Rats.
Dozens of them. Maybe hundreds
Philippa tried not to gag as they entered the tower. Gerald of course was more or less unfazed by the copious amount of rodents scurrying about. The main level of the tower was some sort of common or living room, comfortable enough furnishings and supplies - least they would have been if the room wasn't a wreck - and a large fireplace on the wall opposite the door. There was a lot of dried blood on the floor, enough where even Philippa could notice it without enhanced Witcher senses, and weapons: axes, knives - a pitchfork. The peasants weren't there to talk.
"You gonna be alright?" Gerald asked, turning to Philippa.
"Sure - unless one of these rodents gives me some foul disease." Philippa answered, trying her best not to come into contact with the rats.
The xenovox began to chirp static for a moment, before Keira voice broke through.
"Geralt, Philippa? Can you finally hear me again? You two aren't dead are you? I'd feel rather bad if that was the case."
"Keira." Geralt answered. "Nice to hear your voice again. We're in the tower. Place is full of rats - as many dead as alive. Think they're feeding on…"
"Geralt, stop! You needn't be so detailed." Keira said, her queasiness evident even over the xenovox before getting off the line.
"Geralt." Philippa said, getting his attention. The Witcher looked over to her, and she in turn nodded her head forward, towards the stairs. Gerald glanced over to see a skeleton, just a skeleton. Whoever it was made a nice meal for the rats, bones picked clean - even their clothes eaten.
Taking out the lamp, Geralt moved closer to the body, until 2 more shades appeared next to the corpse, one standing over it, while the other knelt.
"Where's that noble? Lyin' here, quiet as a mouse, head split open like a rotten pumpkin. More like a peasant now, sloshin' around in his own blood and shite. Be nothin' noble 'bout him." The standing shade said cruelly.
"Too quick a death,¹ they gave him. Shoulda been made to suffer!" said the other.
"He's not the end of it. Sons can suffer for 'im...and the daughter! To the top!"
With that, shades disappeared.
"Looks like we found our noble." Philippa said, stepping a bot closer to the body.
"Hard to tell a peasant from a noble when you're rat food." Geralt commented. "All the same in the end."
"Lovely. But leave the philosophy for later.."
"Don't think there's much else on this floor. Only way is up."
Philippa nodded, and the two headed up the creaky stairs to the next level. The next floor was much the same - a dining room torn to shreds: tables flipped, wood split, shelves toppled; a chandelier crashed to the floor. The peasants must have ran through the tower like a tornado - there was still rotting food scraps on the table.
"Where was this fervor when it was time to fight off the Nilfgaardians." Philippa said, shaking her head. Philippa was hardly new to peasant revolts. She had famously helped suppress a major one that had broken out in Tretogor some odd 200 years ago. But she was no sadist - sure she didn't particularly concern herself with the needs of the peasantry - that was something that was delegated to lower council than she, but she was not blind to their struggles. A good lord could feed their people, keep them employed and have an amicable relationship with them. Bad ones tended to rule over theirs with little regard for the wants of the people. Terrible ones - well even a lowly farmer could be pushed too far, made too desperate.
Geralt also had experience with the peasant class - they were his most regular customers when work was good, but also the people he noticed tried to kill him the most, the quickest to judge him, and act out in violence. It's what after all left him with a pitchfork in his chest.
Moving closer to the disheveled dining table, where a corpse sat upright in one of the chairs, Geralt once again raised the lamp. 3 shades appeared sitting at the table. The unmistakably larger form one of the shades took on must have been the count. Then there was a man sitting at the head of the table - Geralt guessed to be the sorcerer Alexander, and then there was a young woman, sitting across from Vserad, looking down feebly at where her plate would have been.
"Don't start, Anabelle! Back to your crafts!" The ghostly lord boomed at his daughter, who sunk even further into herself "Always bending my ear about fool peasants! I'll not hear of them again! That simpleton turned your head! But one Graham hardly makes the rest courtly, one and all."
"My lord! Peasants! They're through the door, in the tower!" The shade of Alexander said urgently, before all the shades disappeared.
