Work Text:
For Yulia to count herself as religious would be hypocritical, she is known as the atheist, the non-believer by many. Yet as she stood, in the stillwater, she could only find room for prayer. The ropes of faith dragged her here, she was undeserving. It was just two days ago she tried to help Vlad younger, failing to do so. The bachelor looked at her, disgraced her plee’s for death. Sent her away, back home. If she died in that experiment it was prophesized, Laplace would look down at her and praise her trust in the strings of faith.
Yet by the same logic, the bachelor saving her was bound to happen. She was bound to be staring at Eva Yan in this moment, wishing that it was her that Eva loved, and not that Stamatin. She is left to wonder what Andrey has that she doesn’t. He was a good architect, a lot more grounded than his brother, and based on a lot smaller concepts than her. For as she would plan the town, the whole image, he would look at one detail, a building, and perfect it. It makes sense that Eva would want someone so precise as a lover.
Of course, the obvious comes to mind, Yulia is a woman. Cursed to feeling a longing so taboo that she cannot afford to give it thought. She wouldn’t have before. Yet the world has been ending for 6 days, and Eva is tangible in front of her. Andrey is at the Broken Heart. While she should spend her time pondering what is bound to happen to the town, how she could fix it, live on from it. She should be anxiously and furiously searching and praying for answers. Her world is going to end. Yet she just stares at Eva, its odd to not see her with twyrine pursed at her lip, yet she seems to want to be sober in this moment. She feels the same right now, her body and mind don't ache for the relief of a cigarette that they normally do.
This building always had an odd effect on her, different every time. The Stamatins really did know how to make a house. Time seems to be moving slower. She had too much time to think, to watch. To see Eva. To notice how the sun interacted with her hair. How her eyes were so much brighter than any that should be seeing the horrors of the plague. The ways her clothes were just lightly draped over her. How she seemed to be looking at Yulia expectantly. Yulia realised she was still standing, she aimed to fix that as quickly as possible, and sat down with a passion she wasn't sure anyone has ever had about sitting before.
She sat beside Eva on her bed, she couldn’t bring herself to do more. She had no need to, as Eva moved closer to her, achingly slowly. In this moment the idea of Eva being any closer to her intoxicated her more than any twyrine ever could. Eva caressed her face, gently, waiting for her reaction. She tried her with all her might to not lean into it. She refused to think about how desperate she would look if she did, how the famed architect would lean into the touch a woman. She had been alone for so long; it was a feeling she didn't think she would miss. Yet as Eva held her face, internally she begged for her to never move. It hurt her and healed her at the same time. Her touch said more words than she could comprehend.
Her body betrayed her as she relaxed into the touch. Into the arms of the woman she loved. The plague and the town disappeared in that moment. Eva gently tilted her head, so she was looking her in the eyes. The eye contact burnt. Eva's eyes looked expecting. Like there was something Yulia was missing.
“You haven't spoken since you arrived dear”, Eva’s voice carried an airy tone. She looked, awaiting an answer. An explanation. Yulia ignored the question. “What about Andrey? you cannot hold me like this. There are better ways for us to be spending our time at the end of the world”, she asked, she saw not point not asking the question on the forefront of her mind.
Eva looked at her, Yulia couldn't decipher exactly what the expression was aiming to portray, but it looked similar to the way one would look at a child fell and scraped its knee. Eva started to giggle, she attempted and failed to muffle it. “oh, Yulia. In what depressing world can ones heart only fit enough love for one. Why stop yourself from loving because there is already a person by your side. It would be depressing. Andrey is at the bar right now, yet he knows you are here. He was actually very pleased when he heard you agreed to meet with me today, something about you needing to get out more, and his wish for me to stop lamenting in his ear about missing you. You can afford to spend the night here, I'm sure. Aysa and Vorinika can afford to miss you one night, I have missed you my whole life and barely survived. Give me tonight. I’m not asking for action. I simply ask to be able to rest by your side tonight.”
Yulia looked, and rested more into Evas touch and let her kiss her.
************************************
Vorinika. She moved in the wind, her feet swaying gently with the wind. Her face was puffy, she wasn’t breathing. A stupid observation to make. She was hanging from gallows in front of the cathedral. It was unclear if it was self-inflicted or not. At least Yulia couldn’t tell if it was or not. Yet the fact remained, she was dead. There were other ropes prepared beside Vorinkia, she assumed the inquisitor would be starting public executions soon. A paradoxical thing to do to in the plague, but thats what could be expected of Aglaya.
Vorinikas pockets held a letter, it definitely hinted at this being self-inflected “’who can tally the number of drops in the sea? Who can tally the number of tears in this grief’ I'm so happy it wasn't you. Father". She was happy Vorinika didn’t die by her father's hands, having to see him work during this wretched plague. Yet the idea that she decided on suicide still left a lot to wonder. It was still unclear if this was Aglayas doing, by it be her orders, or her existence her. Yulia didn’t want to think about it. She decided this wasn't the time to digest how alone this meant she was, how incapable of helping her friend she was. She grabbed Vorinika by the feet, lifting her up, a local towns person helped untie the rope. She took of her trench coat and lay it over her. She would feal with this in a minute.
It seemed to make the most sense to talk to the inquisitor herself. The gallows weren’t far from the door of the cathedral. Yulia was amazed by how much she could miss when concentrating on the death of a friend. Eva, she lay sprawled on the floor. Instinctively Yulia checked her pulse. She was cold. She waited 30 seconds. She didn't feel a pulse. She decided that is must just be weakened. Eva having fallen after seeing Vorinika, or something else of the sort. One minute. If she concentrated enough, she would find one, she knew it. Two minutes. Eva clenched a note. Yulia refused to read it. Four minutes. She decided to sit down, she had to be here when Eva awoke. Ten minutes. When she looked, she could still see Eva chest rise and fall. 15 minutes. Vorinika was dead. 20 minutes. Evan was dead.
It was unbelievable. She held her.
Is this what the others would feel like if Danil didn't stop her from trying the medicine three days ago.
Would their heart ache like hers.
Would they keen and sob over her body.
Would they talk to her cadaver.
Would she die alone, like Vorinika, or loved like Eva.
This plague was ruining everything.
The inquisitor wouldn’t have been here, without the plague.
Vorinika would be alive if it wasn't for the inquisitor.
Eva wouldn’t have done this without the plague.
Yulia knew that was a lie.
She wanted to help the miracle.
Her stupid,
Childish,
Utopian,
Ideals.
Yulia hoped the plague killed her. If not the plague the changeling. There was no after this. She will perceiver. Until she is no longer needed.
That would be dumb. She’ll live for as long as faith has decided for her.