•••

THE JOURNEY BACK to his house was agonisingly long, despite half the village being on his tail. The moment his horse, a magnificent black steed he'd lovingly named Ivko, drew to a halt, Dimitri slipped off his saddle and opened the door, an almost laughable act, given the rubble all around them. He could've easily slipped through the holes in the masonry, but he did not, ever the traditionalist. As he ran towards the dining room, his family's faces peered down from portraits, eyes like the cosmos.

Impenetrable. Dense. Unforgiving.

Sorenovs did not have stars in their eyes.

The door to the dining room was ajar, light from the fireplace leaking into the hallway as if nothing had happened. As if death didn't hang in the air that it had warmed, as if the house didn't reek of ruination. A chair leg was in the doorway, keeping it propped open enough for Dimitri to slip into the room without pushing the handle. Truth be told, he wasn't sure whether he would've been able to manage it, or whether he would've just stood outside, waiting in silence for a sign.

"Majko?"

His voice trembled.

Feet tripping clumsily on the broken floorboards, he made his way to the figure in front of the fireplace, the black waves of his mother's hair covering her face as her fingers reached out to the heat of the flames. When she raised her head weakly to meet his eyes, Dimitri saw the dark bruises on her neck, ugly purple against Yelena's golden skin.

She was alive. Barely.

Her consciousness was fading away rapidly, mouth slightly open as she managed to a few words out.

"Kill her. Promise me."

After all that Dimitri had done for Yaga, after all that he'd done to overlook the wickedness brewing inside of her, even as he tried his best to keep her sane, it was a fruitless effort. His mother had always called her a bad seed, and as he looked at Yelena's limp form, he couldn't help thinking that it was true, as much as he'd tried to deny it.

"I promise--" his voice broke. "I promise."

Dimitri stared at his mother's chest, watched it rise and fall, each breath keeping her alive for a little bit longer. He couldn't leave her alone - but what good had he done, even at her side? He'd been so reluctant to hurt Yaga that he'd let his own mother fall prey to her.

How could he have been so stupid?

But even so, Dimitri couldn't find it within himself to hate Yaga as much as he should. It was all so sudden - he recalled how they'd teased each other on the way home, how she'd laughed as he held out his hand, how--

It didn't matter anymore.

Nothing mattered anymore, apart from finding her.

•••

IF HER HOUSE TURNED OUT EMPTY, there was only one place that Yaga could be. And it had, according to the young boy that had approached Dimitri on a chestnut mare, damp from the downpour that frozen them both to the bone, so he was on his way to his final destination - the forest. More specifically, to the river, which crossed over the whole area from the outskirts of Salovo all the way into the heart of the forest. Now, illuminated in the silvery moonlight as Dimitri drew to a halt, it truly was black.

Chernovoda, they called it. Blackwater.

These were the depths that sailors drowned in, with amber-haired rusalkas crooning on the rocks to seize them and drag them into a watery grave.

Dimitri shivered.

Despite his furs, his teeth were chattering. Perhaps it was from the icy winds that flushed his skin, but the sense of foreboding in the air was enough to chill him to his very core. Tying his horse to a nearby tree, he gritted his teeth as his horse reared, the sound of his neigh echoing in the air around them. As rope bit into his numb fingers, hands shaking too much to tie the rope properly, Dimitri looked around, jumping as a few figures emerged from the darkness, rifles strung across their backs.

"We've got her. Hunting party found her trying to run into the forest," one of them said, a freckle-faced man that Dimitri knew as Nedyalko, a friend of his father's. With a nod, the Doktor's son dismissed them, casting a careful glance back at Ivko, trying to calm his racing heart. The horse reared once more, rope loosening from around the tree.

The sudden burst of rain had unnerved him, apparently. Dimitri didn't blame him - the raindrops that slid down his own face only added to the water-logged atmosphere. The air filled with two steady sounds - the rush of the river, ebbing and flowing, and the pitter-patter of the rain, causing his boots to slosh tantalisingly slow through the muddy grass. He was in the heart of the forest now, and though the village men's lanterns lit the way, Dimitri couldn't help feeling as if the trees had swallowed him whole.