"Seems our lord was oblivious to the end." Philippa stated.
"Who do you suppose Graham is?" Geralt asked.
"I don't really care." Replied Philippa. "We're here to lift a curse, not delve into the personal lives of the deceased. The magic here has me on edge, not to mention all the vermin, so please let's hurry this up."
"No arguments outta me." Geralt grunted. "Come on. Let's get to the top."
Despite his words, Geralt didn't even know what they were looking for yet. Keira didn't exactly provide much the way in direction. The spirits of the isle weren't much help either, reliving their last moments before what he assumed was their unpleasant end. Curse-breaking was by nature a task of arbitration - you never know what could be the key to breaking one.
The pair continued up the tower, to the top floor. It was a sleeping area, in the same wrecked state as everywhere else.
Something wasn't adding up. All accounts show a struggle - violence, but all completely secular. If it wasn't for the constant vibration of his medallion, or Philippa's pained state, there was yet to be any evidence of any curse.
"Geralt, Philippa?" Keria called over the xenovox? "Where are you? Have you got to the laboratory at the top of the tower yet?"
"I'm at the top. Nothing here that looks like a laboratory." Geralt responded.
"Then you've not reached the highest level."
"Why are you so interested in this Alexander's lab?" Philippa questioned. "Hardly seems relevant in lifting this curse."
"Because Alexander's activities might be partially responsible." Keira explained. "He was experimenting with Cartriona, testing the effects on rats."
"You sent me to a plague infested island?!" Philippa gasped in shock.
"Relax. Last time we spoke he assured me that he only infected them with a strain not transferable to humans. You should be perfectly safe…Alexander didn't seem like a liar."
"Oh yes!" Philippa said, throwing her arms up in the air. "I'm sure he was a regular monk!"
"I ASSURE you you're fine. Now, look for a passage to Alexander's lab somewhere." Keira instructed, before getting off of the line.
"That witch wants to give me the plague, or a heart attack." Philippa complained to no one in particular. "Alright Geralt, pull that torch fixture over there."
Geralt looked at the fixture, then back at Philippa, arching an eyebrow. "Why?"
"Geralt, I've been around hundreds of secret labs in my life. Most sorcerers worth anything have at least ONE . I know the tells like my own hand." Philippa explained as if speaking to a child. "I bet my magic that that torch is secretly a lever."
Geralt turned and appraised the light fixture for a moment, before shrugging and walking up to it. He reached out, grabbing the extinguished torch that was placed there, and pulled. The whole fixture rotated forward, making a cranking sound as it did, before fixing in place perpendicular from its starting position. Behind them, there was a creak, as a large panel of the wall rotated inward on itself, revealing a passageway.
Philippa gave a satisfied smirk, saying "Told you so." without saying it.
The passage contained a stairwell leading upwards, to the REAL top of the tower. Climbing the last set of stairs, the pair entered a lab - a well stocked one at that. Now Philippa wasn't an epidemiologist, but she recognized some of the equipment that littered the room: large boilers, burners, cages for his unfortunate rodent test subjects. Along the wall, there were large vats about 7 feet in height and 3 feet wide, 6 of them. They were filled with a thick, liquid of some sort and in them - bodies - shriveled and mangled. Skin blackened and receding.
"Looks like Alexander was playing with more than rats." Geralt said in disgust. "Nice friends Keira kept."
"She couldn't have known." Philippa immediately said in Keira's defense. "She's not that kind of sorceress. She knows better."
"Hm" Geralt just grunted, which very much angered Philippa.
"You think the magic community wants this?" She questioned angrily. "This reflects badly on all of us. We take great efforts to keep these kinds of atrocities from taking place."
"Yet it still did."
"Because of this damn war, because of how we're being treated now!" Philippa barked, before taking a breath to calm herself. "Human experimentation is a cardinal sin to any self-respecting mage. There was an event a while back, maybe 140-150 years ago. A powerful, well respected mage from Temaria - before what we knew Vilgefortz was doing to those poor girls - was experimenting on villagers. Claiming to be a traveling healer, he'd abduct them for his tests, experiments. I still don't know what he was trying to achieve. He took some 60 people over the years.
