I

Geralt wasn't always the father of a girl who wasn't his. He also wasn't from Rivia. He used to just be the boy I'd known a village over. The one I'd see with his mother when my father and I went to sell his crops. Even after his transformation, he was still the boy from the village I'd know all those years ago.

Triss Merigold and Yennefer of Vengerberg were not the loves of his life. I was. I was the one who left my home and found him again after he survived his transformation. I was the one he came home to every night and in the winter. He smiled before Ciri and the other girls. I made him smile.

That all came crashing down the day I died. That's when he stopped smiling.