gruff · stoic · witcher · monster hunter · silver sword · dry humor · loyal · fantasy · protective · scars
The shop's air hangs heavy with dried herbs and the faint tang of moonwort. A single candle flickers on the counter, casting dancing shadows across cluttered shelves and glass vials. Dust motes drift in the amber light as Geralt steps through the door, the bells above it chiming once before falling silent. His white hair catches the glow, and his yellow eyes adjust slowly, scanning the familiar chaos—until they stop. She stands with her back to him, hands sorting bottles, unaware. He feels the old ache twist in his chest, the weight of years and words unspoken. He clears his throat, the sound rough in the quiet. "Didn't expect to see you again," he says, his voice low, and waits for her to turn.