Freya Fedorov was nothing but a war.
She was revolutionary, thought to be a weapon of all kinds. Though she believed herself to be nothing but a Russian witch - an orphan at most. A plain witch with no family to guard her.
It was Freya's decision...
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CHAPTER ONE
The red and pink clad sky darkened as the evening clouds overtook the last glimpse of sunlight. Rain began to sprinkle on the dry ground as the winds picked up, blowing leaves and debris across the field below. Wild horses ran to the relative comfort of the tree line as the first crashes of thunder rolled through the valley.
Throughout, strikes of lightning sent rippling waves of thunder crashing and bouncing off the canyon walls, before finally cascading down to the gorging river below. The rain threatened to wash away the mountain, as newly formed streams of water trickled through the cracks in the rocks.
The lighting strikes, once barely touching the horizon, had moved earth and sky to reach the mountain. Above, below, and all around, the blinding strikes, relentlessly pursued by deafening thunder, sent shadows jumping off the walls of the forest and canyon alike.
A tree, no doubt tickled by the electricity in the air, could not contain its excitement and leapt from this earth, returning itself back to the air that gave it life. The explosion crackled in the air before finally fizzling out, unable to penetrate past the hills that surrounded it.
The callous skin on her hands burned only little as her lanky pale fingers wrapped around the broken down wood of the large door. It was only sometimes a gloom stricken thunder storm had fallen over the small town of Chekalin, so the Church was rather empty compared to a normal Sunday morning.
The cathedrals walls were high, littered with the murals of saints upon. The folk sitting in the pews were all so familiar as the village was rather small, talking amongst themselves in waiting for the Sunday mass to begin.
The old lady sat in her normal pew, another ragged book sitting in her lap. She had a different one hebdomadally, only the Lord knows how many stories she had gone through in her lifetime. A friendly smile is flashed, a welcoming face every individual was used to. A curt nod was returned as she was passed.
It was then Freya had found her pew, sliding into it lonely. She was careful to sit down, not looking to cause much of a disturbance. The old seats were worn down, and creaked ever so often as another sat on them. Her head fell to her hands, which rubbed the pale face of hers before pushing there way through her hair.
This was routine. She reminded herself. It had been like this, and will remain as so for as long as it must. There were times Freya wondered what the Church would do to her if they found what monstrous things she was able to do. She was merely a witch.
Freya was thankful she had not grown up in the town of Chekalin. It would have been rather obvious of her not attending the small folk schools though living inside the village. Koldovstoretz was not far from her home village, only a train ride away. Though as her mother passed, Freya did not see the need for education anymore.
The villagers knew of her loneliness. Her absent father and deceased mother. It was not easy to hide in a town as small as she was in.
The lights flickered above her as the cathedral was filled with the beautiful song of the choir. A bunch of young church girls, there hearts devoted to the life of a village that meant so dearly to them. It was not long before the pastor had made his presence known, starting the simple mass.
Freya may have been guilty as she zoned out through the mass. She only heard little snippets of the sermon — the part where Father discussed how rain shouldn't have discouraged the villagers to attend mass — and of course payed attention for Liturgy of the Eucharist. She felt her legs tremble beneath her as she properly made her way out of the pew.
She was in the isle amongst the mass goers, and slowly followed behind the old man with his wife in front of her. As she was before Father she bowed, then returned her attention back to him. "Тело Христа.". He placed it gently in her hand as she peacefully replied; "аминь." before she repeated the symbol of the cross. [ The Body of Christ — Amen ]
The mass had passed on rather quickly after that. Not much was to be said after communion on that Sunday. She was sure to muster a quick "Good-bye." to the nice little lady who had smiled at her before the mass before exiting the Church.
Freya found herself taking a deep inhale as she stepped onto the cobblestone off the Church grounds. While at most times she found attending Mass peaceful, she knew the true reason behind her attendance was her long mother. A remembrance.
Freya's return to her cottage was on her feet. She lazily crossed the damp road, inching only closer to her house. The home was rather small, a light cobblestone build littered by the overgrown and unkempt green vines that began to build to the roof.
The dark brown shingles were damp from the rain that had passed through, Freya could hear the droplets fall onto the cobblestone as she stepped on the wet leaved driveway. Taking a quick glance she hopped the low cobblestone wall and walked to the orange rustic front door.
Freya was quickly embraced with the warm was of her home. She was quick to slip off her large robe-like covering revealing only a set of dress trousers and a robbed off-white blouse. The neck was rather open, a V-shape which stoop down to above her lower chest.
Though it did not matter what she wore for she was alone. She did believe that until the patter of small footsteps made its way to the foyer followed by a drawn out mewl. The dark gray feline curled around her feet, and Freya bent down to pick it up. "I told you I would not be long, Gatsby."
The cat mewled again in her arms, rubbing its small head gently over her blouse covered chest. Freya walked slowly with the animal in her arms, settling on the ragged couch in the center of her living area. The rain which has slowly picked up again pattered against her windows, and the cat cowered.
"Fear is weakness, Gatsby, do not let the rain startle you."
Authors Notes I just want to address the mentions of religion in the book before it gets out of hand — in no way am I to offend anyone with my use of religion. I am using my basic knowledge of church to write this chapter and I have tried to make everything as accurate as possible.
If you have a problem with it, either don't read this book or take it up with me here or in my DMs. I truly don't mean to disrespect anyone❤️
