FROM A YOUNG AGE, MARSIL had learned to view the world through an Artist's eye.
Born to parents who he still knew nothing about—whether they were alive; Icelanders, Syverians, Faeries. Nothing. His time spent chained in Old man Geralt's cellar had taught him that nothing was just 'one' color.
Most of his teenage life he had spent with only grim darkness as his familiar, locked down in an underground chamber whose only light were slivers from the cracks in the smooth stone walls. He counted himself lucky enough to get fresh air. Marsil had thus learned that beauty resided in the darkness. He had to. It was the only way he had survived such solitary confinement.
