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YELENA SORENOVA WAS NOT a welcoming person, as much as Yaga wanted to believe otherwise. As her future mother-in-law, Yaga had become accustomed to called her 'Mother', as the Sorenovs claimed it would make the tailor's girl feel more comfortable once she moved into the manor after the wedding.

Strangers, they said, weren't anything to boast about.

Perhaps that was why they were so socially isolated, though Yaga had heard her father once snap about how the Doktor needed to "get off his high horse" and "stop being a pompous ass."

Privately, Yaga agreed, though she would never say it aloud for fear of being on the receiving end of Majka Yelena's razor-tongued remarks - not because she was scared of the woman, but because of the disappointment that Yaga knew her mother would feel if her daughter stepped out of line. As much as she wanted to spite her woman, she still valued her own mother's wishes.

Yelena held out her hand, resting it on Yaga's coil of hair. "Pity you didn't manage to change, Yaga, dear."

Her voice dripped with venom.

"Oh, I did. But I had a surprise call, and of course, I had to return it. My job is very important to me. I wish I could say the same for others."

Yelena seemed to bristle ever-so-slightly, but said nothing, instead clutching Yaga's hand with gloved hands.

"What a generous young woman you are. An exemplary daughter, I am sure. Commiserations for the tailor's life you are destined to live. We can make great things of you."

"I'm sure you can."

"I beg your pardon?"

Yaga smiled ever-so-slightly, combing through her hair with her fingers as she let it loose, tousled by the wind. "Then beg."

The older woman tried to hide her scowl, holding out a gloved hand once more. "Come on now, Yaga."

A while later, wriggling with discomfort in her seat despite the plush upholstery, Yaga was sat, the heat from the fireplace blazing on her back, sweat spiking at her skin. She'd had enough of boar, each chew an influx of memories of the Sorenov's mahogany dining table - Midwinter dinners, summer feasts with Dimitri, Kazimir and Lilyana.

As she sat in that chair, Yaga refrained from rocking backwards and forwards, knuckles turning white as she gripped the table. The Doktor, Sergei Sorenov, looked at her sharply, a firm crease between his eyebrows. The glare that he gave her was one that she'd become accustomed to, filled with poison.

Like a dagger's edge, dangerous. A hunter waiting to pounce, the moment before disaster descended. But distant nonetheless. It couldn't harm her, not if they were to uphold their end of the bargain that had been struck up between the Izevs and the Sorenovs. In exchange for their beautiful daughter's marriage to their perfect son, they would provide all of their services with added benefits.

The Izev tailoring house was the only one in the neighbouring villages, and given the vast amount of fabrics that the Sorenovs needed for surgical procedures and their own decadent tastes, it was a good deal. Especially if it meant that the physically flawless child that Yaga was bound to bear, perhaps a girl with flowing amber hair and umber eyes and clear golden skin, or a dark-haired boy with hazel eyes and porcelain skin, would have a large chance of serving the Czar all the way in Nova Kaznya.

The thought of it made her feel nauseous - but why should she argue? Regardless of whatever she did, she still had no say in the matter. This was for money and power, and the barriers that were emotions were struck down immediately. It wasn't as if Dimitri wanted to live in a golden cage, either. Their parents would do anything for their grandchild to be a Captain of the Imperial Guard, a lady-in-waiting, even a Princess if they were lucky.

It was a unanimous decision that was out of their hands. Instead, it was as if Yaga's mother were weaving it on her loom, every careful, graceful loop another part of her daughter's future. Yaga's eyed the elaborate embroidery on Yelena's dress, seamless, perfect. It had taken Anya six months to complete, along with the sacrifice of an amulet and constant prayers to the goddess Lada, with Yaga being dragged to the tsarkva to pray alongside her mother in a cloud of perfumed air, gold beaming around them. Yaga's mother took her trade very seriously.

Too seriously, Yaga believed. Anya was determined in a way that she almost didn't know when to stop - she wouldn't sleep for days, not even take a break to eat. A relentless machine, like the shuttles they had in Nova Kaznya, with their puffs of steam and horrible rattling noise, day and night, unstoppable. Yaga tucked a wave of amber hair behind her ear, sighing. Next to her, Yelena was delicately cutting up her boar with neat strokes, a true gentlewoman. Her actions always made Yaga feel distantly uncomfortable - as if some sort of ghastly creature was digging its claws into her skin, rattling her bones, causing a chill to sweep through her very core. She shivered, clutching her fork so tightly that it felt as if it were to bend with her touch.

