This concept draws inspiration from a particular episode of the television series "Are You Afraid of the Dark?" Unfortunately, I cannot recall the exact title of the episode. In this story, a young girl finds herself spending time at her grandparents' house. However, her neighboring friends suddenly vanish under mysterious circumstances. As the plot unfolds, it is revealed that these missing friends have become ensnared within a bewitched dollhouse, gradually transforming into dolls themselves.
In pursuit of a contract, Geralt finds himself, accompanied by Ciri, taking up residence in the grand manor of an alderman. The aftermath of the mountain incident has left Geralt feeling sorrowful, as he had initially intended to seek reconciliation with Jaskier. However, recent events involving Ciri have diverted his attention. As they gradually acclimate to their new surroundings, Geralt discovers distressing news: Jaskier has been missing for several months, and no one seems to have any information about his whereabouts.
Within the confines of the alderman manor, a peculiar room rests at the pinnacle of the highest tower, strictly off-limits to all. Nevertheless, Ciri becomes convinced that she can hear faint singing emanating from this forbidden chamber during the late hours of the night. Fueled by curiosity, one evening Ciri musters the courage to sneak into the locked room. To her astonishment, she discovers a meticulously crafted dollhouse-like space. Positioned at its very center stands a man adorned in an excessively frilly attire. When Ciri approaches him, intending to inquire if he is the source of the singing, she is jolted by the realization that the man's hand has transformed into porcelain.
The man, devoid of his memories except for fleeting fragments, explains to Ciri that he used to possess a name and a talent for singing. Regrettably, those details elude him now. However, he recalls a significant connection to someone with white hair—a cherished individual who gifted him a ring. Intrigued, the man bestows one such ring upon Ciri, as a token of their encounter. Though compelled to depart, Ciri promises him she will return, ensuring their reunion in the future.
The following morning, Ciri excitedly reveals the ring to Geralt, and to her astonishment, he immediately recognizes it. Unbeknownst to Ciri, the ring was a name-day gift that Geralt had purchased for Jaskier several years ago. Overwhelmed by the revelation, Geralt's urgency compels him to hasten towards the tower where the mysterious man resides. There, to his profound sorrow, Geralt discovers that the man in the tower is none other than Jaskier. However, Jaskier's body has been almost entirely transformed into porcelain, with the exception of his head.
Heartbroken, Geralt tries desperately to elicit a response from his dear friend, but Jaskier remains unresponsive. The anguish that initially grips Geralt quickly morphs into seething anger as the alderman, the owner of the manor, unexpectedly enters the room.
The alderman proceeds to offer an unsettling explanation, revealing that he became infatuated with Jaskier's beauty when he witnessed the bard's performance at a festival held in town. Despite the alderman's persistent efforts to win Jaskier over, the bard adamantly refused any advances, no matter how enticing the offers may have been. Driven by obsession, the alderman resorted to hiring a mage who concocted a potion. Unbeknownst to Jaskier, the alderman discreetly administered the potion by surreptitiously adding it to the bard's food. Slowly but surely, the effects of the potion caused Jaskier's transformation into a doll, accompanied by the loss of his memories as an unfortunate side effect.
The alderman reveals his twisted intentions to keep Jaskier as his eternal, flawless living doll, forever preserving his youthful beauty. Observing the deep connection between Geralt and Jaskier, the alderman brazenly inquires if the Witcher also finds the bard to be as beautiful as he does.
Geralt, in agreement, acknowledges Jaskier's undeniable beauty. However, he emphasizes that his love for Jaskier transcends superficial appearances, unlike the lords who pursued him. Geralt openly confesses his adoration for Jaskier's voice, his graceful movements, his vibrant personality, and even those little idiosyncrasies that he once found annoying. He declares that he loves Jaskier for who he is, and then tenderly presses a kiss to the almost fully transformed doll-like Jaskier's forehead.
