Which Witch || Aleksander Morozova

𝓬𝓱𝓪𝓹𝓽𝓮𝓻 𝓽𝓱𝓻𝓮𝓮

Kribirsk

—

The ringing in Katerina's ears is ceaseless as her head hits the wall, again and again. She can't breathe; there's string around her throat. Time passes, but the door remains shut.

No one is coming to save me.

She can't hear her screams, but she can feel them in her chest as the string is replaced with a pair of cruel hands. She feels a cold metal handle press into her palm. Without a second thought, she plunges the letter opener into her attacker's chest.

Everything blurs, and sound returns to the world.

"Katerina..." her whispered name is followed by a wheezing gasp as she staggers, trying to regain her balance.

Then she sees the blood. Red stains her hands and her legs give out when she sees him. Her eyes burn, hot tears falling down her cheeks.

"No, no, no, please no!" She begs in desperation. Scrambling forward over the rough sand of the Unsea, she presses her hands firmly over the wound in Aleksander's chest. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry- please..." her voice has turned to a rough sob.

"No grave," he insists. "For them to desecrate. Promise me."

Shaking her head, she leans forward, her full weight and effort put into stopping the blood. "You're not dying." She says, even though she knows it's too late.

His fingers are curled tightly around her wrist as he speaks the words she always dreaded reading, no matter how many times she went through their pages. Hearing them out loud as he lays here in her arms, dying... it's too much, and a loud sob escapes her, pulled from somewhere dark and horrid. It's choking her.

"Promise me." he repeats weakly.

"I promise."

His grip weakens, sliding from her wrist. He stares up at the sky for a moment, and she curses every bright thing there is. What she wouldn't give for the two of them to hide away in his shadows forever.

"Say my name," he whispers. "Once more."

"Aleksander."

He reaches up, brushing his fingers delicately over her cheek, and she can feel his blood as it smears over her skin. Even such a simple gesture seems too much for him. Sweat beads his brow and blood lines his lips.

"Please," she breathes. "Don't go." Through her tears, she can barely see the melancholic smile on his face.

Katerina wakes with a start, eyes wide, heart pounding in her ears accompanied by his last words echoing in her mind. She takes deep but sharp breaths, one hand over her mouth to keep anything worse at bay.

She notices her hands shaking slightly, and clenches it into a tight fist as she forces herself to calm down. This isn't going to fix anything.

She focuses instead on the moonlight flooding the room, casting long shadows that contrast the silvery light.

There's a soft breath, and she turns to see the General lying atop the covers. He's wearing pyjama pants and a dark robe, no doubt to shield himself from the cold so that he wouldn't have to share the covers with her. Despite the pillow he must have placed between them, he's facing her as he sleeps.

Seeing the calm innocence he radiates in his sleep, Katerina wills her remaining panic and sadness to solidify into fury, then determination. I will not let him die like that.