Dear reader,
School teaches us many things (are you groaning internally as well thinking about your last algebra class?). In my case, most of all, it taught me to be afraid of other people. I never had many friends, could never really figure out how to make any. I very much rely on undamaged, extroverted people to adopt me. We would probably classify this as social anxiety today. But back then I was simply shy and unpopular. Oh well.
And now I am here in this strange new place. I have no idea how long it will take me to get back home. On the terrible off-chance that it will be a while, I would like to try to make at least some friends – despite my very deep-seated fear of what these people might think of me and how they might reject me. I have way too many ideas as to how that is going to go. Too much imagination in all the wrong places – I would much rather come up with a million-dollar idea but no, this is where my brain draws the limit of its imagination. Thanks for nothing, you useless lump of neurons!
It will not be easy: Everything about me screams 'outsider'. Everything that makes me me does not exist in this place. My skills are useless, my jokes will never be understood. Most of my stories I cannot tell, because nobody would be able to follow them. Bla bla bla, I am a sad cookie.
So, I had this grand plan. I would try to make people like me, hoping they would forgive that I was this little, misplaced thing that did not belong into their world.
But how? Food! I might not know anything about how to sharpen a sickle, can only ride a horse while having a nervous breakdown loom over me – but I can still bake and cook (not getting a Michelin star any time soon but it will suffice). Fire works the same way as it does at home. In general physics seem to be comparable which is always a great relief. You would not want to accidentally bounce off the planet by jumping too high, not knowing the gravity here is 0,0001% the gravity you are familiar with. Would potentially be funny though.
Anyway, I started to bake this morning. Fresh bread, filled with garlic and cheese. The very yummy, always popular all-time classic: garlic bread. I made a couple of small loafs, packed a few bottles of juice, all nicely tied up in a basket that would make little red riding hood proud, and got ready to run around in the fields offering people some for lunch. If that does not convince them to like me, nothing will. Because let us be honest, my personality is not going to help me here nor is my lack of marketing skills.
But alas, my plan never came to fruition. I had hardly left the house when I was intercepted by a stranger. I had never seen him around, of that I am certain despite not having the best memory for faces or names. But this one… he was memorable in a way I have difficulty putting in words. His head was shaved, some stubble already having grown back. Maybe lice? Head-shaving was still the number one solution for getting rid of those pesky little crawlers. I too see that hairstyle in my future if I am forced to stay here (and it is not going to be cute, that much is clear).
The man's clothing looked a bit worn: a mustard-colored shirt with blue stripes at the arms, a leather hood around his neck, and boots – worn as well but surprisingly clean for the environment we were in. I can never manage to go anywhere without having my shoes covered in dust afterwards. But not a speck of dirt on his.
I believe his name was Gunther – like that guy from 'Friends' who works at the Central Perk?
Now, here is the thing about him that I cannot properly describe: The vibes were not good. Do you know what I mean? I looked at him and he gave me the creeps in a way nobody had ever before (not even that heavily breathing dude in the video rental store who went straight for the porn section). He smiled. It was a normal smile. But it made the hairs on the back of my neck stand and it surely would made have all my other hairs stand up as well had I not lasered those years ago. A total blessing in a world where razors look like they are fit to murder someone rather than a useful bathroom item. Not that anyone here would know what a bathroom is to begin with…
Anyway, I looked at this guy and just for an instant I thought I saw something else there, something really dark and twisted. It was gone in the blink of an eye but it stuck with me as if my brain had stepped into a particularly nasty piece of chewing gum.
I needed to get my shit together again, at least halfway, and try to be less of a scared baby. It is bad enough that I would be helpless if horses decided to take over the world, I cannot afford to be afraid of everything and everyone I encounter.
I do not like strangers for my own stupid reasons, see above. But this one… I just wanted to get rid of him. I hate to be so judgmental towards people who have not wronged me in any way but this guy made me feel uneasy to the highest degree and I was not able to deal with that on top of the entire trapped in another world issue that I had going on.
When he finally spoke, his voice was unexpectedly calm – at least compared to the demonic screeches from hell that, for reasons that were not entirely clear to me, I had been expecting. He was asking for food, holding out a bowl and a spoon. He, a mirror merchant, had recently fallen on hard times.
