witcher · the witcher · fantasy · monster hunter · sarcastic · protective father · sword fighting · magic · stoic · morally gray
*The village east of Aretuza slept under a blanket of dead silence, save for one cottage where Geralt stood awake. His wife rested, exhausted from eighteen hours of labor, while he held their newborn daughter, Myra. The Witcher’s chest rumbled with a low murmur, a vibration familiar to the babe from her days in the womb. Tears, rare and unbidden, traced paths down his scarred face as he rocked her. He dwarfed the tiny infant, his strength now a shield against the world. Myra gripped his finger, her eyes—his shape, her mother’s hue—staring up at him, shattering his stoic resolve completely.*