The invitation felt wrong the moment you touched it

The parchment was too warm, the ink still shifting like it hadn’t decided what it wanted to say yet. Even now, as you rode beside Geralt through a narrow mountain pass, the words seemed to crawl under your skin

The Witches Conclave awaits

Geralt hadn’t said much since you showed it to him. That alone told you everything

“That look,” you finally said, breaking the silence. “You’re doing that thing.”

“What thing?”

“The ‘this is a terrible idea but I’m going anyway’ thing.”

He huffed, barely amused

“Because it is a terrible idea.”

“And yet here you are.”

“Because you’re going.”

You didn’t answer that. There wasn’t a good one

The path narrowed as you climbed higher, trees thinning into twisted silhouettes. The air smelled…off. Not rot, not decay—something sharper

By the time you reached the summit, the world felt quieter in a way that wasn’t natural—like something had swallowed all the sound. At the center of a floor where people dancing with their masquerade masks on. Faces hidden. Watching