Just a beggar then, no reason to be afraid. But oh… I was. I have no idea why – except for the creepy vibes of course.
Geralt frowned and looked up from the worn diary in his hands to Kit who was reading a book right next to him. She was lying on her stomach, blanket pulled up to her hips, book leaning against the head of the bed where the light of her bedside lamp could best reach the pages. The way she bit her lower lip told him she was reading some sort of thriller.
There were not only thousands of miles between Corvo Bianco and their penthouse in New Novigrad, but also more than 700 years between now and the time of Kit's diary entry. And yet, Geralt felt the chill, the exact thing Kit had described back then. Except she had had no idea who she had been facing, but Geralt knew. He knew all too well. And he was afraid of what might have happened back then. Had she unknowingly made a deal with the devil? Was their life as he knew it about to end?
He contemplated asking or rather interrogating her about the encounter but hesitated. Finally, he continued to read. He could hardly remember a time when he had been this uneasy.
I did not have my usual mechanisms available to combat nervousness or evade certain social interactions which were: playing on my phone, watching TV, or playing on my phone while watching TV. So I stupidly looked at the man for a moment before I remembered the basket that I was carrying with me. Before I could do anything sensible, I saw my arms stretching out towards him, basket in hand.
I told him to take it, told him I hoped that he liked it, that it was an old and favorite recipe of mine. I kept blurting out more word vomit before I finally managed to reign in those two braincells that I had left.
The stranger on the other hand looked a bit surprised. Then he took the basket from me and thanked me profusely. If I was wishing for something, he wondered. He, a poor beggar, could not give me anything in return for the food but he promised to pray for my wishes to come true if I just told him what they were. I spaced a bit here because I was mostly wishing for him to disappear. But obviously it would be horrible to say that (I got bullied in the past but I am absolutely not passing that on, ever!). So I mumbled something about hoping he would get back on his feet and wished him well.
For some reason he seemed to be rather displeased with that answer. But then he left. Finally. I felt like I could breathe again.
As fast as I could, I hurried back to the house and vowed to not answer the door ever again. I ran into Marlene and told her about my ruined friendship-making-plans and the creepy stranger. I asked her if she knew the man – maybe he was well known in the area? Unfortunately, as beautiful as Toussaint is, being a state based mostly on agriculture meant that a lot of people were not exactly affluent – to put it nicely. I have a feeling that Geralt has tried to shield me from that misery but I have already recognized some of the beggars that line the streets in certain parts around Beauclair.
Marlene acted a bit strange after this. I did not see her again that day but neither did I see the beggar. When Geralt finally came home in the evening, I felt much better. I have no idea what it is specifically but there is a certain quality about him, just as intangible as whatever gave me the creeps about the other guy, that calms me.
Geralt had not realized that he had begun to bend over the diary in concentration.
"Everything okay?" Kit asked, finally looking up from her own book, patting his leg.
"You never told me about his!" Geralt reproached her, hitting the pages of the open book with his hand. Kit just cocked her head and then took her diary to briefly scan the page.
"That's my very first diary and since you're only a few pages in, that must have been right at the beginning." She looked over the text, then shrugged. "Yeah, kinda forgot about it, you took a bath later that night."
"How is me taking a bath related to you forgetting to tell me about a stranger who scared you enough that you were inspired to write an essay about him?"
"Well. You look pretty delicious whenever you climb out of a bathtub all wet and naked. And I was confused and horny."
Geralt pursed his lips in an attempt to keep a serious face and not acknowledge that her flattery had once again hit its target.
"I suppose I shouldn't let you read my diaries after all if they get you so agitated."
Geralt sighed. "Do you even know who this guy was?"
"Uh… Gunther?" she replied after quickly going over her notes. "I always just tried to get rid of him as fast as possible. Funny, I nearly forgot he existed."
Geralt whipped his head around. "You've met him repeatedly?"
Kit nodded. "Yeah, he came by every few months or so, probably when you weren't around. I just gave him food and sent him on his way. He really scared me at first. I don't even know why. I think he was mental or something. Always asked for my wishes, like a broken record. And there was something about his eyes…" She shuddered as she remembered.
"And you never thought to tell me?"
"No, why? Once I managed to get him off my chest in a record time of less than a minute. And, to be honest, you had your hands full with my time and dimension travelling ass. I didn't want to cling to you just because there was a guy who was creepy but harmless."
