❝ 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐒 𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐌𝐄,
𝐃𝐄𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐄 𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐄. ❞
Saskia Vrana knows what to do when the Nights of Smoke come: Close the windows and doors. Don't look out into the darkness. Sacrifice and pray. And never dare to leave the co...
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HOW THE SHADOWS FEAST i. the cursed girl in the convent
the first night
❅ ❅ ❅
SASKIA VRANA WAS SUPPOSED TO BE DEAD.
She knew it the second she heard the raspy voice behind her in the middle of the night, like claws on shingles. As though it had never been used to produce words. And those it spoke were not meant to be heard.
Since she had arrived at the village of Schwarzhain, situated in the middle of a valley carved out of the Winter Mountains as if from an angry god's hand like a weak beating heart, Saskia had worshipped the goddess of light and darkness every day.
With each needle's stitch. With each bright fabric woven. With each prayer softly spoken and offering brought at the altar of the Bright Mother, where her effigy stood arms spread over the world.
Still, Saskia had only known her darkness and had yet to see her light.
Though in the candle-lit halls of the convent one never was alone, there was no life lonelier than that of the white-veiled daughters of Perhta. The thick walls kept the winter locked outside, only to allow a different kind of cold to slip through stones and under rough covers. It slowly froze the soul.
There was no fire tolerated besides the holy one they nurtured day and night.
Saskia Vrana felt herself wither away like a flower plucked before it was allowed to bloom.
She wasn't so much concerned with the beauty it had taken away—the rosy color of her cheeks faded, the soft curves of her face and body cut sharper by hunger's and seriousness' blade, the blonde hair robbed of its warm glow—as here it did not mean anything. But the slow death of her mind and soul Saskia mourned.
Now the young princess was once again kneeling in front of the altar in the chapel, the cold of the stone seeping through her white dress. However, her veil was drawn back, and her eyes met those of the statue boldly, unmasking the false obedience of her whispered prayers.
The words her lips formed did not reach her heart. Where once there had been kindness, now moldering anger grew.
Over one year had passed since she arrived at this convent in the middle of the Winter Mountains' crests that mercilessly cut through lands, separating and delimitating princedoms with little regard for the desires of powerful men.
Her father had told her it was for her own good. This holy house would crown a future bride with the prestigious glow of piousness. However, Saskia knew the knez had lied. He had sent her here out of shame and fear, for she could see the darkness breathe.