To everyone's astonishment, the porcelain facade begins to dissipate gradually. Within a few suspenseful seconds, Jaskier draws a breath and returns to his fully human form. Though bewildered, he turns to Geralt, seeking confirmation of the Witcher's heartfelt words. Overwhelmed with joy, Geralt expresses his apologies for the hurtful words he uttered on the mountain and, with uncontainable happiness, kisses Jaskier, who eagerly reciprocates the affection.
The alderman, confused and furious at the spell's sudden unraveling, attempts to intervene and stop the reunited lovers. However, Geralt swiftly dispatches him, protecting their newfound happiness. United once more, Geralt, Jaskier, and Ciri forge plans to depart and embrace their future as a family. While Jaskier initially struggles to walk due to the lack of use in his legs during his doll-like state, Geralt gladly carries him, elated to have his beloved bard back in his arms.
I was given the opportunity to collaborate with the marvelous, amazing, talented, fantastic @spielzeugkaiser for this story/piece and it was SO MUCH FUN! Thank you for drawing something so amazing, thank you for sharing it with me, and thank you for this fun collab!
Based on “The Music Box Song” from Chitty Chitty Bang Bang
---
The first thing Geralt noticed, as he led Roach down the main road of the little hamlet, was how oddly quiet everything was. There were a few people meandering in the marketplace speaking in low tones, but otherwise the midday streets were empty. It was unusual. Especially for springtime.
He heard the small pocket of villagers speaking as he passed them, their curious and nervous gazes following his every step.
“Do you think that’s the White Wolf?”
“Look at his hair! Who else could it be?”
“Do you think he’ll be able to break the spell?”
He reached the door of the town’s only inn and tied Roach’s reins to the hitching post outside. He gave her an affectionate nuzzle and a few quick pats before ducking through the low wooden door, the villagers’ pointed conversation pushed to the back of his mind for now.
He needed food and lodging, first.
“Afternoon,” the innkeep nodded. Geralt nodded back and took a seat at the bar. The rotund, middle-aged man turned to face him, not a glimmer of fear or apprehension tainted his welcoming expression. “What can I do for ya, traveler?”
“I’ll have a tankard of ale, please; and stew if you have it. I also need a room for the night and a stable for my horse.”
“Two full pieces of silver will get you all of that and a bath to boot,” the man offered. Geralt gave a small, grateful smile and pulled two silvers and a copper from his purse, setting them on the counter directly in front of the beaming innkeep.
“As a thank you for your unexpected but welcome kindness.”
“Appreciated, sir.”
“Hmm.”
Geralt was just bringing the first spoonful of venison stew towards his mouth when his gaze caught on something behind the bar. His eyes narrowed and he looked down at the food suspiciously. Perhaps the man had been a little too kind to a Witcher. Maybe the kindness in his eyes really was just a well-practiced act, after all.
“Where’d you get that lute?” Geralt asked. He’d almost asked - Where’d you get Jaskier’s lute? - but that would have revealed too much.
“Oh, right. I had nearly forgotten about the lute,” the man frowned and shook his head. The Witcher caught a whiff of relief and sadness drifting off the stranger and grew even more confused. “That’s a tragic tale, really. Not good for a traveler’s appetite.”
“If you haven’t noticed, I’m a Witcher. I’ve seen and heard a few unpleasant things in my life.”
“I hadn’t noticed,” the innkeep chuckled. “But that’s just because I’m not a very observant person. If you’re a Witcher you might just be able to help the lad out. Would you care to hear the bard’s tale and see if it’s something your Witcher magic could fix?”
Geralt nodded and took a bite of stew, convinced that the man wasn’t actually trying to rob or kill him (or both). “Go ahead, then. Who is this bard and what horrible fate befell him?”
“A few weeks ago, just after the second thaw, children from the village started going missing at night. They’d come back at midday, their faces pale and their limbs heavy like lead weights. They would sleep for days before they could get out of bed again, and they were incredibly weak. When that bard wandered through on his way to find his friend, he heard of our blight and followed a child into the woods one evening, determined to solve the mystery and stop the madness.”