"Kit…" He buried his face in his hands. "This is important: Did you ever tell him about any wish you might have had? I need you to try and remember." She could have said so many things to him. Gaunter O'Dimm knew how to twist an innocent wish into a nightmare, Geralt had experienced that first hand. What if she had said something to him? It might have been hundreds of years since then but he was immortal – for all Geralt knew – he could take his sweet time. Geralt had always feared he was going to meet him again. Maybe he was still mad at him for solving his riddle and freeing Olgierd von Everec. He had always expected that revenge would come – until he had forgotten about the master of mirrors. And then Kit had arrived and life had taken a different turn altogether. She was the greatest gift he had ever received and she was also the obvious weak point that O'Dimm could have used to make his life hell.
Kit seemed surprised by her husband's agitation. "I always wished him well, nothing more, nothing less. Really, by the third time it was an established pattern. Why are you so on edge? This isn't like you."
Geralt could not help but feel relieved and took her into his arms.
"What would I have wished for anyway? To go home? Sure, but that's not something I'd tell a stranger about – they'd just think I was crazy anyway if I told them my home was on another plane of existence." She cuddled up to him. "And then there was you and I had absolutely nothing to wish for anymore – save for indoor plumbing of course."
He kept a tight grip on her. "I'll overlook the fact that I'm not more important to you than indoor plumbing." He sighed again, momentarily at ease.
Kit freed herself from his grip and cupped his face to kiss him.
"Are you going to tell me what has you so worried now?"
He looked at her, taking in her lovely face as he swept a strain of hair behind her ear.
"Have you ever asked Marlene about how she came to live at Corvo Bianco?"
Kit shook her head. "You helped her out somehow, didn't you? I remember one evening when Dandelion mentioned something about that – that I should ask her about her story so I would know that you're a good guy and that I would be a horrible person for using you. But since he was and is an idiot and I didn't need any proof of you being the most wonderful human being, I never asked her."
"Human being, huh?" Geralt smirked.
"I am still of the opinion that witchers aren't different enough from us fragile humans to deserve to be their own species. Those few genes don't matter, you're not that special my dear," she said with a smile.
Geralt leaned back, taking Kit with him so that she would rest her head on his shoulder.
And then he told her the story of Marlene. How the former heiress of Trastamara had been cursed by a beggar and been transformed into a spotted wight because she had been arrogant and had refused him food. How Geralt had met her, freed her and had taken her home. How that very same 'beggar' had turned Olgierd von Everec's heart to stone and how Geralt had to fight through a literal nightmare to defeat O'Dimm and free Olgierd's soul.
Kit stayed silent when Geralt had finished his story, one hand absentmindedly running over his chest.
"All in all, I was lucky because I was too scared to be rude to him then," Kit reasoned at last.
"Lucky? No. You've always been kind. He cannot harm you if you want nothing from him and treat him decently enough."
Kit hummed. "I wouldn't say that trying to get rid of someone because they creep me out is kind but whatever works I guess." She shuddered. "I assume he did not come back because he liked my stuffed garlic bread so much then?"
Geralt shook his head. "Probably wanted you to be careless and make a wish that he could twist to hurt you to get back at me. And I assume wishing him well – which is fairly selfless compared to what others have wished for – doesn't give him a basis to work with."
"Protection through accidental kindness…"
"When did you last see him?" Geralt wondered.
Kit thought for a moment. "Those visits all happened within half a year I think. I have never heard from him since."
Geralt breathed out in relief.
"Great, now I'm mad at myself. I should have asked."
"Asked what?" Geralt had begun to run his fingers through her hair as Kit had cuddled up to him.
"Marlene. I should have asked about her story. I didn't want to because I felt it wasn't any of my business. But I basically told her that the guy who had cursed her was back – she must have been so scared that day." She paused briefly. "Didn't she ask to leave for a few weeks at some point? It must have been right around that time."
Geralt tried to remember. This had happened over 700 years ago but there was something about Marlene wanting to go to Nilfgaard for a while. She had never given Geralt a reason and he had merely been glad that she still felt adventurous enough to go on a journey at all. Naturally, Geralt had made sure it was a comfortable one.
He shrugged and held Kit tightly.