"Never heard of this."
"Because when the Brotherhood of Sorcerers found out, we wiped him from the continent. There wasn't enough of him left to fill a bowl." Philippa said sinisterly "We burned his notes, destroyed his lab - any figment of him."
"Destroyed the evidence you mean." Geralt accused.
"You can't POSSIBLY be this naïve." Philippa retorted, shaking her head. "The outcome for his transgressions was the same as if he was caught by peasants or soldiers - death. But if they would've caught him, they would've come for any and all magic users they could find. We did what we did so only ONE mage had to die. We're self correcting. And I fully intend to wipe this lab off the face of the planet as well."
Geralt opened his mouth to say something, until he heard a noise.
"What was that?" He said, immediately going on alert.
"What was what?" Philippa asked, looking around.
Suddenly some instruments that were sitting on Alexander's desk fell to the ground, the sound of wood creaking traveled through the room, and they could hear…weeping.
"Geralt, the lantern." Philippa urged. Geralt raised the lantern, pointing it towards where the weeping was the loudest. The green light illuminated the room brightly. Geralt set the lantern on the ground, allowing the light to glow around him, Philippa, and the spirit that appeared in front of them - a girl, likely not even 20. Even with the unreadable features of her ghostly figure, she looked scared - timid.
"Why did you leave? You claimed to loved me." The ghost spoke, talking to no one but herself
"I'm cold... Why has no one come for me? I cannot leave this place, I see no way out.."
She was unlike the other ghosts on the island. She was in the present. And also unlike the other ghosts, she looked directly at Geralt and Philippa.
"Who are you? Do you seek to hurt me as well?" The ghost asked, accusatory and scared.
"Don't be afraid." Philippa said comfortingly, showing her hands to say she meant no harm. The ghost looked at Geralt nervously, then back at Philippa.
"You two look strange." She said. Philippa couldn't help but snort at that.
"Can't deny that."
"I wanna lift the curse that grips this island." Geralt stated. "Your turn to tell us who you are. The other ghosts...they couldn't see us."
"I'm special. Always was. The rare beauty. The lord's daughter." The ghost spoke; Anabelle. "These lands, as far as the eye can see, were ours. My family and I, we hid in the mage's tower, to await the war's end, the end of hard times. It was not to be forever!"
Philippa thought it was naïve for the lord to think the war would end swiftly, but she supposed that wasn't what the girl needed to hear at the moment.
"What happened here?" Phillippa asked. "Peasants sailed to the island to ask for food-"
"No!" Anabelle shouted, shaking her ghostly head. "they came to rob and kill! They thought us rich, believed we'd stowed ourselves away here to laugh at their misery. Yet we had little food as well. Too little to share with those who came. They slaughtered everyone... I heard my father cry out, but the mage told me not to reveal myself or to let anyone in. He gave me a potion. If I was discovered, I was to drink it... He said everything would be alright - but he's gone now! Dead like the rest! All abandoned me! You'll leave me too!"
Anabelle began to weep, crying unseeable tears, voice echoing unnaturally through the tower.
"What was this potion exactly?" Geralt asked.
"W-when the villagers inevitably made it in, I was hidden up here." Anabelle began to explain, pacing the room. "It was so dreadful, I could hear all the violence, the chaos downstairs, growing closer and closer - and I could only wait. And then I heard him, my beloved Graham."
"Graham?" Geralt repeated, glancing over at Philippa.
"He is…was the love of my life." Anabelle explained "He called to me...I opened the door for him, but others rushed at me. They lunged at me, and...and…"
"Did they hurt you?"
"They gripped my arms, tore at my dress... I managed to free myself and drink the potion, and then...nothing."
"Anabelle, this potion, was it dark green, with a pungent taste to it?" Philippa wondered. Geralt raised an eyebrow at her, and Anabelle seemed surprised.