Yaga must have a tracker's skill set if she could claw herself to the bank in almost complete darkness. It was funny, really, how many things he didn't know about her, despite how long they'd been friends for. How many things she'd hidden away from him - this darkness within her. Dimitri hardened his heart, muttering a quick thanks as someone handed a lantern to him. Gripping the steel handle, he exhaled as he caught sight of a familiar shape before him.

She was crouched by the river bank, the fiery hair that was now infamous around Salovo bedraggled and wet, slick on her face. Even in this ruined state, Yaga Izeva was breathtaking, in a way that made people stop and stare, wondering how Krastoboga, the goddess of all things beautiful, had come to land without a war.

After all, she should've never left the heavens.

Now, her fingers rested at her side, slightly above the grass, not quite low enough to skim the moisture-beaded blades with her fingertips. Her cloak was matted with dampness, the fur clustered in little clumped spikes. Dimitri drew closer, Yaga's narrowed eyes following him as he seized her by the chin, forcing her to meet his eyes, traitor on traitor.

"Do you pity me, Dimitri?" she asked, voice dull and devoid of emotion. He could feel her pulse, so fragile and frightfully human, under his fingertips.

"Should I?"

A hint of a smile tugged at her rosy lips, so perfectly shaped. She cocked her head, eyebrows furrowing slightly. "No. Pity them all, and the hatred they create. The hate they create breeds monsters." Her voice held more emotion than before, now weighted with what seemed to be sadness as she spoke.

Yaga closed her eyes, silent tears suddenly trickling down her cheeks as he pulled her into a standing position, arms bound in front of her, rough ropes scraping against the porcelain skin of her wrists. The sight of her, as wretched as she was, tugged at Dimitri's heartstrings, but he repeated to himself that it was all for the greater good, that Salovo would be safer without her, that this was the girl that had left his mother to die.

You are a saviour, Dimitri.

And he was.

But it didn't stop him from nearly pressing his own lips against hers, as she looked at him through teardrop-covered lashes and glassy dark eyes. Her beauty was undeniable even in this ruined state.

He almost regretted it all. But the bridges had burned to the ground, and there was no rebuilding them now.

All that was to happen was for the floods to come. When they did, water screamed fire and the angels wept.

Beneath his furs, he was frozen and on fire at the same time.

His father's arrival made Dimitri snap back into reality, away from the treacherous idealistic thoughts flowing through his mind. The Doktor's jaw set firmly as he seized Yaga's bound arms, the harsh features of his face even crueller in the wavering light of the villagers' torches as more and more people flooded into the clearing, yelling incoherently and chanting things that Dimitri forced himself to block out as he held a knife to Yaga's throat, keeping her restrained. For a moment, she looked as if she were about to launch herself at him, but then she swallowed, shoulders sagging with defeat.

Around them, the wind wept. From all the faces he could see, the tailors were unsurprisingly absent, probably already on their way to Nova Kaznya, where no-one would know their names and the shame they had brought upon Salovo. The gale sweeping the village seemed have become stronger and more bitter, the storm rising instead of calming down, the cold biting into Dimitri's flesh as he stood, gazes trained on him as the villagers waited from him to stay something.

As the Doktor took his son's shoulder, beard damp with rainwater, Dimitri saw the marks of a monster embedded into his father's features as if they had been sculpted by someone with only a vague idea of what a man looked like, marks that he'd seen all his life but were now amplified.

Behind them, Dimitri heard the gritty shouts of the people, husky laughter. At least half of them were drunk - he wished to be incoherent, too. By morning, he knew that he would be. Sleep wouldn't come easy after a night like this.

"Take the liberty, boy." The Doktor bared his teeth, nodding at the dagger clutched in his son's palm, the man's sharp grey eyes catching every tiny movement, every tremour under surveillance as Dimitri cut through Yaga's ropes with a swift slash. He could see her veins, a murky dark blue, imprinted on the thin flesh of her wrists as she clenched her knuckles.

Letting her go was a mistake, he knew it.

They all knew it.

But when she raised her hands, it was already too late.

•••