A few weeks later Geralt found himself wandering through the snowy streets of New Novigrad. It was close to midnight and had been snowing all day, enticing most people to stay indoors after their day was done. Here, in the smaller side streets further away from the center, the more than ankle-deep blanket of white had not yet been cleared away.
The untouched snow crunched pleasingly beneath the thick soles of Geralt's boots. He watched as new snowflakes danced in the soft light of the lanterns on their way towards the ground.
He passed by many smaller shops and restaurants, all deserted and devoid of life at this time of night. Their windows were dark and gave the impression of empty eye-sockets against the brilliant white snow. Only a dingy looking electronics store had a variation of TVs in all shapes and sizes running still, their light tinging everything slightly blue. He noticed that the news were on and stopped for a moment, waiting to see if he could catch the weather report for the upcoming week.
The voiceless news anchor in her navy blazer moved her mouth, talking about an event that had taken place earlier today at New Novigrad's remodeled congress hall. An event by a tech company called Bite had caused considerable chaos during the day with many more visitors trying to gain entrance than could fit the hall. The resulting traffic congestions had lasted all day.
The screen switched to the presentation of a device that Geralt recognized instantly: a smartphone. While he had only spent a few days in Kit's world a very long time ago, he remembered the device well. Kit had talked about it a lot when she had come to his world and seeing her back then, handling it like an extension of her body, had stuck with Geralt. She had even taught him how to use it which was the only reason he recognized it despite it looking slightly different. He was about to move on, excited to tell Kit that her favorite piece of technology had finally made its way into their world, when one last glance at the TVs showed him something very much unexpected: The face of Gaunter O'Dimm. There was a snipped of him, presenting the phone to the audiences. It was shocking to Geralt to see the man and slightly odd to see him wearing a suit and a wide smile that was not quite as ominous as the ones he remembered. The band on screen named him as CEO of Bite. The company was vaguely familiar to Geralt but unlike Kit he did not bother to stay on top of tech news. He would have to ask her about it once he got home, he decided.
Geralt felt his heart sink. He had certainly hoped to never have to encounter this man again. To know that he was here, here in this City, soured his mood. He briefly wondered if reading Kit's diary entry a few weeks ago had called him or if it was just a coincidence.
Geralt decided to move on, the weather all but forgotten, and warn Kit in case she ever ran into him.
He turned and started walking, the falling snow robbed of its magic, now merely radiating cold. Geralt had managed to take a few steps when he saw a shadow move in front of him. At first he thought his eyes had played a trick on him but there it was again, on the ground right in front of him. Something was obstructing the light from the street lantern above, he suddenly realized and looked up. A figure sat on top of the lantern, legs dangling in front of the light, throwing those awkward shadows on the ground.
Geralt had to blink away the snowflakes that had caught in his eyelashes.
Just by the way he had positioned himself, he recognized him immediately. Geralt looked up but said nothing.
"Good evening to you too, Geralt," the figure said.
"Didn't expect to run into you here," was the only reply Geralt could give for lack of a better comeback.
"I did. You never entirely escaped my field of vision, so to speak. Except for that little while when you sent me to hell, of course."
Inside the pockets of his coat Geralt balled his hands into fists.
O'Dimm grinned. He let himself fall backwards – and disappeared.
"Don't worry, I am not one to hold onto old grudges," he sounded from behind. Geralt turned around as O'Dimm approached him. His expensive-looking patent leather shoes left no traces in the snow.
"Is that so?" Geralt asked, cursing the fact that the times to carry a sword had ended more than a century ago. Not that a sword was any help when your opponent could stop time at will but he would have felt safer with the somehow still familiar weight on his back regardless. O'Dimm moved closer, hands likewise buried in the pockets of his tailormade yellow coat, a blue scarf peeking through the lapel.
"In case this has gone by you, witcher," O'Dimm lifted one corner of his mouth into a crooked smile, "people have long stopped coming to crossroads to ask for favors."
"They say that nowadays the devil lives in the fine-print of leasing contracts and student loan agreements," Geralt agreed.
"Witcher – is this an attempt at humor?" O'Dimm grinned a wide, open smile, his eyebrows raised in astonishment.
"I'm a funny guy," Geralt replied stone-faced. "You'd know that if you hadn't been so busy sending me on errands."
O'Dimm nodded pensively. "You were the last one. The last worthy opponent I ever had."