"Y-yes?" She said, nodding her head. "How did you know?"
Geralt looked at Philippa, also curious about her accurate assessment.
"A mild paralysis potion. Made lowers heart rate and breathing - makes you appear dead to those without the medical knowledge to know better." Philippa explained. "Wasn't an uncommon practice for more novice sorceresses to have it brewed if traveling alone."
"Playing dead." Geralt surmised. "Did you ever-"
"Do not insult me by finishing that thought, Geralt." Philippa cut-off primly.
"So this potion - you took it and never woke up?" Geralt asked, looking back towards Anabelle.
"No." Said the young ghost, shaking her head miserably. "I did wake up - I was alone, it was dark. Only there were rats...everywhere. Dozens. Hundreds. And I...couldn't move."
"Alexander didn't brew the potion right." Philippa stated regretfully.
"They were everywhere, all over me, like insects. My face, my hands... I felt them rip open my skin, then crawl into my stomach... They tore me apart, and I could not even scream... Have I not suffered enough? Why can't I leave this place?!"
Sadness and anger radiated in Anabelle's voice. Philippa flinched slightly - as the girl spoke, she felt the pulsating of her headache looked pensive for a moment.
""This Graham, who is he? A noble's son?" Geralt questioned.
"No, a poor fisherman." Anabelle explained. "My father objected. Strongly. He did not see us together. Oh, I miss him so... Each night I walk the island's shore to gaze upon the village. Does he remember me still?"
"I thought you said you couldn't leave this tower." Philippa said, frowning a bit. Her head was throbbing, her teeth ached, and her hairs were standing on end. Something wasn't right with all of this.
"Did I? You must have misheard." Anabelle explained away quickly. Geralt narrowed his eyes at her a bit, and then looked at Philippa, seeing her unsettledness. Geralt decided to dig a bit more.
"And this Graham, he left you here when the villagers were attacking?" Geralt continued.
"There were too many... "Leave her be!" he shouted. He grabbed at them, tried to stop them. They just laughed…" Anabelle stated before trailing off. Despite not having eyes, Geralt could see something behind them. An idea. "Perhaps this is the basis of the curse! Him not saving me, the pain and hate therein. Oh I do love him, but I must know he regrets leaving me. My bones - maybe if you take them to him, so he can see me as I am now, I'll be at peace."
Philippa's head was KILLING her.
There was something off about this girl, this spirit. Philippa knew the stream of half truths well, and Anabelle was waist deep in it. Geralt assessed this as well. He had interacted with many ghosts, but things here weren't quite adding up.
"Sorry, we can't do that." Geralt said plainly. "We'll have to think of a different way."
"What? Why?!" Anabelle's voice shirked, distressed.
"Removing anything from this cursed island could be hazardous to not only us, but the village Graham lives." Philippa said, piping in. Anabelle stared at her hatefully
"But that's not all." Geralt added. "You're not telling us the whole truth."
"What? I've nothing to hide?" Anabelle cried.
"First you say you're trapped in this tower, but then say you can walk along the banks." Geralt began.
"T-that was simply a mistake of-"
"Then there's the body outside. Fresher than the others. Death doesn't line up with the timeline of the attack. Something got to him. Something I think you know."
"No, no! I'm the victim here - me, ME!"
Anabelle's voice seemed amplified, echoing in the tower, bouncing off the walls. Philippa's head was killing her now, as if they were right at the center of the curse-
Oh.
"Geralt-" Philippa tried, but Geralr seemed insistent on pushing further.
"Then tell us everything." He demanded. "Let us know what's really going on on this island.
"Geralt, stop talking-"
"They said witchers are heartless beasts - and you!" Anabelle screamed, pointing a ghostly hand at Philippa. "I thought you'd understand me, you're a woman like me! You never wished to help me! And here I hoped someone would finally take pity on me!"
