, she wouldn't have woken up naked next to a man that snored so loudly. Olfina groaned and rubbed her temples. She only remembered bits and pieces of that night, but nothing about a man. Maybe he wasn't a complete boar, but that hadn't stopped her inebriated self before. A particularly loud snore caused her headache to spike.

"Ugh," she said, using her cold feet to kick him out of her bed, "Wake up, you arse."

He hit the floor with a crash, screaming in a decidedly undignified manner, and taking her sheets with him. His head popped up from the other side of the bed, revealing a handsome, mustached face contorted with confusion and a muss of short black hair. The confusion melted away into the typical leering as he beheld her. "Well, a good morning to you too, my orchid," he said, his eyes running up and down her form.

"Get dressed and piss off," Olfina said, waving a hand, her most modest dress covering her in a flash of blue light. She noted the disappointment that flashed across his face, "I've got work to do."

"Oh, my dear!" he said, putting the back of his hand to his forehead like a fainting woman, "You wound me with your words! Like a hail of knives in the storms of passion-"

Olfina groaned again. A poet. I went to bed with a poet. I swear by any god that listens that I will never touch wine again. "Shut it. I will not be wooed like some sexually repressed noblewoman," she said, rooting around in her wardrobe for the hangover remedy she concocted the previous night, "Go back to Oxenfurt and find a student who has the time to put up with you."

"Well, at least students know how to enjoy themselves," the man huffed, "Not even a morning lay or a kiss goodbye before you throw me out on the street by my collar."

Olfina found the hangover cure and downed it in a single swig. So he is a boar. Gods I hate when I'm right. "Can't throw you out by your collar if you're not wearing it. Unless, of course, you would prefer to be teleported into the canal in your current state of dress. I could even teleport your clothing around town for a sort of scavenger hunt! Would you find that enjoyable?"

The man blanched, sputtering out a string of unintelligible syllables before finally forming a coherent sentence. "I-I will have you know that I am the bard, Julien Alfred Pancratz, Viscount de Lettenhove-though, you may know me by my stage-name of Dandelion-and there will be people in town who will be most displeased if I drown in the canal!"

Olfina threw her head back and howled with laughter, "What? The dashing rogue Dandelion can't swim?" She asked, the question trailed by another round of chuckles.

"Yes," Dandelion snapped, his once pale face growing red with embarrassment, "Of course, I can! I've jumped out of plenty of ladies' windows into water features to know!"

"Wonderful!" Olfina replied, picturing a spot just above the canal-not high enough to injure him, of course-and placing a portal in the place he occupied. She heard a faint scream and then a splash. Before the portal could close, she threw his clothes in after him. Olfina was spiteful, but she wasn't a monster.

She found herself wondering if Dandelion actually could swim and opened the curtains to look out at the canal. From the position of the acursed sun in the sky, it was about midday, the citizens of Novigrad going about their usual daily business. She heard the faint shouting of merchants proclaiming the superiority of their goods. The faint, acrid, and polluted smell of the canal found its way to her nostrils on the wind. In that very same canal, a nude man struggled to gather his clothes before a wandering gondola found its way to him. There was a little dock close by and he was handling himself quite well in the water. He'll be fine, she thought.

Olfina kept the curtains open and went to her makeup cabinet in the corner of her room. She appraised her appearance in the mirror and was horrified by what she saw. Her long black hair was a veritable rat's nest. Her hazel eyes looked more like a dull brown; a fact that was only exacerbated by the dark bags that had formed below them. She had just finished brushing her hair when she heard a knock at the door. She rubbed her throbbing temples. The hangover cure was good, but it required time to take full effect.

Olfina rose, smoothing the rumples in her dress before she went down to answer the door. The bottom floor of her townhouse was modest but comfortable. A small stove sat quietly in the corner, waiting to be lit for breakfast. Rugs and various other drapery covered the dour, thin, and unpainted wooden walls. A single table surrounded by four chairs sat in the middle of the room, where she received her clients. The door was thick and made of sturdy oak, with a single lock that kept the petty thieves that roamed the streets of Novigrad at bay. She unlocked the door and opened it.

Henri Martin du Toussaint stood outside, looking like Death himself had come knocking. His cat-like blue eyes were bloodshot and unfocused. His posture was perfect, but strained, as though it took great effort to maintain. The armor he wore was damaged and filthy. A few new scars adorned what little skin Olfina could see. He smelled like week-old blood and sea spray.

His eyes focused momentarily, and he gave a smile so defeated it almost broke Olfina's stone heart. "Bonjour, Olfina," Henri said, his accented voice hoarse, "I believe I have an appointment?"