"Won't you eat, girl? You're so skinny, already," Yelena patted Yaga's napkin. "Come on, feast. I know you might not be used to food like this."

A small smirk played on the older woman's lips as Yaga inhaled softly, body shaking with suppressed anger.

What she would've done to jab that very fork into Yelena's eye, watched her scream on the floor as her stupid mouth begged for mercy-

She cut herself off, heart pounding as she realised that she'd stood up and caused her chair to scrape horribly against the ground as she did. Yaga had been waiting for the insult masked in a simple statement - it was nothing new, but still stung, knowing that she would soon be confined to the clutches of the woman that hated her so, at Yelena's mercy every waking moment. Her nails, clipped short to ensure quality handiwork, dug into her palms, and Yaga stifled an aggravated sigh.

"By the Saints stars, Majko, don't put yourself on such a pedestal. Don't worry, Dimitri, the food will improve soon," she beamed joylessly at the boy, who gave her a pained expression, inky eyes flickering between the two women. Setting down her cutlery, Yaga stroked her chin in mock thought. "I remember when I was -- what, nine years old? Lilyana had persuaded me and Milena to come with her and dine with you. You stared at the two of us like we were vermin. Then, I grew beautiful. Next thing I knew, you were sending gifts to my door, dinner invitations every week, amulets with Lada's protection."

For a moment, Yaga said nothing, eyeing Yelena's shell-shocked expression, until the Doktor's wife's lips formed into a sneer.

"You were always a nasty little girl. Pity. You're beautiful."

Yaga folded her arms, icy fury seeping over her. "I wish I could say the same about you."

Dimitri stared at her, eyes wide.

"Your mother, too. A failure, like you. She had big plans, but you ruined them. She hated you from the moment you crawled out of whatever pit of hell. Anya Izeva, to hate her own daughter?" Yelena gave Yaga a tight-lipped smile that didn't meet her dark eyes.

"Is that what you think of me?"

Yaga stepped forward, grabbing the woman's collar, her vision throbbing red with anger. Beneath them, the floor shifted, wooden boards trembling beneath their feet, but she stood, proud and relentless. The ground was obeying her, tremours rocking it as they stood, cracks creeping across the floorboards as Yaga's arms trembled with a sudden fury, fingers hooked into claws as they gripped the air, knuckles bursting through white flesh.

"Tell me what you think, Yelena," she said flatly. She reached forward to stroke the silk of Yelena's collar once again, thinking of her mother's blood, sweat and tears poured into work for this hag."Tell me."

"You always were wicked."

Yaga could feel strong arms pulling at her hair, at her limbs, trying to stop her, screaming obscenities in the air and prayers being shouted, but she ignored them, rooting herself in the ground firmly. Craters opened in the dirt as wood stripped away, the walls of the house rumbling as her hands moved, sharp grabs at the air forcing them into movements like puppets, jerky, as if they were being held up by the strings of someone who didn't quite know what they were doing.

A puppet master, playing with their strings as if they were nothing. And they were, so easily controlled, so fickle, so human. Yaga laughed, the sound breaking the silence that had settled as the Sorenovs disappeared out of the room. Maybe they were going to get the village, let them see what a monster she was - but she didn't care. They could do that, but she would always stand. They would flail around like the puppets that they were, but she would always stand, triumphant.

There were no strings on her.

Underneath her grip, which had somehow made its way back to Yelena Sorenova's neck, the wretched woman had finally stopped thrashing, those hate-filled eyes blazing as her face went blue. With a ghastly retch, she went limp, the weight of her body nothing compared to the weight slowly laying itself on Yaga's soul. It was damaged, it had always been.

Lilyana hadn't invited Yaga to dinner, Yaga had pulled her hair and threatened to cut it off, scissors snipping in her ears until she'd given in.

The boys hadn't pushed Milena into the river, it had been Yaga, watching the dress that Lena was wearing and remembering how it had looked on her own body when her mother had made her try it on to see whether her measurements were correct.

Yaga let go of Yelena's body, letting it drop to the floor, where the woman lay, her chest barely rising.

She would live, but Yaga Izeva wouldn't.

Because Yaga Izeva was ruination, and she would show them.

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