Witches Burn at Dawn ✔

24. Yaroslava

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Despair blurring my vision, I start walking. I don't know where, just away from Mir Praejis, away from my past. It really is a game for him, isn't it? He wants to see me break.

Just like when Mir invited me to the roof at Nilam's club, when he tricked me into drinking that nasty pomegranate juice and then bound my hands with bracelets--he brought me here tonight so I could see his name written in front of my very eyes. To remind me whose fault this all is.

You're a liar, Fire Girl.

Of course, he despises me.

A witch.

A murderess.

Unworthy of redemption.

"Yara?"

What's the point of even trying to explain if nobody has ever believed my words? Skirting the makeshift bar, I duck behind the columns, into the side aisle of the basilica, and throw the door in the corner open. The restroom looks too pompous for a church, but artful enough for a gallery, with the lights multiplying by huge mirrors on the walls and black glossy tiles underfoot.

Silence settles around me as the door behind me closes.

You're a liar, Fire Girl. And I've been wondering why he calls me a liar.

Turning the water on, I push my hands into the sink and then splash my face. It doesn't calm me. All this time, I've been convincing myself I could change something, be someone else. In reality, nobody expected me to be someone else. Why did Mir bring me back from the dead? He would have found Vlad sooner or later without me--Vlad would have found him.

No, he brought me back because he needed someone to blame. You cannot blame a demon who has no feelings, no motive but boredom. And you most certainly cannot blame yourself because then you have to admit you made mistakes, too. You were wrong, flawed.

"Yara?" The door swings open and shut again, and Mir appears in the reflection behind my back. Mirrors are covert windows to the world of the dead, they say. But the life they show isn't less deceitful. Mir looks confused, his brows drawing together. "What happened?"

A choked laugh clogs my throat. What happened? And then it dawns on me. Perhaps he hasn't realized I saw his name and put the pieces together? He didn't even want me to know what he's been blaming me for.

But then he's no better than Vlad, playing God with everyone around him.

"How lonely you must feel inside if you keep trying to break me, huh?" The question falls from my lips before I think of the meaning behind it.

Mir stiffens. His expression goes numb, depriving him of all emotions but shock. The shock that he's skillful to muster into cold anger.

The fabric of my dress is too soft, and the straps holding its bodice keep sliding down my shoulders, threatening to bare my chest as I lean into the sink. I fix it once, then twice, and then again I tug the plunging neckline back in place, well aware of Mir's eyes still trained on me through the mirror. He doesn't think I'm doing it on purpose, to provoke him, does he?

"I'm not lonely," he says, his voice brusque. "You know nothing about me."

Because you don't tell me shit about yourself.

Shaking the water off my hands, I spin to face him. "I know something. I know that by blaming me, you won't fill the hole in your heart. I know that deep down, you know it, too. Deep down, I think, you seek just the opposite--my approval."