- ͙۪۪̥˚ in which mischa romanov, general kirigan's own built assassin known as the black bird is betrayed and lied to by the man she thought was family and nothing was going to get in her way in saving ravka and ending the black heretic's crazy way...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰
Mischa grimaced at the seamstress and the golden gown hung on her body as she stared at it in the mirror. She hated she was being forced to be fit for a gown for an engagement party she was forced to go to. What couldn't she just where her nice black leather trousers?
Maybe because you aren't the Black Bird anymore, Mischa. Her conscience spoke to her. You're going to be a princess. Unlikely considering the moment Kirigan is dead and people love Grisha again this engagement will be ended and Mischa will be a solider again, hopefully.
Mischa missed being a solider. Without it, she felt like a bird caged and her wings clipped.
The seamstress fixed the sleeve. "How's that, moy milaya, better?"
Mischa tried raising her arms above her shoulder line but it was too stiff and prohibited it. How was she to be able to fight if it came to it when she could even raised her arms over her head?
She exhaled deeply through her nostrils. "Still can't move my arms."
"I'll get another corset." The seamstress left the room in haste and Mischa huffed in displeasure as she gazed at herself in the mirror. Her makeup had already been done for the party which was a smoky eyed type of look with pink lips and her hair was pinned up on the back of her head in a neat bun. It was customary for women to have their hair up but Mischa never did, or at least the few times she did it was in intricate braids.
This was just not her.
"Saints." Mischa whispered under her breath as she held the head of her dress up to step down from the ledge and behind the privacy curtain to change into her robe and out of this dress as fast as she could.
She was struggling as the door creaked open announcing the seamstress entrance. "I could use a hand with these laces."
"While I admit it's a skill I've perfected, I'm not sure it would be appropriate."
Okay, that was definitely not the seamstress.
Hastily putting on her robe over her under dress, she stepped out from behind the privacy curtain to see Vasily stood in the room with her.
Mischa plastered on a false kind smile as she approached him. "Moi Tsarevich."
"I would prefer you call me Vasily, at least when we're in private."
Mischa had to bite back the snarl that almost escaped her lips. "What can I do for you, moi tsarevich?"
"You call my brother by his given name." He stated with a neutral expression.
