YAGA | ✓

EIGHT

•••

HE MISSED HER. Though it felt foolish to admit, given what she was. Given what he'd done. A part of him still longed to feel her cold fingers close around his palm, to see the amber shifts of her hair and the umber glow of her eyes.

He had loved her, even if she hadn't.

Dimitri's mother criticised Yaga Izeva for as long as he could remember. Even when they were mere children, always, "her posture is too close, her hair is never arranged properly." He'd never heard her compliment Yaga, never once make her smile.

Yaga's smile was that of all the beauty in the world, that of a thousand rose gardens blossoming at once.

And he hated it.

He hated that something so perfect could be so poisonous. It was evil but intoxicating - he wanted more of it.

Why did he want more of it?

It was a smile belonging to the devil that had murdered his father, ravaged his village. It was incredulous to think that he'd considered her a friend, a future spouse.

Dimitri released a bitter laugh, and threw the photograph clutched in his hand into the mouth of the flames. It was hardly much, crumbing sepia showing his parents and Dimitri, solemn in front of a sycamore tree.

It was taken at the Summer Festival two years before, where it was believed that the Saints walked through the trees, bringing the colours of summer into them. That day was a beautiful day, and she'd been even more beautiful, flowers decorating her hair and her slender porcelain limbs covered in lilac gossamer.

She was both his wildest dream and worst nightmare.

She was both the wolf and the doe, in sleek pursuit, but ensnared.

Somehow, she was the predator and the prey.

•••

THEY WERE FIFTEEN, lounging beneath the summer sun. Its rays warmed his skin deliciously, though the warmth couldn't compare to that of her skin. Sitting cross-legged, his and Yaga's knees held contact, the barest touch.

It was like a dessert - too rich and sweet to take more than one spoonful of.

Lilyana was saying something, telling a joke, her black curls held up in a scarlet silk scarf that made her brown skin appear even more bronzed. Her full lips were spread into a laugh, and Kazimir smiled fondly down at her as she rested her head on his shoulder.

She was different from Yaga - where she was amber, Lily was bronze, where Yaga was slender, Lily was all smooth curves. Lilyana wasn't beautiful in the way that Yaga was, not the type that made you stop and stare, but rather a subtle attractiveness that you noticed after a while.

It came through the way she was always laughing, the way she opened her arms to everyone.

He knew that Kazimir had loved her since they were children, and he was happy for them, though sometimes, spite would fill his heart when he thought of the vacancy in Yaga's heart. She had never loved anyone, and Dimitri knew that as much as he longed to try to make her love him, there was nothing he could do about it -- he would never dream of forcing her.

Dimitri wasn't a monster.

He would let Kazimir and Lilyana live in their idyllic world, and Yaga in her own realm of ice. After all, a betrothal was being arranged to her, either way, and he couldn't have been happier. All the boys thirsted after her, nearly drooling from the mouth.

Some actually did, and it disgusted him. Common peasant boys, not gentlemen. He pitied the women that would eventually marry them.

"Today is a perfect day," Yaga announced, speaking for the first time in a while. Her voice was that of rose petals, soft and delicate and lush, so different to they way she spoke when they were alone. But those two faces never met, and Dimitri knew that they never would.

Lily giggled, causing Kazimir's body to shake with light laughter, too. Dimples pressed in Yaga's cheeks, flushed with warmth. Her sleeves were rolled up, and he could see the dusting of golden freckles on her arms.

"It is. A perfect day, indeed," Dimitri said softly.

Yaga smiled, and the sun sparkled in her eyes, catching hints of green amongst their warm brown.

•••

HE WATCHED THE PHOTOGRAPH BURN, a sudden rap at the door causing him to exhale. Hastily, he slammed the lid of the box closed, shoving it back into the desk drawer. His father's medical papers glared back at him, the binding of his manuscript book worn, yellow pages dog-eared with years of entries.

Anything of the Doktor's was painful to look at.

His mother never had such a strong presence as his father -- where she was but a rustle in the forest, he was a storm, tearing apart everything in his wake. A perfect son, as he'd always been, Dimitri tried his best to ignore all of the Doktor's wrongdoings, but after he'd found his father's mangled body strewn beneath the undergrowth, it was difficult to brush it all aside. His father had never shown much emotion, neither to Dimitri nor to Yelena, who now had been bedridden, coughing up blood and not doing very much else.

Now that Dimitri thought about it, his parents' relationship had held that tone, as if they were business associates rather than a couple that had been together for short of two decades. They never kissed; never called each other anything other than by name. No nicknames, no pet names. Simply Yelena and Sergei.

Dimitri thought of Radko's parents, how they always held hands as they walked, how they planted kisses on each other's cheeks when they stood. Or even Lily's, smiling together. They worked together, too, but you could tell that they were married, from the way they looked at each other.

It was...bittersweet, almost.

Blinking back tears, another knock sounded at the door, more impatient than before, more frantic.

"Come in."

Kazimir creaked open the door, his face illuminated in odd, sharp, angles caused by the roaring flames in the fireplace. Almost immediately, he pulled off his cloak, sitting down with a sigh in the armchair next to Dimitri.

In the doorway, Lilyana stood, her hair braided back. The ends of her braids curled upwards, unable to be tamed by whatever she had used to make her wild hair lay flat. A shawl was strung over her shoulders. She looked like one of the village wives - and it was strange to think that she was.

Her and Kazimir's wedding had been in the autumn. Dimitri was happy for them, but it only reminded him of Yaga, and everything that had gone wrong. The very thought of her sent him spiralling into a rage that burning the photograph had calmed him out of.

His feelings were too fluid, too flimsy.

He couldn't decide whether he loved or despise her, but the one thing that he was sure of was that she was still alive.

Kazimir set a pistol down on the desk. Throwing his hands into the air defensively as Dimitri stared at the weapon, he assured him, "It's not loaded. Thought you might need it."

Dimitri furrowed his eyebrows, rubbing his temples dejectedly. "I'm tired, Mir."

"What about your.." Kazimir's lip curled unpleasantly, "witch-hunt? Pity about Yaga. From what people say, they treat her like an old hag. Baba Yaga."

Laughing drily, Dimitri's hands balled into fists, nails digging into his palms. "Baba Yaga, huh?" He bit his lip. "Who's willing to hunt the witch?"

This time, Lilyana spoke. "So much has changed so quickly." She clutched her stomach, paling. "Nearly all the young men. Radko, all the Yalkovs, all the Krasminskis. My father, and Andrei. Mir's father. Only the baker's not taking part."

"Wasn't his daughter the cursed one? This village is truly god-forsaken."

He slumped in his seat.

The fire burned on.

•••