Witches Burn at Dawn ✔

23. Yaroslava

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They say you can't outrun your past.

And you definitely can't change it. But you do can keep it secret as long as that secret lasts, and it turns out Laverna is good at those. She doesn't ask, doesn't look troubled, and doesn't mention what's happened at the boutique.

On our way back home, she simply complains that all new dresses are garbage, and she'll have to rummage through her old clothes to...

"...hopefully find something striking enough," she says, her voice lilting.

Mir's gone when we return to the apartment. A lonely note rests on the stand in the hallway, the basilica's address scribbled on it.

I doubt I want to go now, even if it means an extra day added to my new second life. What if that boy will be there too? What was he talking about that I supposedly had to remember? Vlad? The fire? The people who died that night? But I died that night too. How does he know I'm alive again?

When I almost convince myself I should stay in tonight, my hand stops on a folded chiffon attire in the wardrobe of my room. I've been inspecting Polina's clothes, counting endless blouses and sweaters, just to occupy myself with something. Not a single dress--as I thought--until I found this folded attire. It lay abandoned in the furthest corner of the wardrobe, hidden on purpose or maybe forgotten by the previous owner of the room.

A dress.

Its indigo skirt billows about my legs as I put it on, a thin golden lace holding the bodice around my waist and plunging neckline making an elegant curve on my collarbones. It feels right. Not long, not short, not gaudy...Just right.

The day I found my mom's dress in the box in the attic of our house surfaces to my memory. The day when Vlad gave me my scar and my magic. When I dreamed about a dress like this one, and a party, and the city.

And here I am.

"Oh, girl," Lav stops in the hall, peeking into my room, her prying eyes glued to my outfit. She's changed too--a brown silk dress, like melted chocolate, flows down her slim figure. The shade matches her hair cascading around her shoulders in loose waves. "I didn't know Polina's sweaters were covering such assets."

"You don't think it's too much?" I frown, taking my pendant off. Because of the deep neckline, it's visible, and I can't risk letting Mir know I have a magical artifact. He just started to trust me. "My breasts are almost exposed."

Lav smirks, crossing over to stand in front of me. "Definitely too much. You look like a goddess. I mean, obviously, my standards are high, but...The sight of you teases me to sin." A naughty glint flashes in her pupils as she fixes a strand of hair behind my ear. "You do know two girls don't necessarily need a boy to sin, right?"

Before I figure out how to reply to that, she giggles and pivots on her heels. "Come now! Or we'll be late."

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When we arrive at Lajariá's basilica, the place is already noisy and crowded.

If it used to be a church, I can hardly believe it. A dark zigzag runs along one of its walls and between the stained glass window, resembling a bolt of lightning which, as Mir said, has hit the building once. Yet, the pattern reminds me rather of art than of nature, and inside, the nave is nothing but an art gallery.

Looking for a familiar face, Laverna and I weave through the people, sculptures, photos, and art objects that I struggle even to describe.

"Is it a giant fork or a trident?" I ask when Lav snatches two glasses of champagne from the tray of a passing waiter.