Geralt has very, very faint memories of his earliest times in Kaer Morhen. Of when they were all undeniably human. There were so many of them, dozens and dozens of young boys all crowded in together with each other. They’d sleep in piles, crowding for space, seeking warmth and comfort, innocently, naively unrestrained and shameless. Grabbing at and climbing over each other without thought. And then they started taking the mutagens, fewer and fewer boys woke up and rose from the floor to eat breakfast in the morning, and all of a sudden there was enough room for all of them to have their own room. No more crowding, no more piles. No more touching.