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" I'm so sick of running as fast as I can,
Wondering if I'd get there quicker if I was a man,
And I'm so sick of them coming at me again,
'Cause if I was a man,
Then I'd be The Man "
―"LAST CHANCE TO run," Nikolai warns, stopping at the iron door.
I've changed back into my regular silks, black and blood red, and I feel more like myself than ever, despite the change in setting. The Spinning Wheel is a vast, beautifully built place, constellations carved into the top of the glass dome, bronze columns sculpted into Saints and mythical beasts, every detail so precise from the folds of their cloaks and the texture of their furs to the very eyelids of Sankt Morozova's statue. Unfortunately, it's impossible to enjoy it when the glass panels lining everything are so clear that it feels like you're about to plummet to your death.
I stare at the iron entrance. Baghra, the woman who taught me everything, who trained me gruelingly and restlessly, the one who changed me from someone to be used as a stepping stool to someone to be feared.
I suppose I've been putting off visiting her for fear that by serving someone as vile as the Darkling, she would turn me back into that weak girl.
"Go on," I urge Nikolai melodramatically. "Save yourself."
He lets out an equally theatric sigh and gives me a mournful look. "Remember me as a dashingly handsome hero."
I laugh as he knocks lightly on the door and opens it. The moment I hear the hinges creak, it's followed by that familiar blaze of heat, so nostalgic, so welcoming that I can somehow understand how Baghra would want to spend the rest of her days here, even if she's rotting away with each passing day. I'm reminded of when I first met her, the first slap of her cane on my arm, the first begrudging words of appraisal I ever received.
"Baghra," Nikolai greets graciously, "how are you this evening?"
"Still old and blind," she snarls ferociously.
I've heard of what happened to her, and it only stokes the flames of determination in my chest when I think of what she's suffered from her own saintsforsaken son, what Genya has suffered from the same horrid excuse of a man.
The Darkling will die at my hand.
"And charming," Nikolai drawls sarcastically. "Never forget charming."
"Whelp," Baghra snaps.
"Hag."
"Have you brought the little princess?" she asks with a sharpness that makes me want to start crying and dive into the tile oven to be easy-baked.
