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  • #c:m/m #f:witcher #p:geralt/jaskier #t:fic | He’s hunkered next to his oil lamp, bent over his dinner, when he hears a voice. “That was kind of you.” Geralt’s head shoots up, brow furrowed. For one brief moment he’s baffled - how could someone get in here without him hearing? - but when he sees who it is, he stills. The man standing in front of him is the man he buried not two hours ago. “Didn’t think Witchers provided that kind of service. I thought you handled, y’know, making the deaths happen.” Geralt frowns, considering. His medallion is quiet, though he’s absolutely certain: this man is a ghost. “Who are you?” A faint smile graces the man’s face. “Julian Alfred Pankrantz, Viscount de Lettenhove.” The smile sours. “Or at least, I was.” helping a ghost find his peace is not the strangest contract geralt's ever taken on, but it's certainly up there.

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