Geralt fumed silently as Lucien continued to criticize him. With his back turned, his grip on the neck of the wine bottle tightened and his teeth ground together. Pure rage was outline on his face, but he would not turn and give Lucien the satisfaction of seeing it.

[color=crimson][i]He's got your goat now, Magician...[/i][/color]The voice cackled in his ear.

The sound of his trailer door swinging shut was a relief, but his shoulders and his grip on the wine bottle did not relax just yet. The man stood there in the same position, frozen in his fury for minutes.

Responsibility? The Nephilim spoke like he knew Geralt, like he understood, like he could imagine what it was like for him to live this half-life, this cursed existence trapped in a body that did not belong to him, that he was forced to share with a creature spun from a web of pure evil. He talked like he knew of Geralt's suffering, of the things he had done, the people that he had hurt, had killed, the life that he had destroyed before it even had a chance to be...

[color=crimson]"Rraaaagh!"[/color] An agonized scream escaped from the man's mouth as he turned and threw the wine bottle as hard as he could. The object flew across his trailer and exploded in a cloud of crimson and shattered glass. The liquid dripped down the dark wood interior and onto the dark wooden floor, turning it black. The glass sparkled in the light from the lamp, like so many stars in the night sky.

The man stared down at the mess blankly, all of the rage and frutsrtation drained from his features, and he didn't even see it. Instead, he saw faces: ones he had harmed, wronged...someone he had killed, his beloved, and a life he had destroyed before it even had a chance to be, his...

[color=crimson]"Destiny..."[/color] A single tear loosened itself from his moistened eye and ran down his cheek, leaving a track on his skin. He didn't even feel it.

[color=crimson][i]That creature does not know you, Geralt. He never will. He cannot understand your suffering, your guilt, your pain...He has never known a loss like yours, and he never will.[/i][/color]

Geralt knew this was true. He knew that Lucien, no matter what or who he had lost, could never know what Geralt had been through. Even if he told him, he could never understand. The Magician, for all of his charms and all of his facade, knew deep down that his soul was black and shriveled like a lump of coal deep down in the deepest mine. Lucien shone like sunlight, his soul soared with angels, and Geralt...well, he had danced with the Devil for too long now to turn to the light now. This life was all he knew. He was cursed, doomed, and that was just the way it was. He had been foolish to think he could find redemption in the arms of someone touched by Grace. He was beyond saving.

He stood still for a long time, numb to everything but pain. His soul cried out inside of his body, limp and motionless, as it stared at the wine until it had dried. He didn't know how long exactly it was before he turned and collapsed onto the bed that was his but not his and drifted into a fitfull, drunken slumber.