Geralt's medallion was basically bouncing off his chest at this point. As Anabelle spoke, her voice deepened, became distorted, and her human form began to morph. Her black form began to grow skin, green, sickly and boiled, and her body stretched and extended the - the girl that barely came up to Geralt's shoulders began to tower over him. A tongue seemingly formed out of nowhere, long and disgusting, hanging from a mouth with no jaw.
Geralt stuck his arm out, shielding Philippa as the spirit of the young Anabelle transformed into a Pesta - a Plague Maiden. Horrid by even wraith standards. Seemed to always be near places of pestilence and famine. Anabelle being at the center of both those calamities, while dying horrifically and with anger - the girl's spirit didn't stand a chance of passing on peacefully.
Geralt was at a disadvantage, with no silver sword, he couldn't touch this thing. Fire did little against them, and his other signs could help him play keep-away at best - you didn't want a Plague Maiden to get her hands on you.
So that's what he did. He grabbed Philippa by the front of her vest, pulling her and himself out the way as Anabelle lunged at them. He reached into his pouch, pulling out a vial of specter oil. Improvising, Geralt cracked the the vial in his hand, then flung the contents at Anabelle. The liquid's droplets rained on her like acid rain, causing her to screech out.
"I don't think she liked that very much." Philippa commented.
"We need to get out of this tower." Geralt said.
Seemed Anabelle had the same idea. The Pesta lifted her head, tongue flapping wildly as she did, a sign Geralt knew meant one thing.
"Shit, she's going to screech." He said.
"She's going to wh-" Philippa began. Geralt however stepped directly in front of her, putting his body between her and the Maiden.
"QUEN!" He signed, enveloping them both in a shield, and not a moment too soon. Anabelle let out a horrid noise, a shrill scream that pierced one's very skin, into the bones. If it weren't for the quen protecting them, the shriek would've torn them to pieces from the unnatural force of it. Instead, it lifted them both off their feet-
And promptly through the wall of the tower, hurtling towards the ground several stories below.
Geralt was unable to maintain the spell as they went through the wall, falling head over heels without much grace. Though her ears were ringing fiercely and her head was killing her, Philippa had enough mind about herself to react. She quickly transformed into her owl form, flapping her wings rapidly to slow her fall, and land gentle enough where she didn't injure herself. Geralt unfortunately didn't have such powers of flight; he did however land in a wet pile of hay that was at the base of the tower. He landed roughly, but the damp hay gave him enough cushion where he didn't break his neck. Philippa quickly transformed back, and ran over to him.
"Geralt, are you alright?" She asked, grabbing him under the arm to help him to his feet.
The Witcher grumbled several curses under his breath as he stood. He looked up at the tower. Anabelle wasn't satisfied expelling them from the tower, and slowly began to float down toward them.
"Neither of us is going to be alright if we don't leave now." Geralt said seriously. "Even if I had my sword, I'd only be able to wear her out. We as long as this curse lasts, she can't be put down."
Philippa looked at Anabelle as she floated closer to them.
"Maybe we don't need to fight her at all." Philippa said.
"What?" Geralt responded. Philippa didn't answer, but instead began to move closer to the tower, closer to where Anabelle was landing. Geralt grabbed her by the wrist urgently, stopping her. "What are you doing?"
"Geralt, you need to trust me." She said firmly. "This is between us girls."
Geralt gave her a confused look, full of worry.
"Trust me." Philippa repeated.
Geralt didn't have much time to consider this as Anabelle made contact with the ground. Geralt scowled deeply, stomach flipping in turmoil, but he let go of Philippa's wrist, allowing the sorceress to step toward Anabelle. Geralt stayed right behind her, ready to protect her best he could if needed
"Anabelle." Philippa called. "Let's talk."
"There's nothing to talk about!" Anabelle's voice said, somehow coming from her mouth that wasn't there. "I asked for your help, and just like everyone else, you won't!"
Anabelle loomed over Philippa menacingly, and Philippa had to keep herself from stepping back. The very presence of Anabelle was making her nauseous, and her head throb, but she continued to look at the Pesta as if talking to a child. Even in her horrid form, Anabelle was still just a young girl.
