"You get Arjan's text?" Rowan asks, spinning her favourite pistol in her hands, watching Valeria dash around the bedroom.

"Of course," the Russian businesswoman responds, sitting down at her vanity. "According to her Klavdiya was whisked away by the boy."

Rowan scoffs, "So it was the other way around this time?"

"It means," Valeria begins, staring into the mirror as she goes on her nightly beauty routine, "That it's not her pursuing him anymore."

"So she seduced him? Doesn't mean much, really, does it? I supposed if we keep trying to intervene something will snap. You could always force her to come back to Russia, lock her in her room here."

Valeria hears the sarcasm in Rowan's voice. She rolls her eyes, removing her earrings and finally making her way towards the bed.

"You know the prophecy and yet you still insist we should let it happen?" She asks, peeling back the duvet and slipping into the bed.

"Prophecies happen. It's what makes them prophecies. They overcome things because they're supposed to happen. Even if we killed both of them they'll end up alive again, in love. What we should be focusing on is how to beat the darkness they bring about."

Valeria doesn't respond. Rowan can't guess if it's out of agreement or disagreement.

She reaches for the last light in the room, the lamp. Just before she can flick it, it turns off on its own.

A heavy gush of wind flattens itself through the room, the bedroom door swinging open allowing light to stream in. A shadow is cast over the carpet, all the way to the bed by a figure in the doorway.

Both Rowan and Valeria sit up, staring at a blank-faced Seer looking back at them.

"I told you," Seer states simply, voice empty. The light behind them reflects off of the tattoo's coating the clairvoyant's head.

"What do you mean, Reyansh?" Valeria asks, getting off of the bed. "Is it...Is it certain now?"

The brunette walks towards number 7 out of the Twisted 12. Seer merely stares back, silent for a few moments before sighing, connecting their fingers and bowing their head.

"We're too late."

◊◊

Something in her smile makes his heart beat faster, like a drum, pounding with his ribs.

If she listened close enough, perhaps she would be able to hear it. But Klavdiya is far too distracted watching the snow fall early in the Gotham morning.

Damian's arms are folded behind his head. He's watching her, sat up with the sheets sprawled over her legs. They're half dressed. She with her underwear and top and Damian in his boxers.

"Do you remember when I told you the snow is different here than it is in Russia?" She asks lightly, smiling down at him when her golden eyes finally draw away from the window.

"Yes," he responds. Something makes him reach out, push her purple ponytail off her shoulder. She grins, twisting and laying back down, half on him.

"Do you still have the same opinion?" He asks, their noses brushing slightly.

"Hm, in a way. It is different, but it still reminds me of the story my sister used to tell me when it would snow heavily outside."

Intrigued, Damian nods for her to continue.

Klavdiya giggles, before turning over on the bed and twisting her head to face him. "Once upon a time..." she starts sarcastically, "There lived a woodcutter and his old wife. They were poor and had no children. The old man cut trees-...logs, in the forest and carried them into town; this was his job. As they grew older they became sadder and sadder at having no child."

She reaches for his hand, tangles their fingers, then points them to the sky. Damian's are rough and calloused and scarred. Hers are flawless and long and manicured. He knows were it not for her healing powers she would be just as flawed as he.

"The old wife would say, 'we are so old, who will take care of us?' and he would say 'do not worry, the universe shall not abandon us. It will come and help...' I hate translating things from Russian to English, you know that?"

Damian laughs, admiring the cute way her face scrunches up in irritation. That, in turn, makes her smile. She rolls over to her side to face him.

"Did the universe answer their prayers?" He asks.

"It did," she grins, "The husband suggested they make a little girl out of snow, to amuse themselves in their sadness. They began to roll snowballs together. With each passing moment the snow girl grew more and more beautiful. She was named Snegurochka, snow maiden, and no pen could describe her beauty."

Damian rolls his eyes. A number of silly, hormonal responses pass through his mind. Something about Klavdiya's beauty being the same. He keeps his mouth shut.

"They fell in love with Snegurochka so much that the Universe brought them the miracle. The eyes of the snow maiden twinkled; a diamond sparkled like fire on her head; a cape covered her shoulders; pretty boots appeared on her feet. The couple could not believe their eyes. Snegurochka stepped forward, "Good day, kind folk, do not be frightened! I will be a good daughter to you, the joy of your old age. I will honour you as father and mother'."

