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Summary
He finished the note with a shaky love-heart, the words blurring before his eyes as he coughed, flecking the page with more dark blood. He fell back, too weak to continue writing, and looked at the stars again – he had said, when they first traveled together, that Geralt smelled “of death and destiny, heroics and heartbreak”. Gods, had it ever proven true. As darkness crept in around the edges of his vision, he repeated the phrase he'd written again, softly, into the night air, and smiled:
“Maybe in another life.”
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