To the world, he was an anomaly. To Grisha, he was a miracle. To Drüskelle, he was a witch. To The Darkling, he was his son. To himself, he was a monster.
WORK IN PROGRESS
2023-20234
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000. prologue
˚ · • . ° .
418 | THE LITTLE PALACE, OS ALTA, RAVKA
Discovered to be a Grisha at age twelve, Anastasia Valtheos was a wonderful young woman. With long silver locks and blue eyes, she was the epitome of beauty.
She chose to become a Healer, saving others rather than harming them. And her abilities proved her worth. By age 14, she became a fantastic Healer, spending a lot of her time in the infirmary, talking with friends, or caring for patients. At twenty, she became a Corporalki teacher, training young Grisha to become healers.
But everything changed when he turned twenty-one.
Sitting at her desk in one of the Corporalnik classrooms, Anastasia held a pen in her hands, reading over some work, occasionally writing notes for the students in the margins. Her kefta sat on the back of her chair; her sleeves rolled up.
It was a quiet autumn night, the air chilly, filled with the soft sound of crickets chirping and some birds calling their lovers, entering the classroom through the open window.
"Should you be up?" A smooth voice asked.
Anastasia looked up, a bit startled. Standing in the doorway was the infamous General Kirigan, his black hair slicked back, his beard neatly trimmed and clad in his signature black kefta. "Uh, moi soverenyi," she stood up quickly. "Is something wrong?"
"No, no, everything is fine. I am just taking a stroll. Ms. Valtheos, is it?" General Kirigan asks.
"Yes, sir. And please, call me Anastasia."
"Anastasia," the General repeated, as if tasting the name on his tongue. "What are you working on, Anastasia?" He gestures towards the papers.
"Oh, it's nothing. Just going over some student work." Anastasia replies softly, setting down a paper back onto the small pile.
There is a brief moment of silence before the General speaks once more. "Would you like some tea?"
Anastasia pauses. Was he truly asking if she wanted tea? "I'd, uh, I'd love some, thank you." She eventually said, setting down her pen with a small clank.
˚ · • . ° .
The Darkling's study was on par with his wardrobe. The walls were lined with intricate black wallpaper, dark wood paneling running along the bottom half. His desk was neatly organized, with papers, files and small, rolled up maps, and a few lit candles sat on the corner of the desk. The drapes were open, letting in some moonlight and offering a view of the main courtyard. The fireplace sat on one of the sidewalls, the wood inside it ablaze and candles on the mantle. Two black leather wingback chairs sat in front of the fire, a small table between the two. The small round table that was opposite of the fireplace held a tray of wine.
Sitting by the fireplace in his study, Anastasia sipped on her wine, fidgeting with her necklace. Her grey eyes staring at the flames that licked at the wood, letting the room be bathed in a soft orange glow. Her silver hair had two strands from the front pulled back, the rest cascading down her back. Her kefta sat on her shoulders, the crimson colour of the silk beginning to fade.
"Where are you from?" The Darkling asked, his dark eyes fixated on the woman as his fingers curled around the wine glass.
"Ketterdam, sir. I came here after I discovered I was Grisha at twelve." Anastasia replied, her head turning to look at him.
"Ketterdam? Why come here?"
She sighed, "Many Kerch people aren't so accepting of Grisha. In some cases, Grisha are sold to brothels or owned as indentures. It's safer in Ravka."
The Darkling nodded slightly, "It seems most countries dislike Grisha. That is what I'm trying to change."
Anastasia hummed, taking another sip of her tea. "And I thank you for that. You've done wonders for us, moi soverenyi."
The Darkling leaned back, his gaze lingering. "Call me Aleksander." He regretted the words the moment they left his mouth. He knew this woman to little degree, and yet the words rolled off his tongue so naturally. "Formalities can get quite tiresome."
"Aleksander," Anastasia repeated, her fingers tracing the edge of the glass. A soft smile played on her lips, crossing her legs and getting comfortable in the chair.