“Hmm.”
“Turns out it was the Fae -” Geralt’s head snapped up. “- And they were making the children dance all through the night for their entertainment. The faeries would make them dance until the poor little dears were totally exhausted and only had enough strength to wander back home. The bard offered to dance and play for them for two full days in exchange for the childrens’ freedom… and they agreed.”
“Fuck.”
“You sound invested in the lad’s wellbeing,” the innkeep raised an eyebrow. “I can take you to see him, if you’d like.”
“He’s here?”
“Sort of,” the man rubbed his hand up and down the back of his neck and the scent of anxiety spiked through the air. Geralt shook it off, determined to finish his meal before attending to his foolish friend and companion. “The Fae weren’t exactly happy about his interloping, you see. They accepted his terms and let him play for the full two days, and the children have been safe ever since, but they didn’t return him the way he left. Apparently the faeries decided that it would be more fun to curse him a little bit and watch the aftermath play out.”
“What is a little bit, exactly?”
Geralt had never heard of just a little bit of cursing. There were either dire consequences or death on the other end of curses and neither one were fitting ends for Jaskier’s colorful, too-short life.
“It would be best if you finished your food, Sir Witcher. If you’re as close to the bard as I think you are, it’ll spoil your dinner to see him like this.”
---
The alderman ushered his two impromptu visitors inside and closed the door quietly behind them. He gave Geralt a slow, calculating once over. “So I take it you’re a Witcher, eh?”
“Yes.”
“And you’ve come to break the fae’s curse on this bard?”
“Depends on the curse.”
“Apparently he knows the lad,” the innkeeper added helpfully. Geralt glowered and pulled his hood back away from his face.
“I haven’t actually seen him yet, but it’s very likely that this bard and I are acquaintances.”
“Right this way, then. I’ve kept him out of the children’s hands. I didn’t know if the singing and dancing routine would still make him tired or not and I wanted to be safe; for all the help he did to rescue them from those dastardly faeries, the villagers certainly seem to enjoy turning the key and making him perform.”
Geralt grew more and more worried with every word that passed through the alderman’s lips. Singing and dancing routine? Turning the key? Making him perform? What had the faeries done to his stupidly caring friend in return for his bravery? What kind of curse had they placed on the silly, fun-loving human?
The three men crossed through the manor’s sitting room and dining room and into a clean, empty storage room that ran against the very back of the building. Positioned in the center of the floor was an enormous, intricate music box. The figure standing up from the top was facing away from them, so Geralt took a moment to inspect the stand itself.
The square box was carved around the bottom edges with buttercup blossoms and had paintings across all four sides, depicting the childish, storybook version of Jaskier approaching the Fae in the woods, his two nights of dancing and singing, his transformation, and, as they came around to the front panel at last, his imprisonment. The doll on top of the stand was Jaskier; or it had been, once upon a time.
The bard looked only slightly different in his current accursed form, but it was enough to unnerve the usually stoic Witcher. The blue of Jaskier’s eyes was misty and glazed over. Glass, Geralt realized. He suppressed a horrified shudder at the thought. His eyes look like they’re made of glass. His skin was pale and when Geralt reached out to caress his arm (bent stiffly at the elbow much like a jointed doll’s would be) it felt waxy and too-smooth. Inhuman.
Jaskier’s body was bent slightly forward at the waist, both arms resting oddly at his sides with the elbows bent at ninety degrees. Two circles of rouge brightened his cheeks and his eyes had been lightly lined to make them seem wider and more doll-like. A wreath of colorful flowers had been pinned into his hair and the blue silk doublet Geralt had last seen the bard wearing was nowhere to be found.
The Fae had clearly taken their time with dressing and decorating him. His waist was cinched into a colorful corset-style vest that tied up the front with little blue silk bows and his legs were outfitted in tight-fitting, navy blue breeches that buckled just below the knee. His hose was off-white and complimented the shapely curve of his calves and ankles. He was wearing the buckled, heeled shoes of a nobleman and they shone with polish. There was nothing holding Jaskier up, which meant that the curse itself was keeping him upright and in place.