"That a compliment?" Geralt hummed, wondering where this conversation would lead them.
"Absolutely. Nobody who came after you managed to beat me. And without stakes, the game... it becomes dull. People nowadays are so unimaginative. Do you know what they wish for? Not eternal life, not strength, not skills. They will sell their souls for a new TV or a new nose. How uninspired!" O'Dimm had raised his voice as he spoke. "What these buffoons wish for isn't worth even half a soul!" His rage manifested in little golden and red sparks that created an eerie halo around him. There was a deep glow in his dark eyes as he continued. "They used to pray to me, worship me as the god I am. They came looking for me. But today they expect everything to be delivered to their doorsteps. If it cannot be ordered online, they are not interested. What can't be found on the internet, doesn't exist to them. There is no more respect, no more fear in their hearts!" His exasperated speech produced little clouds in the cold night air. Geralt would have taken him for a lost steam engine had it not been for the rage he saw creep across his face.
"World's changed," Geralt added succinctly. He leaned against the pole of the lantern that a few moments ago had still been occupied by Gaunter O'Dimm.
"It has Geralt. It has. Just like you. You've gotten cozy. Soft."
"And you've become what? A businessman? A venture capitalist?" He nodded towards O'Dimm. "Fancy shoes, a bespoke coat. What does that make you?" Geralt stepped aside to make room for an elderly woman who walked her wiener dog on the narrow sidewalk. The creature waddled on legs so short that the dog's head hardly showed above the snow.
"I am still a god," he burst out but went silent, when the woman with the dog accidentally jostled him as she fought the snow beneath her feet while she simultaneously tried her best not to strangle her dog with the leash that she held in her gloved hand. O'Dimm intently watched her, eyes darkened, lips pressed into a thin line, as she went past him on unsteady legs without an apology or even a sign of recognition.
"But the belief-system has changed," O'Dimm continued, more quietly now. He smiled and simultaneously glared at the woman until she was out of earshot. "They are still selling me their souls – at least for about a year at a time. Until the battery gives in. Or the screen breaks."
"So your phones are selling for the price of a soul?"
"Something like that. 699 New Crowns to be precise." He shrugged. "What can I do? There are no more prayers. Only money. A new belief-system."
"So no more torturing people?"
"Don't be silly, Geralt. Every now and then there is a soul out there that is worthwhile torturing. But they are far and few between."
"Where am I on that list?" Geralt wondered.
O'Dimm rolled his eyes.
"Fairly low. One doesn't just discard of one's favorite toy. Don't worry. And it seems the fates have punished you enough with that dull life of yours."
"The fates?" Geralt kept a neutral voice.
"The fates sent her to you, your woman. Funny people. I have met them a few times. It's too bad they chose her to pull your teeth. I mean look at you. You a hardly looking like your grumpy old self. How… uninspiring."
Odd, Geralt thought all of a sudden. There he was, the mighty Gaunter O'Dimm, and he had nothing better to do than insult his life choices. Why did he even care?
And then Geralt realized something. Belief, he knew that, was power. And here was a god that nobody believed in anymore. Here was a god without power who merely held the temporary admiration of a few fanatics – until the next shiny thing came along. Geralt might have lost his edge but so had Gaunter O'Dimm. All that was left of him were parlor tricks.
He thought back to the old Gaunter O'Dimm who had killed a man for the crime of interrupting a conversation. He had frozen time itself to stab the man with a wooden spoon right through the eye.
But all he could do now was trying to kill the old lady, who had bumped into him, by glaring at her. The old O'Dimm would have killed her – and her dog as well, for good measure.
Now it was Geralt's turn to smile. The gods of technology were fleeting, Kit had told him so over and over again. Steam engine, electricity, telegraph, phones, TV, internet… They all came, some went, some stayed, but eventually they would all be replaced by the next big thing. The polished god before him was a dying god. Or maybe not even that anymore. Just a CEO. Three letters, same meaning. Smoke and mirrors.
Oh, how he would have loved to tell Marlene.
Geralt smiled inwardly as he felt all dread melt away.
"Well, I have to leave now. My dull life awaits me."
"What a killjoy you have become," O'Dimm called after him, his tone morose.
When turning a corner, Geralt looked back over his shoulder to find that the master of mirrors had disappeared.
