❛ IF THEY CANNOT SURVIVE, LET THEM DIE ❜
Children born into the shadows of war are never quite right. It is a truth that Vasily Aleksandrov has always known. He has never known peace, though he longed for it.
The Old Gods did not give privy to thos...
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IN HER DREAMS, THE WORLD burned. The air was dark and saturated with the scent of gun smoke and charred wood. Of bodies burned to the bone. She could hear the wails of despair in the distance, loud and mournful — calling to their saints, to their gods, pleas of mercy on their lips. Nothing remained of the village that surrounded her; nothing except for him.
He stood in the distance, too far for her eyes to see what he looked like, and yet in the wake of the destruction and darkness that enveloped them, he was luminescent.
When Tatiana's eyes opened, her brows furrowed together. The dream had been strange and surreal. Even now, in the muggy warmth of her bedroom, she feels the smouldering heat of the fire from her dreams. As she turns to her side, half expecting to find Vasily sleeping beside her, her throat tightens with disappointment. He must have left during the night, when she was still deep asleep.
She is slow to dress for the day. her mind wanders, haunted by the dream that slips between her fingers like running water. When she finally brings herself to come downstairs, she finds Madam Nazeer smoking in the lounge while Yara plays at her feet.
For a moment, Tatiana says nothing as she takes in the scene: of the content smile on Yara's face as she brushes the hair of the doll Madam Nazeer gifted her on Saint Bogdana's celebration; of the faint echo of laughter and conversation from the kitchen staff as they worked. Those employed by the Madam and had no patrons to tend for that morning move between the lounge and kitchen, their movements light and conversations low.
The longer she stared, the more Tatiana wondered why she felt so poorly despite having slept so deeply. She leans against the banister of the stairs, her gaze unfocused and heart uneasy. She cannot help but feel as though she is forgetting something.
"Your mother came looking for you," Madam Nazeer said, her dark irises casting a glance at Tatiana. She beckons her over with the hand holding the cigarette. "In the early morning. The young man who was sharing your bed sent her away."
Yara, who had perked up at the sound of Madam Nazeer's voice, smiled in delight at the sight of Tatiana. She abandons her doll and runs into Tatiana's legs, holding onto them tightly. She beamed up at her. "Good morning, Tati."