The Witcher turned to glare at the alderman, his emotions finally boiling over at the sight of his bard’s transformation. “Did the Fae tell anyone how to break the curse?”
“We think the answer is in the song.”
“The song?”
“When you wind the lad up he sings a little song. He’s standing on a music box, after all.”
“Hmm.”
The alderman approached the side of the box and wound the large key jutting out, twisting until he was red faced and the bronze-painted peg would turn no more. He released the key and stepped back to join Geralt and the innkeeper where they stood with their backs against the far wall.
A few soft, tinkling metallic notes played through the room before the doll came to life. Jaskier’s back straightened and his arms reached out towards his audience in jerky little movements. Every time one of his joints extended or shifted there was a loud wrenching sound as the inner workings of the music box manipulated his limbs in time to the melody.
Jaskier’s bright, lilting tenor flowed forth as he danced mechanically atop his pedestal. He turned in a slow circle, his arms reaching up and around as if seeking an embrace as he sang:
“What do you see,
You people gazing at me?
You see a doll on a music box
That's wound by a key.
“How can you tell
I'm under a spell?
I'm waiting for love's first kiss!”
Geralt blushed as the doll-Jaskier reached directly out towards the space where the Witcher happened to be standing, almost as if he was reaching out for the true love he sought to break his spell. Geralt’s eyes met briefly with the wax figurine’s and he felt his heart skip a beat. Jaskier is so close and yet he still doesn’t see me. The Witcher gave a heavy sigh and shook his head as the bard continued his automatonlike performance.
“You cannot see...
How much I long to be free,
Turning around on this music box
That's wound by a key!
“Yearning, yearning
While I'm turning around and around…”
The tune faded away into nothing again and Jaskier fell silent. His torso drooped forward. His hair fell into his eyes and Geralt reached out to move it away without thinking, letting his fingers brush the bard’s painted cheek as he pulled back. “So do you know anyone who could possibly free him? He only has a few days left.”
“What?!” Geralt snapped. He spun to face the innkeep with a thunderous look on his face. “What do you mean!?”
“The curse has to be broken before the end of the month or he’ll be stuck like this forever.”
“Fuck. Why didn’t you tell me that first?” the Witcher snarled. He gazed hopelessly at his friend and clenched his fists at his sides.
It was so much easier to kill monsters. It was so much easier to break curses when they were placed on princesses or nobles or foolish peasants who had meddled where they shouldn’t. But Jaskier had been doing a good deed without being prompted and he had done it all alone without Geralt there for backup or protection. The stupid bard had rescued an entire village’s children by offering himself to the fae and now… now…
Geralt sighed and shook his head. He needed to think. He needed to breathe.
“I’m going to contact some friends and see what we can do,” he finally said. “But first I need rest. May I return to my room at the inn?”
“Aye. Good luck, Witcher.”
“Hmm.”
---
Geralt tossed and turned, unable to sleep.
Two glassy blue eyes kept following his every move, searching for him in the dark.
He knew he had to rescue Jaskier, the only problem was finding someone who loved him enough to break the curse. The Witcher rolled onto his back and glared at the ceiling. Dawn was only a few hours away and he’d failed to get any sleep or meditate deeply enough to rest. He kept hearing those words, high and breathy, echoing through his head over and over:
“You cannot see...
How much I long to be free,
Turning around on this music box
That's wound by a key!”
The thought of anyone else kissing Jaskier sent a tight, angry buzzing sensation flickering beneath his skin. He bristled. He frowned. He… He was jealous. The moment Geralt tried to picture Essi Daven or Priscilla or that one foolish Count with ashy-blonde hair and broad shoulders he’d caught the bard with late one night even coming close to kissing Jaskier, the Witcher felt the urge to growl and bare his teeth. He wanted to curl around the music box and snarl at anyone who came too close for his liking. He wanted to wrap Jaskier in his arms and keep him there forever, where he could hear the bard’s heartbeat and feel his warmth.