"You know as well as we do that if we brought your bones to Graham, nothing good would've come from it." Philippa accused. "You would've killed him."
"It's what he deserves!" Anabelle's voice boomed. "He was the love of my life! And he left me to die! Let those peasants put their hands on me! He should've stopped them! He should have died with me!"
"Sounds to me he wasn't well worth your love then."
"You don't understand!"
"I'm a sorceress - centuries old. You think I don't know of love? I've known it more times than you could think."
This seemed to give Anabelle pause. She deflated a bit, seemed less ready to strike. Still, Philippa knew the conversation could turn at any moment. Vengeful spirits were temperamental by nature. Philippa continued.
"Is this really the sum of love? To be turned into a monster when tragedy happens?"
"I didn't ask for this! I didn't deserve any of this!"
"No, you didn't." Philippa said gently. She stepped closer to Anabelle's horrible form, not confronting a monster, but rather a scared girl. "You didn't deserve to die the way you did, you didn't deserve to be in the middle of your father's conflicts, you didn't deserve to feel betrayed by Graham. But is this really what you want? To kill? To spread suffering?"
Somehow the Pesta seemed to shrink even more at Philippa's words. Geralt watched in genuine shock.
"I-I…I have so much pain, so much anger." Anabelle said miserably. Despite her unchanging face, it was clear she was crying. "I suffer so, and the only relief is sharing my suffering with others, guilty and innocent. I don't know what else to do."
"Forgive Graham. He couldn't have known you weren't really dead. Allow yourself peace."
"I CAN'T." Anabelle said, voice strained.
"You can. You loved him in life. Remember that. He loved you too. Don't let your anger at him keep you here, and in pain."
Anabelle didn't speak for a long moment, looking at Philippa with her hollow eyes, yet her emotions somehow clear behind them.
"Even if I could forgive, I do not know how to leave this place." Anabelle admitted truthfully.
"I can help you." Philippa responded.
"Holy" magic, for the most part, was a crock of shit in Philippa's eyes. A hyperfixation of the arcane arts amongst clergy and the overly superstitious. But it had its use - for one, a strong focus on banishment magic. Philippa was hardly the religious type, but was adept at a spell or two.
"Do następnego" Philippa whispered. A moment later, her right hand began to glow a bright white. She extended it out to Anabelle. The wraith looked at it hesitantly.
"Will it hurt?" Anabelle asked, voice small, like the young woman she was. Philippa shook her head.
"No. It's simply a gateway. It's up to you to walk through it."
Anabelle looked at Philippa's luminous hand a moment longer, before reaching out with her own boney arm. Slowly their fingers touched, and the reaction was immediate. The glow spread from Philippa's hand, slowly up Anabelle's long arm.
"Oh It's so warm. Warmer than I've been since I died." Anabelle said pleasantly as the magic spread through her spectral form. As the magic spread through her, she transformed, from her horrid state as a Plague Maiden, back into the woman that she was, almost looking alive. The light enveloped her whole body, making her a mass of light.
"I'm sorry for what I've done, I truly am." Anabelle spoke, voice sounding far. "And I'm sorry my anger made me even consider harming Graham. Please Give him this for me. He'll know what it means."
"Travel safely, Anabelle."
Suddenly, Anabelle grew so bright, Geralt had to shield his eyes.
When he looked back, Philippa was standing alone.
Quickly, he walked over to her, grabbing her by the shoulders and spinning her around.
"Are you alright?" He asked urgently.
"My head…" She replied. "First time it hasn't been killing me since we got here. I think we did it."
"We?" Geralt scoffed. "You did all the work."
"Well, the job's not done yet." Philippa corrected. Geralt gave her a confused look, until Philippa brought up her hand, enclosed in a fist. She opened it, and in the middle was a necklace: a simple thing, it's cord made of simple fishing line, and its pendant a crudely smelted ring.
"We have a delivery to make."
They asked around until they found Graham's shack. Oreton, the village immediately north of the isle, small fishing town. The people there didn't look very happy, and there were a few Nilfgaardian soldiers about. They didn't even realize how close to the former lord they were.
