Serious People, Who is Learning Magic at Marvel?

The witcher walked up the stairs slowly, his boots stepping on the carpet, feeling a sickening stickiness. No time to deal with this feeling, he leaned against the wall and walked up a little bit. until fully to the second floor. He still couldn't see the scene behind him through the darkness. Everything on the second floor didn't seem to exist in this space.

It's like those darkness brought them to another world.

The witcher cautiously took down the hand crossbow at his waist, and he shot an arrow into the darkness, but he didn't hear any sound - there was no feedback, the arrow seemed to have never been shot. He didn't hear the sound of arrows stabbing against walls or door panels, or stabbing into flesh—he was expecting the latter, but he was disappointed.

Geralt sighed deeply. He lowered his head and glanced at the leather armor on his body. The red light circulated on its body, and there was a life-like ebb and flow of itself in the darkness, and those delicate and intricate patterns lighted up and extinguished with Geralt's breathing.

Without hesitation, he walked into the darkness.

It was just as soon as he entered the darkness, his back began to shiver, the hairs of his hair stood on end, and fine beads of sweat appeared on the witcher's face. In just a few seconds, he felt his His stamina was rapidly draining, and he could barely hold the sword.

The witcher stood at the entrance of the stairs and slowly backed away, but he bumped into a solid wall behind him. He turned his head to see that the place that used to be the stairs was now blocked by a wall decorated with exquisite red wallpaper. At the same time, the surrounding environment began to change little by little, as if to welcome him.

The exquisite chandelier that originally smashed the floor returned to the ceiling and turned on itself. Those candles were warm and flickering, illuminating the surrounding environment. What appeared before the witcher was a long, seemingly endless corridor. He didn't see the windows on either side, the wallpaper was the same as the wall, dark red, thick like blood. Every few steps, a picture frame hangs on the wall, but there is no painting inside.

Geralt stood there and took a breath, the dizzy feeling slowly passed, and his physical strength recovered again. Holding the sword, feeling the heavy touch, he leaned against the wall on the right and started walking forward very slowly.

When he took the first step, the smell in his nose was still rancid, and at the second step it became a faint scent. He also heard people talking and laughing from downstairs, and even singing along with him. The sound of the piano came.

The aroma of food and the smell of the banquet entered his nostrils, as well as the smell of wine.

The witcher ignored him and continued to move forward. Holding the sword in his right hand, he always maintained a moving posture of taking one step forward with his right foot. The stride of each step was not large, which ensured that he could exert force at any time.

"You...why...are you here?"

A voice sounded abruptly, hoarse and unpleasant, with an undisguised hatred for the living, just listening to her speak made Geralt a little unbearable - if I had to describe it, it was like someone taking a fingernail. Grab around the blackboard.

Geralt turned his head, and in the portrait closest to him beside him, a woman appeared, the same woman in the painting in the middle of the stairs in the front hall. The face has also been deducted, and other details are still lifelike. The woman whose face was cut off contorted her body, her limbs twitching, and she moved quickly through the empty frames in a terrifying gesture.

Geralt replied in a dispassionate tone, "You're the one who kept me here."

"I don't..."

The woman moved to the frame opposite him and answered slowly.

"That's weird," the witcher said, tensing his muscles, "if you didn't let me go, who would it be?"

"Yes... Him!"

This sentence seemed to open up something, the woman screamed, Geralt heard the sound of the blade cutting into the flesh, and at the same time, the floor in front of him began to collapse inch by inch, and the chandelier on the ceiling went out and fell down again. The mutilated limbs and corpses fell from the void in the ceiling, and in the blood dripped, they assembled into a woman—the woman in the portrait.

She was wearing a white plain long dress, a wide-brimmed hat on her head, her arms were white, her neck was slender, and her body was full of the charm of a mature woman—except for her face.

She has no face, and there is only an abrupt black hole where it should have been.

Even at this point, Geralt remained calm and asked, "Him?"

"You should at least tell me who I am, instead of being so ambiguous."

The woman stood stiffly on the spot, Geralt could see that she was trying to say something, but this time, she couldn't make a sound.

She exploded.

The body that was assembled just now is separated again. Now, the place looks **** and horrific, like a slaughterhouse.

But the sound of the banquet still came from downstairs.

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"what!"

Lena Bordeaux woke up from a nightmare, and she dreamed of her home again, the home she used to be. Bordeaux estate.

The girl sat on the edge of the bed, she rubbed her cheek gently, and the moonlight outside the window shone in and hit the floor. Lina felt a chill in her heart. She thought she had escaped, but now it seems, I am afraid not.

In that dream just now~www.novelmt.com~ she returned to the Bordeaux estate again. She had dreamed it more than once in the past year, but it had never been more believable than this time. As if she really went back, in the dream, the manor was no longer the dilapidated look, but the way it used to be. Beautiful and atmospheric, every detail is exactly as she remembered...

She was standing at the door of the manor, and the cold wind blew through her pajamas-wearing body, causing the girl to shiver.

Although it was very far from the main building, she heard laughter in the banquet hall. Hear the cheerful laughter of father, mother and her siblings, and her favourite track, The Poet and His Flowers.

The person who sang this tune performed a different style, cheerful and affectionate, and Lena was almost addicted to it. She smelled the banquet hall again, and a voice seemed to whisper in her ear: "Why don't you come back and see? Lena? This is your home, isn't it?"

Do not.

"We miss you so much... Lena."

Do not.

"Don't you... don't want us?"

She wanted to scream, but couldn't make a sound anyway.

Death was gently stroking her cheek. Lena Bordeaux stood in front of the manor door, her mouth wide open. She saw her parents and siblings holding hands and forming a circle.

This circle is harmonious and perfect, but there is a space left, as if to remind: you are missing.

With smiles on each of their faces, warm and kind, they turned their heads and called to Lena softly: "Come with us... Lena... This is—this is—your --Family!"

She recalled the nightmarish scene, lay down again, squeezed the quilt, and closed her eyes.

She shivered and waited for the dawn, but it was late.