Damian sees her eyes flicker back to the window for a moment. She smiles at the falling snow, gently, before looking back at him.

"The snow brought the chance to make their miracle happen. The maiden was welcomed by the couple to be their darling daughter. The pine trees swayed goodbye, saying their farewell to Snegurochka, with their rustling wishing her safe journey, happy life."

Damian tilts his head slightly when Klavdiya calmly climbs over him, reaching for something on the bedside table. He's surprise to find a pine branch in her hand.

"I like taking this with me. A piece of home," she says, before bopping it on Damian's nose. She stays sitting over him, turning the pine in her hand as she speaks. "The old couple brought the snow maiden back to their isba, where she took care of them as they lived out their days. Snegurochka was almost indescribably perfect. Respectful, soft, kind. Boring, really."

The comment catches Damian off guard. All he can do is smile.

"Boring, cause she's a good person."

Klavdiya rolls her eyes playfully, "No one wants a good girl."

The pine bops his nose again, before Klavdiya swings her leg over Damian, straddling his waist. It sends his heartbeat through the roof.

"Snegurochka was pale white, like she had no blood. Her eyes were stars and her smile lit up the isba like a gift. For months, she, gift from the Universe, took care of her new parents. It was all she did. One day, the mother asked her dear daughter why she did not go outside and did not have friends. Snegurochka simply said going outside was not her wish and that she was happy where she was."

She slides the pine down Damian's naked chest.

"When the festival came to village Snegurochka could no longer hold back. She gave in to her mother's wishes, donned her cape and went out into the street. It was there, in the celebrations and dancing, that she met Kupava, the town beauty, who introduced Snegurochka to the life of the village. Snegurochka even met a shepherds boy name Lel. They pleased each other and became inseparable."

The pines spread goosebumps over Damian's skin as Klavdiya draws patterns whilst she talks. The pine dips down to his waist and he jolts, gasping.

She's grinning, "Kupava was sultry and provocative, unlike Snegurochka." Her hair tickles him when she bends over.

"Sound familiar," he chokes out. The girl just hums, lips twitching before she leans back.

"A rich merchant who was known to be the dusky, beautiful Kupava's lover named Mizgir came to the village one day. Whilst as Kupava's side he noticed Snegurochka and became..." Klavdiya stops talking, smile turning to a frown. "En-..." She sighs, unable to recall it.

"Enamoured?" Damian tries.

The word brightens her up, "Enamoured," she nods. In a literal flash she ducks forward, kisses him and pulls back.

Damian spends a few seconds being dumb and dazed, but eventually manages to re-focus on golden eyes.

"He liked Snegurochka more than Kupava?" He encourages.

"So pale, so pretty. When he looked at Kupava again she was too dark, too impure. He no longer loved her. They fought, and fought, until they no longer saw each other. Mizgir went to Snegurochka's isba and asked for her hand in marriage. When Kupava found out, she confronted her friend. She was heartbroken. Snegurochka was heartbroken. Lel was heartbroken. Kupava called the snow maiden a viper and a traitor."

Lower and lower the tickling pine branch dips.

"She was mad at Snegurochka even though it wasn't her fault."

"Yes."

"She sounds retched."

"Well, she even complained to the Tsar of their land, Berendei. She told the just and gracious ruler that Snegurochka had stolen her lover. The Tsar ordered that the snow maiden be brought before him. Nervously, Snegurochka's parents helped ready their daughter and attended the meeting with her. They were terrified, but the Tsar's words were law."

Sparks ignite over his skin as she slides a soft hand up his abdomen, over his chest to his right shoulder. Damian moves when she tugs, sitting up with her still in his lap.

Their noses brush, golden eyes as hypnotising as they have always been.

"The palace was beautiful," she says, speaking in a softer tone against his lips, "The white bearded Tsar wore a long, embroided kaftan. Good little Snegurochka was terrified of him, but he beckoned her forward. 'Come here, young maiden, come closer, gentle Snegurochka. Do not be afraid, answer my questions. Did you commit the sin of separating two lovers, after stealing the heart of Kupava's beloved? Did you flirt with him and do you intend to marry him? Make sure that you tell me the truth!'"