Philippa and Geralt arrived at Graham's shack, and knocked on the door.
"Who is it?" a voice came from the other side. Must've been Graham they reasoned.
"Graham?" Geralt called.
"W-who's asking?" Graham replied from the other side, obviously weary of a voice he didn't recognize.
"Anabelle is." Philippa replied.
Graham didn't reply immediately, silence overtaking them, before the door cracked open, and out peeked a pale man, with a goatee and thin mustache, and brown hair, combed back.
"What did you say?" He asked, eying the pair nervously.
"We're here because of Anabelle." Philippa stated simply.
"Anabelle's dead." Graham said miserably. "Please, leave me be."
Graham began to close the door again, but Geralt caught it, pushing it open, making Graham take a step back.
"What are you doing?" He demanded. "You've no right! To come into my home and-"
The words fell silent on Graham's lips as Philippa held up the necklace Anabelle's spirit had given her. Based on the wide eyed reaction of the man, Philippa gathered it meant something.
"Where…where did you get that." Graham asked, voice small.
"Anabelle gave it to us to give to you." Philippa explained.
"What game are you playing? Anabelle is dead!" Graham roared. Geralt stepped forward, reiterating he was there.
"Yet she gave it to us all the same." The Witcher said. "We talked to her, talked to her spirit. On Fyke Isle. In the tower."
Graham's mouth opened and closed a few times, not having the words describe his feelings. After a few minutes, he landed on, "You spoke to Anabelle."
"Yes." Philippa nodded. "We know what happened."
"Then you know I failed her." The man replied, looking at his feet and shaking.
"There was nothing you could've done." Geralt said gently.
"I could have protected her." Graham countered. "But she was dead before I could even reach her."
Philippa thought about telling Graham the whole truth. That she was still alive, the fate she suffered at the rats. Her vengeful spirit and her wraith formed. But she decided that Graham didn't need that. What good would it do after all? Remind a downtrodden man of his failures? To taint the image of Anabelle for him? Instead, Philippa gently grabbed Graham's hand, and placed the necklace in his palm. Graham looked down at it, eyes shining.
"I made this for her." He said. "I felt like a fool giving it to her. My silly trinket of scraps I had around the house. But she took it and smiled like it was made of pure gold and emeralds."
"She wanted us to give it to you." Philippa said soothingly. "We helped her move on, her spirit being trapped on the island. She wanted you to have this before she left."
"I-I don't know what to say." Graham croaked, tears spilling down his cheeks. "I loved her. I loved her so much."
Philippa smiled sadly at the man. "I think saying that is enough."
"You're back?"
Geralt and Philippa finally made it back to Keira's hideaway after their detour. "And still in one piece." Keira chirped. "See, I knew you two could handle it."
"We had to fight a Pesta." Geralt grumbled, flopping down in a chair by Keira's desk.
"Was that the source of the curse?" Keira asked.
"Something like that." Geralt sighed.
"I suppose the details don't matter, as long as the job is done." Keira dismissed with a wave of her hand.
"We also found something interesting in your friend's lab." Philippa interjected.
"Really?" Keira said, perking up noticeably. "How is his lab? Was it completely destroyed?"
"No. It was hardly touched. All his notes and experiments as he left them." Philippa explained.
"Great! I mean - good." Keira stated. "The sorceress in me wouldn't feel right if his lab was destroyed by an angry mob."
Philippa frowned slightly at that.
"Keira - he was conducting human experiments."
Keira's eyebrows shot up, and her mouth opened slightly, and Philippa was internally relieved that Keira was in fact ignorant of Alexander's activities.
"I…I had no idea." Keira gasped. "I only knew - we only-"
"I know." Philippa assured. "But his work can't be allowed to remain of course."
"Wait, you didn't destroy it did you?" Keira asked, suddenly sounding worried.
"No, not yet." Philippa answered, frowning even deeper at Keira's reaction "Planned to stop by on the way to Crookback Bog, level the place."
