Anaya and Geralt trecked through the dark and twisted woods near the village, following the directions Valdus had given them to find the witch. Garrison had decided witch-hunting wasn't something he wanted to take part in that day, not if he had the choice to say no, so he headed back to the tavern with a few coins that would buy them all another night. Anaya, on the other hand, was more determined than Geralt to find the witch. She wanted to know more about her powers and how she could learn to control them, she'd just have to get those answers before Geralt decided to kill the witch.
"Why do you think he wants the spellbook?" Anaya asked, taking Geralt's outstretched hand and letting him help her over a fallen tree.
"Don't know, but I don't trust him. Something tells me he knows more about you than he's letting on," Geralt said.
"What makes you say that?"
"A feeling."
Anaya looked warily at the Witcher as they walked. She had a feeling about him too, the darkness she had felt about him that day hadn't been something she could shake off, even after the numerous times he had saved her life. If anything, it was only growing worse and worse each day. It was a feeling of pure dread she had to force herself to ignore every time she was with him, and she hated it. She didn't want to feel this way around him, she wanted to allow herself to fully embrace the feeling of safety and comfort he brought her, but it was always drowned out by the dread.
"This must be it," Geralt said.
They stood in front of a stone hovel whose walls had been taken over by moss. It looked like it could have belonged to anyone, but the strange engraved symbols on the circular wooden door and the windchime made from bones that hung over it was a red flag that the hovel did not belong to any ordinary human.
"Do you think she's home?" Anaya asked.
Suddenly, dark storm clouds in the sky encompassed the sun and blocked out any light that dared to shine through. The door to the hovel screeched open just as a gust of cold wind blew past their faces and filled their ears with a low cackle that seemed to be carried by the breeze.
"Come in, my children," a voice of a woman sang from the deepest pits of the hovel, yet somehow still managed to sound like she was standing right behind them, whispering into their ears. Geralt drew his sword and walked into the hovel with Anaya following close behind.
Inside, tall bookshelves were lined with jars and viles of the strangest looking herbs and plants, books of unknown languages lay open for prying eyes, and a large cauldron sat bubbling over a green fire. This place, it seemed right out of all those fairytale books Anaya had read throughout her childhood. All those stories describing a witch's living quarters had turned out to be true, but one detail they all seemed to have gotten wrong was the description of the witch herself.
She sat behind a velvet draped table, with silky black hair and beautiful blue eyes. She wasn't old and repulsive like all the stories made her out to be, she was beautiful and she welcomed them with a warm smile that enhanced Anaya from the moment she laid eyes on her.
"Oh my, what a pleasant surprise. Just as I was beginning to get bored, a Witcher and a princess walk through my door," she said in a sultry voice that melted into their ears like butter.
"You know?" Anaya said.
"Oh, honey, I know a lot of things. My name is Liliana and my specialty is creating a bit of magic in the bedroom, but I can branch out. So, what can I help you with? Is the Witcher having trouble getting it up these days?"
YOU ARE READING
Heart of Ice • The Witcher
Fantasy"He was her dark fairytale and she was his twisted fantasy. And together they made magic." A retelling of Snow White and The Huntsman Based on the Netflix series This is a little fluffy and a little smutty so read if you're into that Geralt Of Riv...