Klavdiya tilts her head to the side slightly when Damian frowns.

"She didn't do anything," he says. She looks up, moving her head side to side as if she were thinking, before shaking her head.

"You're right," she says, though she doesn't sound convinced. She rests back into Damian's lap on purpose and he inhales sharply, making her grin.

"What did the Tsar say?" He asks, strained, trying to distract himself so she doesn't win.

"Snegurochka curtsied when he called her forth. She spoke the truth, that it was not her fault. Her body and her mind had no desire of Mizgir. He had asked for her in marriage, but he did not please her and she had refused his hand. Tsar Berendei realised this was true, helped her to her feet, wished her peace and sent her home."

"Rather anti-climactic."

She rolls her eyes and shoves his shoulder, barely, "I'm not finished. When she heard the Tsar's decision, Kupava become nothing but grief. She tore her pearls from her neck, shredded her sarafan and ran from her isba. Out of despair she threw herself down the well. Things did not grow well for Snegurochka, either. As the days past she grew sadder and sadder. Her beauty became a trouble, her friend was dead because of it. Even when festivals came she did not stroll the streets. When the shepherd's boy Lel, who pleased her, begged for her to leave, she stayed in the isba. Then, spring came."

"Oh no."

"Yes, oh no. The sun rose high and the frosts melted. The more light that bled over the horizon, the sadder and paler Snegurochka grew. One day Lel came to plead with her through the window, only this time Snegurochka's heart could not bear his pleas. She and her beloved travelled to the stream together. There, he played the flute for her; her favourite air, as tears streamed down her cheeks. Under the sun Snegurochka's feet melted beneath her. Slowly she lowered to the Earth, before disappearing, becoming nothing more than steam in the wind."

Silence follows the ending of the story, as Damian stares at her soft lips for a few seconds, before frowning again.

"What exactly is there moral there?" He asks.

Klavdiya shrugs, "Don't fall in love. Don't be pretty. Don't make snow children. I'm just saying, you better not Snegurochka me, milashka."

Either way, he seems entranced now, unable to glance away from the face inches from his.

"You identify with Kupava, then?" He asks.

Instinctively his hands glide up her sides, then back down, as they move just a little closer, just a little tighter. Her laughter is like music as she nods.

"Little girls get to pick who they want to be in the story, back home. Every pretty little idiot wanted to be Snegurochka with her pale skin and white hair."

She pushes Damian back down and he smiles as she follows him, looming above his body with a sultry smirk that matches her tone.

Quickly, he bunches her top up and she slides her arms out, pulling it off her neck and tossing it somewhere else.

"'Why?' I would ask, and my sister was the same. Snegurochka was a good girl who behaved and was frigid. She sounds as boring as Lel and the Tsar."

When she presses a kiss to his lips, Damian moves his hands to her back, bumping the pastel purple lace material of her bra.

"Kupava and Mizgir," she whispers against his lips, moving her arms behind her to help him, "They're the interesting people. They are the lovers I want to read about. Both equally terrible, made for each other. As were the the other two."

Both breathless, Damian finds himself focusing on nothing more than Klavdiya and Klavdiya only.

"Fuck Snegurochka," she whispers, and he's flipping them, looming over her now.

"I thought you were Kupava?" He asks plainly, earning himself a laugh. He kisses her when she finally has control of herself again.

As they continue, Damian understands why she told him the story.

It was a warning, 'Don't do it to me', but there is another part that relates to them. She came to find him because they were meant to be. Damian being Damian and having such a self-deprecating past, as well as Klavdiya being in a similar situation, it's easy to feel like they don't deserve each other.

Both equally terrible.

He holds her a little tighter, a little closer than their first time together the previous night. She seems to really enjoy the proximity and keeps him just as close with her legs. He likes the way she holds his face in her hands, or runs her fingers through his hair. Damian doesn't know how he got so lucky.

Later, they tumble out of her bedroom laughing, enraptured in each other, about to have a late breakfast. Damian is about to say something very lewdly out of character when someone clears their throat behind him.

How had his senses not noticed?

Sitting at the dining room table with a mug in front of him is a man, possibly their age, perhaps a little older.

"Klavdiya," he states calmly, before turning an annoyed, jealous eye on Damian.