"Let me do it." Keira volunteered a bit too adamantly. "You've already done enough."
"If it's all the same, I just want to be thorough." Philippa countered. "Want to see this through to the end."
Philippa gauged Keira's reaction. The straw-haired sorceress was an adept enough liar, but Philippa saw her tells, the way her eyebrows twitched in annoyance, how her lips tightened. She was hiding something.
"Right. Ever the perfectionist." Keira said quickly, trying to laugh it off. She turned to Geralt, quick to change the subject. "Geralt, no offense but you look a mess."
Geralt just grumbled a response.
"You're free to use my bath." Keira offered. "Least I could do for your brave efforts."
Philippa sensed a flirty tone in Keira's voice, but she chose to ignore it. She was more focused on what activities Keira was hiding.
"Missed a spot."
Geralt was relaxing in Keira's tub. Good thing about magic tubs, the water never got cold. He sat in the water, eyes closed and head tilted back. He opened them, only to glance at Philippa, who had walked up the platform to him, sitting on the changing bench across from it.
"Plan to join me?" Geralt asked with a saucy smile.
"Tempting, but you actually need it." Philippa jabbed lightly. Geralt just scoffed.
"You did the real sweating today." He complained. "I was less than useless out there. Damned sword-"
"Oh don't sulk."
"I'm NOT sulking."
Sighing, Philippa got up, and walked to the bath, sitting on the edge. She reached in and cupped some water in one of her hands, before letting it fall into Geralt's long hair. She ran her fingers through it a few times, which Geralt enjoyed greatly.
"You're not useless Geralt." She said simply, earning her a derisive snort. "I'm serious."
"You don't need to patronize me, Philippa."
Philippa wished she could roll her eyes. Men and their fragile egos. But that was okay - egos could be…massaged
"I'm serious Geralt." She said firmly. She let her hand slide out of his hair, to his shoulders. She rubbed back and forth between them a few times, before diving down to his chest, sliding down further and until it sank under the water. She leaned forward, supporting herself with her other hand on Geralt's shoulder as her hand slid all the way down his stomach, until it reached its destination of his cock. Geralt gasped a bit as Philippa wrapped her hand around him, and started pumping. He looked at her, only being met with a small smirk as she stroked him to hardness. She leaned her head forward, to press a long kiss to his temple, sliding her lips down the side of his face until they were at the shell of his ear.
"Do you know where I'd be without you?" She breathed into his ear. Geralt didn't respond of course, simple grunting as Philippa's hand lovingly played with his manhood under the surface of the water "I'd still be in White Orchard, in a dirty shack. I'd never have found Keira. I'd probably have been hunted by witch hunters."
Philippa stroked faster, meaning every word she said. Geralt was canting his hips upward, cockhead breaking through the surface of the water, fucking himself into her small hand, meeting her downward strokes.
"I've watched you kill monsters twice your size, you've saved me more times than I can count." Philippa peppered kisses to his ear, before trailing them down his cheek, and to his jaw. "You saved me from the Emperor. You saved me from the Hunt."
Philippa's hand was moving rapidly, splashing in and out of the water to stroke every inch of Geralt's cock she could reach. He was breathing heavily, and so was she, adamant to get him off.
"You're so many things Geralt, and useless will never be one of them." She growled into his ear, which was the trigger to set Geralt off. He snapped his hips upward into her hand, cock emerging from the water and shooting ropes of his cum into the air. Most landed on Philippa's hand and wrist, some on Geralt's chest. Philippa kept pumping him, until he made a sound telling her to stop. She dipped her hand in the water, cleaning it of his seed. He leaned back in the tub, breathing heavily, glancing over at her.
"You're really something else." He said with a laugh.
"I know." She replied with a smile. She stood up and turned from the bath, giving Geralt the perfect view of her backside swishing as she walked toward the stairs. She stopped at the top of them and looked over her shoulder. "And you're FILTHY. Now wash up."
Geralt gave a little smirk, before doing as he was told.