WoundedWalnut
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Summary
If Stakh is to give his life to the new Mistress, that means someone else will have to make the cuts.
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Bookmarked by WoundedWalnut
17 Aug 2025
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A short fic about Daniil finding a new home after the end of the plague.
Bookmarked by WoundedWalnut
17 Aug 2025
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The scab almost hidden under Clara’s cap itched and oozed, sticking to the wool and tugging whenever she turned her head. She would need another bandage for it – the last one had been lying crumpled on her pillow when she’d woken up, scabbed to it by the bloody mess she’d made in her sleep. But thinking about that, barter or scraping together enough coins to haunt the nearest pharmacy, had made her throat close and her eyes sting with stubbornly unshed tears.
Couldn’t it all just stop? Not just the bleeding, which seemed to go on forever from such a clean-edged cut. Not just the itching and stinging, but the prickle of new hair growing under her cap, the need for clean bandages and pillowcases, the ache she couldn’t seem to wrap tightly enough in her arms. The life that was growing and going on around her, even in her body, dragging her along while she was still trying to find her footing in it.
Bookmarked by WoundedWalnut
10 Aug 2025
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In which the Haruspex dies at his old friend's hands, but won't leave the stage so easily.
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The light ended at Artemy’s chest; everything above it was darkness, no way of seeing whether he still wore that blood around his mouth or that question - Why? - in his unblinking eyes.
“You’re not here,” Stakh said, a dry murmur sticking to the roof of his mouth.
“Where else should I be?” Artemy stood too still for a man speaking, drained of all the small movements Stakh had taken for granted as part of someone alive. “Nowhere else was safe. The town was hunting me. I came looking for a friend I could count on, someone who would believe me.”Bookmarked by WoundedWalnut
04 Aug 2025