A Touch of Moonlight |ONC 2022|

.3.

Olesya woke the next day, early afternoon sunlight streaming through the windows. Saliva had dried on her cheek and her hair was an absolute disaster, but she no longer felt quite so much like she'd recently died. 

The warmth beneath her cocoon of blankets was delightful with the memories of last night's near freeze so close. She didn't want to move, but the need to relieve herself overpowered her desire to stay in bed. The fire had died down to coals sometime in the night, and the hardwood was cold on her bare feet. Olesya tiptoed her way down the hall, wincing with every step.

That was nothing compared to the cold of the porcelain though.

When she'd seen to her needs and washed her face, Olesya went back to her room and dressed. The forest-green wool wrapped snugly around her figure, skirts falling in warm folds to just at her ankles. After a moment of rooting around in the back of her closet, she found a pair of old, black boots, several years out of style.

She curled and pinned her hair, then stared at herself in the vanity. At the scar. 

A scarf would hide it well enough, but would garner attention if she didn't remove it once indoors. And it was wise for Olesya not to draw attention. Biting her lip, she opened the drawer of her vanity. Nothing there offered any solution. The few necklaces she still possessed would only draw eyes to her throat.

Olesya sighed, slowly closing the drawer. A scarf it would have to be then.

Once sufficiently guarded against the chill day, Olesya ventured into the streets of Straga. The idea from last night remained at the edge of her thoughts, patiently scratching at the door of her attention.

Desperate times called for desperate measures, but Olesya wasn't quite ready for that particular measure. Not until she'd exhausted every other possibility.

Her first stop was her favorite tea shop. Both to ask if they'd seen anyone strange around her yesterday, and for a cup of something warm and strong paired with their delicious cream cheese pastries. She was met with a less than friendly reception, the store owner—usually a kinder man than most to her—making it obvious he was happy to see the back of her once she'd finished her tea and pastry.

Next, the grocer. If yesterday had proceeded as it should, she would have gone by there to pick up everything necessary for her dinner. Obviously, yesterday had not proceeded as usual.

Olesya kept her head down as she passed the other denizens of Straga, careful not to meet anyone's eye or draw attention in any way. But as she got deeper into the center of town, she began to notice the stares. The whispers.

Self-conscious, she tugged her coat tighter, making sure the scarf was snug around her throat.

The city was big. Most people didn't actually know her. But they remembered her mother. They remembered what she had looked like before she'd burned. They saw enough of the infamous Olga Volinski in Olesya to recognize her. To know her connection to the only confessed witch in the Church's long, bloody history.

She ducked her head lower and sped her steps, boots slipping precariously on the packed snow. The whispers followed like smoke. Mothers ushered their children by a little faster. Men pulled their sweethearts to the opposite side of the lane.

It wasn't until she was nearly at the grocer's that she heard a word to make her blood run cold.

"Murder."

Olesya twisted so quickly she nearly landed on her rear in the snow. Her eyes scanned the people walking past, meeting a handful of bewildered gazes. Slowly, she turned back around, heart pounding painfully against her scar.

The bell jingled merrily as she opened the door, slamming it closed behind her. Several patrons looked up from their perusal of Mrs. Litvin's produce. One young man paled, stumbling back into a stack of potatoes. They tumbled everywhere and Mrs. Litvin herself appeared as if by magic to berate the clumsy customer.

He shoved past with an apology, giving Olesya as wide a berth as possible in his path to the door.

As soon as she stepped away from the door, the other shoppers quickly followed suit, much to Mrs. Litvin's displeasure. She turned from the spilled potatoes to glare at the cause of the disturbance.

"Mrs. Litvin—"

"You have more nerve than's good for you, girl," Mrs. Litvin said with a scowl, bending to pick up the roots. "You should be hiding at home hoping the rumors die down."

Olesya blinked, her train of thought thrown clean off the tracks. She'd seen no one last night. The blood drained from her face. That did not mean no one had seen her. Resisting the urge to check her scarf, she swallowed hard. "Wh-What rumors?"

The older woman stood with a huff. She eyed Olesya, more annoyed than frightened. "Haven't you heard?"

She shook her head, scar throbbing now.

Mrs. Litvin began re-stacking the potatoes. "There was a murder last night. Boy's throat was cut and he was left to be found in Palaski Square. Right in the middle of the blasted city."

Olesya leaned against a nearby shelf of cheeses, her knees threatening to give out. Her lips formed soundless shapes, half-formed questions dying unspoken on her tongue. 

Mrs. Litvin lifted a careless eyebrow, attention seemingly still on her potatoes. "Rumor is a witch is responsible." She let that hang meaningfully in the air for a moment. By witch she really meant you. She added, "That the Church will be involved soon."

Now her knees did give out and she slid to the floor. Mrs. Litvin glanced over, but didn't move to help her. "I'll send your groceries to your house from now on. It would be best for business if you weren't seen around here."

Olesya stared at her lap. Throat was cut. Middle of the city. A witch is responsible.

The Church will be involved soon.

Olesya lurched to her feet and fled the grocer's. Tears burned her eyes as she ran down the lane, weaving between people who shouted indignantly whenever she bumped into them.

Even though she hadn't been there in years, her feet still knew the way. They carried her unerringly into the middle of Straga, twisting through lane after alley until they drew to a stop in front of it.

Bile stung Olesya's throat as she stared at the dilapidated building. Faded wood and boarded windows frowned back at her. A sign that had been scrubbed clean of letters by years of scouring snow banged gently against the warped door.

The Church will be involved soon.

Those words were frightening enough to get her moving again. Olesya stormed to the door, throwing it open as she whispered, "You may break a heart, but never a promise."

She burst into a warm, cluttered little shop, startling a man standing before a shelf displaying hearts encased in crystalline glass. He whirled, long, black hair fanning out behind him.

Olesya watched several emotions pass over the severe angles of his face. Recognition. Shock. Fear that melted to confusion. Then delight and finally some catlike expression Olesya couldn't quite decipher.

"Lesa," he breathed, stepping forward. "I've been looking everywhere for you."

Word Count: 1182

Total Count: 3246