Spikeroog The Witcher 3

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Vertigo was overtaking my senses. I lurched dizzily, not sure which way was up and which was down. I was flailing. But my limbs couldn't find any purchase. I tried to focus on my surroundings, only to have my vision blurred even further. It was dark. That was all I knew.

I suddenly landed on my face with a splat. All the air was knocked out of my lungs, and I sprawled on the ground painfully. Spitting dirt out of my mouth, I scrambled onto my feet. I was in the middle of a town square; people rushed by me without taking the slightest hint of notice. Apparently having a girl dropping out of nowhere and into their land was a common occurrence for them.

My head swam, and I staggered sideways, clutching onto an immobile cart for support. The sun was dying out, casting long shadows at my feet. My eyes darted about wildly. Confusion sang in my ears, and shock was numbing my body.

No. Just a memory, a small voice at the back of my mind reminded me. I inhaled deeply, fighting the urge to scream out of hysteria.

"Papa, where's Mama?"

A voice floated over the cacophony of the crowd. I wondered how I could hear the girl. In fact, the noise around me was rather muted; I felt like I was listening to them while my head was ducked underwater. Yet those words had rung out so clearly.

Automatically, my feet guided me towards the voice. I saw myself walking, but I wasn't in control of my actions. I took another deep breath, loosening my tense muscles. Just go with it, I told myself. At least my bad leg wasn't aching. I'd expected at least a throbbing of some sort, considering my undignified landing upon the cobblestones.

"Back at the inn, dearest," replied the girl's father. "She needs her rest."

I continued to walk towards the voices. The square was packed with bodies, but I managed to slip past everyone easily, as though I were a whisper of the wind. I had a strange sense of familiarity as I navigated the area. A nagging feeling told me that I should recognise the place. There was just something about the way the buildings were aligned and the layout of the town that spoke to me.

Then I knew why—this was Hamelin.

My eyes widened in amazement at the realisation. In my stupor, I accidentally bumped into someone. My throat choked up in fear when I recognised the man: Karl. The man who had snapped my wrist when I was young. The one who had started the notion of using threats to squeeze money out of my poor Papa Gunter.

He brushed past me without a word, even as I stammered a 'sorry'. Like I hadn't even bumped into him at all. Odd. He was the one who was finding fault with others; and if others gave him a chance to do so, he'd gladly seize the chance. Why did he let me go?

I shook my head, forcing myself to move forward. There would be plenty of time to contemplate the situation later.

"Why are we here, then?" asked the girl.

"You wanted to explore the town, no?" The man's voice was deep and complacent, and had a sparkling charm to it. I think I could listen to him talk about grass and never get bored.

"I want to play with Josef," the girl whined.

"Perhaps later, dearest."

Eventually, I pinpointed the father-daughter duo. It was obvious that they were related, if their dark, curling hair was any indicator. They were strolling ahead of me, sticking close to one another. The girl was clutching onto her father's hand, her only anchor to the world. They were garbed in simple yet sturdy clothes, suited for travelling. Mud and dirt gathered at the hems, and they walked with a wary vigilance to their footsteps.

I inched closer, running headlong into some people on the way. But just like Karl, they didn't take the slightest notice of me. I tried not to question anything and focused upon the figures in front of me.

The father led the daughter down a sharp corner. I followed, eager to get away from the crowd. It wasn't the crowd itself that bothered me—there were so many familiar faces in there, and each one of them looked like they had decades eased off their faces. They were all smiling, happy, even laughing. Most of all, they seemed carefree.

It was frightening.

This must be Hamelin in the past, I decided. There was no other explanation for it. And perhaps I was invisible to everyone, which was why no one heeded me any attention. It made sense.

I trailed the pair down a path, and soon enough, the father guided the daughter towards a door to the right. A sign outside the door read 'Helga's Home'. The inn they were talking about then. They entered, and I slipped inside, as quiet as a ghost.