An unnerving thought.
He’d always been a very possessive lover.
Fuck.
But what if he tried to kiss the bard and the spell didn’t break? Then he might lose Jaskier regardless of whether or not he woke up. If Jaskier’s curse dissipated at the hands of another and he knew that Geralt had kissed him, had acknowledged his love for the bard and faced it head on and failed, then the Witcher might break down forever. Without Jaskier, what reason was there to return to the inn or the campfire at night? Of course there was Roach, but once she died he didn’t have to seek out another…
He could just disappear like many of his Witcher brethren often did.
Geralt groaned and rose to his feet, slipping on his boots and cloak as quietly as possible. He crept through the sleepy town under the blanket of night and snapped the lock off the alderman’s back window. He gripped the lower sill and took a deep, steadying breath before heaving it open.
He had to try, at least.
He had to know.
The Witcher climbed silently into the storage room and walked in a slow circle around the music box. Jaskier was standing perfectly still, the painted smile on his face and the silk flowers in his hair looking as brilliant as ever, even in the darkness. Geralt stood in front of his cursed friend and sighed quietly.
“I wish you didn’t have to find out just how much I care about you like this, Jaskier. I wish I could have told you about my rather prominent and passionate feelings before any of this nonsense had happened. If I fail you now, if you don’t wake up because this love is one-sided, I’m sorry. I want you to know that I’m so incredibly sorry for not being able to love you enough to save your life.”
With his soul bared and his confession carefully whispered into wooden ears, Geralt reached up and placed his palm against the bard’s waxy cheek. He had to stand on tiptoe in order to reach Jaskier’s mouth with his own and the position made him feel strangely vulnerable. He tried not to think about it as he closed his eyes and pressed his lips against the smooth, painted wooden mouth of the music box doll that had once been his most faithful friend.
He pulled away after a lingering moment of contact, shaking his white hair out of his eyes. A few terrifying seconds ticked past and nothing happened. The Witcher was about to cry out in frustration and disappear out the window again when he heard a shallow breath being drawn. His worried amber gaze snapped up and met, for the first time in far too long, a pair of bright blue irises that flashed with recognition and confusion.
Geralt held out his arms and caught the bard just as he went limp, his body exhausted from being held upright for so many days on end. He felt like a pile of crumpled laundry in the Witcher’s arms, all deadweight and no control over his limbs at all. “Are you alright, Jaskier?”
“Hnn.”
He was still waking up from the spell and likely had no memory of what had happened. Geralt bit back the pang of bitter disappointment that threatened to echo through his heart; he had no real claim over Jaskier and it wasn’t fair to make one now. Not if the bard didn’t remember his declaration.
“Let’s… Let’s get you back to the inn and get you taken care of, Jaskier. I can tell the others about the broken curse in the morning.”
“Do you mean it?” Jaskier rasped. His head lolled against Geralt’s shoulder and he glanced up with tired but frightened eyes, “Do you really love me?”
“Hmm. Yes.”
“Good,” the bard managed to shift closer despite his full-body exhaustion. “I love you, too.”
“No more running off and trying to save people by yourself.”
“Well you aren’t always around to help, Geralt, what am I supposed to do?”
“I’ll be around from now on,” the Witcher asserted. He pressed another quick kiss to the bard’s lips and watched as Jaskier blushed and stuttered in his firm bridal carry. “I’m never letting you out of my sight again.”
---
“Geralt please stop humming that song.”
“I can’t help it! It’s so catchy, it just keeps getting stuck in my head. Will you sing it for me? Maybe that will help.”
“Fine,” the bard muttered, settling down next to the fire with his lute. “Just once.”
“Thank you.”
Geralt sank into his meditative kneel and closed his eyes. A smile played at the corner of his lips and Jaskier pretended not to see it.