"What took you so long?" Kit shouted from the kitchen the moment the doors of the elevator opened with a ping.
"Ran into an old acquaintance," Geralt shouted back as he took off his coat and boots. He entered the kitchen where Kit was loading their plates with steak and his favorite onion sauce. Midnight-dinner she called it when either of them came home this late.
"How old exactly?" Kit asked while fishing potato wedges out of the oven, her forehead creased in concentration as she tried not to burn herself on the hot metal.
"Very old. Ancient really." He approached her and slid his cold hands under her shirt. She squealed and sent a few wedges flying to the floor.
He smirked and decided to change the topic. "Have you seen the news? Apparently the first smartphone has just been released. Isn't that what you've been waiting for for centuries?" Geralt pressed a kiss on the top of her head which she acknowledged with a smile and a satisfied hum.
"You mean Bite? I heard something about it on the radio today. Just FYI, Bite isn't even the first company to have built a smartphone. Just the first one with enough money to orchestrate a worthwhile media event around it."
"Will you get one though? A smartphone, I mean."
Kit put the plates on the kitchen counter. Geralt dug around in their overflowing drawers for cutlery.
"Not yet. I'll give it a few years. The first iteration of something is usually pretty bad. No point spending any money on that."
"I'm surprised to hear that. I thought you could hardly wait."
Kit shrugged as she sat down next to him.
"They are very handy – but not yet. People need to develop all those programs for them before you can get a good use out of them. And besides," she looked at him, "once you get yourself one of these, you will never have a quiet moment again. It will ping and beep the entire day with messages and what not. Enjoy the silence while it lasts."
"Who are you and what have you done to my wife?" Geralt called out in mock shock. "You were so in love with that thing back when you came to me. You told me you had the equivalent of phantom pain when you were without it."
"Different circumstances. I would have loved to call home back then. But now home is here. Has been for centuries."
"So you don't care at all?"
"Oh, no, I do care. I have already tasked a few people to build certain apps once software specs are available. And then we'll sell those apps through several of the companies that I prepared for this years ago. I'll make sure we make good use of the heyday of the last technological advancement that I know about – this will be the last time I can guarantee a financial success story." Geralt was taken aback by her calculated approach.
"That doesn't sound like you," he said, cocking his head. This was way too close to O'Dimm he realized.
"This will be the last time we can earn easy money for our foundation. The last opportunity to build a substantial financial cushion to support as many projects as possible before my whole 'knowing things about the future' shtick doesn't work anymore. I really want to extend the micro credit program worldwide. The vast majority of the credits we gave out were successful beyond our wildest expectations. I want to keep that momentum going. You know my stance on this. Randomly funneling money into places isn't going to work long-term, we need to enable people to realize their own ideas and…"
Geralt took knife and fork out of Kit's hands, put them aside, and kissed her. She looked at him befuddled.
"Everything alright with you?"
"You know, for a moment there… You reminded me of someone. And that scared me."
"I scare you? Now I'm really worried."
"I had a discussion today. About old gods and new ones, how money has replaced prayers."
"So I talk shop and you suddenly think of me as a god?" She grinned.
"Something like it."
"Well then, if you promise to worship me, I will not demand church tax, okay?"
"Do I need to sacrifice something to you?" he wondered. "Build an altar?"
"No, I don't think so. But I could definitely do with a foot rub every now and then."
"Good. I would hate to randomly have to burn pizza and chocolate to gain your favor."
"Burning food is sacrilegious! Rather burn calories while worshipping me, okay?"
Geralt laughed. "Think I can arrange for that to happen."
He hesitated, the fork stopping halfway between the plate and his mouth. A moment later he put the fork away and grabbed his notebook from the counter. After a quick search he pulled a picture of Gaunter O'Dimm from the internet.
"Remember this guy?" he asked as he turned the screen towards Kit. She looked up from her plate to examine it briefly before she shook her head.
"Should I?" She asked between two bites. "You know I'm terrible at remembering faces."
For a moment Geralt contemplated to tell her everything. But what good would that do when there was no more danger to be expected?
He shut the notebook, shoved it away and took a bite from his food.
"Never mind, it's not important."
Geralt slept well that night knowing they were safe. And for future peace of mind he decided to never again read any of Kit's diaries.