The place was cosy, in a dilapidated, rundown way. The reception area doubled as the dining room, and worm-eaten tables and chairs were arranged in neat rows. There were a few townsmen sharing a joke over some ale at one of the tables, but no one else was having a meal. The scent of a home cooked stew wafted in the air, tickling my nostrils and making my stomach growl. An unlit fireplace sat on the side. Decorations were sparse and not noteworthy.

The man and the girl were talking idly at the counter, where a fat, jolly woman was sitting at. Shock rippled throughout my body when I locked my eyes onto the innkeeper's face. She was the woman who had been selling roasted apples on market day, when I was seven and foolish enough to wander out alone. She had thrown two of the fruits at me; I still could feel the impact on my shoulder and cheek.

I fought against the uneasiness settling in the pit of my stomach. They were talking about something. But my head was so distracted that I couldn't concentrate on the conversation.

"Mama!" the little girl shrieked, suddenly jumping up and running towards a doorway at the other side of the room.

I almost screamed aloud at the sight of the new figure.

Elise.

Or was she Elise? The sharp, graceful features were there; the hair falling down her back was as black as ever. But she seemed different—her whole countenance was younger, less restrained. And she was smiling. A genuine, blinding smile. She picked up the little girl and twirled around, laughing.

I blinked my eyes furiously. Surely this wasn't Elise—the Magus I knew would never allow herself to be so...jovial in front of others.

"Is everything all right, Mama?" asked the girl. Looking at her was like looking into a mirror—she had my deep blue eyes, my pointed nose, and my stubborn chin. It was very surreal.

Carefully, I moved towards the family. The father had joined them, and he gathered the two of them in his arms, a wan, but content smile on his face.

"Of course, mäuschen." The woman who looked like Elise gently brushed away stray locks from the girl's forehead, planting a kiss on it. "Anything...interesting in the town, Anton?" she asked her husband.

Anton. I studied the man closely. He had the girl's curly hair and deep blue eyes, and his masculine features had softened out in his daughter's. He wasn't short, but he wasn't tall either. Only about a head taller than the woman who looked like Elise, and her height was far below average.

"Bits and pieces. Nothing much." There was a forced lightness to his tone. "Shall we head upstairs?"

He didn't wait for a reply; they all disappeared into the doorway. I bit my lower lip, hesitating. How long was I supposed to linger? Was there any way for me to go back? I looked about. The men were still drinking away whatever worries they had despite the fact that it was only early evening, while the innkeeper was eyeing all of them uneasily. Clearly there was nothing for me to do here.

So I had no choice but to follow the family.

Elise had mentioned that their room was upstairs. The steps didn't groan with weight as I climbed up. Actually, I felt unbelievably light, and my bad leg wasn't a hindrance at all.

It was like I was wading through clouds.

I quickly snapped my attention towards the family as soon as I heard the creak of an opening door. Once inside the room, the woman set the girl aside. "Play with yourself for a while. Is that all right, maüschen?" said Elise. Or the woman who looked like her. Her tone was so tender; it couldn't be the Elise I knew. It just couldn't be.

Could it?

The girl nodded. "Yes, Mama," she said obediently.

"Good girl." The woman then walked over to Anton's side and began to hum under her breath. I sensed magic stirring in the room. A veil fell upon the duo—an illusion of sound. Whatever they were going to talk about, it was definitely something important.

"You sure he's going to come here, Anton?" said the woman, folding her arms and lifting her chin up. To my surprise, I could hear every single word. Maybe magic in memories worked differently.

"It's our best chance, Maria," said Anton. He looked at his daughter, his eyes brimming with worry and love. "Our only chance. Who knows when an opportunity like this may arise again?"

"Exactly." Maria heaved a sigh, rubbing the bridge of her nose. "I'm just...tired. And scared. If we don't manage to catch him now, then when? Elise has been very patient with us, but she is just a child. She has been moving around with us ever since she was a babe, and I want her to have a normal life."

"I know," Anton replied quietly.

They both stared at their daughter, who was waving a flute about in her hands. I squinted at the instrument. It can't be...

I reached into my pouch, taking out my Medium. But it was. Little Elise had my flute in her hands. How? Unless...

It was me.

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