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Anya is the furthest thing from a princess.
When she was a kid, she liked fairy tales. Yura still teases her about it. Who do you think you are, he says, the tsarevna? She hits him, then, and calls him a sympathizer, and he laughs like an idiot.
Anya could never imagine herself the tsarevna.
Her favorite fairy tale as a kid was The Tale of the Dead Princess and the Seven Knights. There was a time where she could recite passages of it word-for-word. The romance between the tsarevna and Prince Yelisei was dazzling, picture-book-perfect, and Anya always blushed when reading of the prince's destruction of the crystal coffin. It was a lovely story. The prince had his bride, the evil stepmother died, and everyone who mattered lived happily ever after.
But, despite Yura's teasing, Anya didn't slot herself into the romance. If there were any of the characters she would be… it would be Chernavka.
Chernavka. Oh, Chernavka. A lowly servant girl, yet the only named character besides the prince. Chernavka was not the sweetest and prettiest of them all. She wasn't even brave, no, she was a coward. She killed the tsarevna to save her own hide. She dressed as a nun, a wolf in sheep's clothing, and killed the girl she'd spared not so long ago.
And nobody saw or heard from her ever again.
Anya likes to think that Chernavka was guilty.
Maybe Chernavka had loved the tsarevna. If she was important enough for the tsarina to send her as a killer, maybe she was important enough to have known the tsarevna before. Maybe they had been friends. Maybe she had already planned to spare the tsarevna before she'd ever heard her beg for her life.
Chernavka had loved the tsarevna, her tsarevna, and it wasn't enough.
Love doesn't matter when you're selfish. And Anya— Ah, Chernavka is selfish, very. Chernavka would rip out her own heart as long as it kept beating.
The tsarevna had suspected nothing. Even when her dog went wild, keeping Chernavka away from the tsarevna, she had believed the best. She had given her some food, out of nothing but goodness, nothing but a kind heart. She gave Charnevka life, and Charnevka gave her death.
For Prince Yelisei, it was a love story. For Charnevka, it was a tragedy.
And Anya, as a child, thought herself a tragedy.
Not anymore, of course!!! Because she's cool now. Because she'll fight back! Anya's not gonna let the world yank her around. She's punk, and shit, so she'll go against the establishment, she'll break all the rules. Fight the power!
…Maybe Anya's not entirely sure what "the power" is, but it's gotta exist, so she'll just punch everything until she hits the right target.
Though, such a plan of course has adverse effects. Like getting backed up into an alleyway by a bunch of thugs she offended.
"Hey! Leave her alone!"
Anya whips her head around in search of the Prince Yelisei who's come to save her, but—
—it's a girl.
A girl Anya's age, give or take a year. Brown hair, freckles, wearing baggy clothes.
The thugs don't seem to know what to make of her. The girl takes advantage of their momentary confusion to drag Anya away.
Through breathless laughter, she introduces herself— Katya.
From that day on, Katya and Anya are best friends.
They hang out together. A lot. Everywhere. Katya sleeps in Anya's bed, some nights. The two of them curl together, and Katya's body is warm, and Anya feels safe, and Anya feels happy. She traces Katya's scars and promises her that she'll never hurt like that again. Anya won't let anyone hurt her again.
"If I was a guy, I'd probably be in love with you," Anya tells Katya one day. Katya giggles, and collapses into Anya's shoulder. Her face is red when she lifts it back up only a moment later.
"I love you too, Anya!"
And the words resonate in the cavity of Anya's chest, echoing back and forth with no sign of stopping.
Anya doesn't spare thoughts for the way her brother looks at Katya.
She doesn't pay attention to Yura, doesn't care to sort out the micronuances of his expression. He looks disgusted, sure, but Katya and Anya shower with about the same frequency, and he's always telling Anya how gross she is and how much she stinks, so it's probably that. What business would he have with Katya otherwise? She's, like, four years younger than him.
It's just a normal day. It's a normal day, and Anya is showing Katya her favorite dressup games on Olya's laptop, and Olya is eating strawberry cucumber salad on the opposite side of her dining table while watching them with a soft grin, and it's normal, and it's fine.
There's a knock on the door. Olya goes to answer it.
It's Yura.
He makes small talk. Idle chatter. Says he's gotta pick up those materials he left at Olya's place the other day. Flips off Anya. Stares at Katya.
He ducks into the other room, and Anya swears she hears his phone dialing, but she doesn't think much of it, because why would she?
Then Olya's door bursts open.
They're armed. Men. Soldiers? They have guns. They're all looking at Katya.
Anya doesn't know what they want from her, but she won't let them take it.
She throws herself in front of Katya. "Hey! Leave her alone!"
One man raises his gun, pointing it at Anya. "Step aside, kid. We're allowed to use lethal force on obstacles like you."
Anya stares at the man, and his gun, and she feels Katya's shaking body behind her, the body she swore to protect.
And she steps away.
Katya screams. She screams, and then she blows. Flesh bursts from her, nasty, tumorous lumps, like a pufferfish, her last defense.
It isn't enough. Anya watches numbly as she's taken away.
Yura is still here. The last guard to leave lingers. Anya watches as a stack of cash is passed between them. Yura's eyes widen as he flips through it.
"Yuri," Olya says, her voice dry like she just threw up. He doesn't let her finish.
"Come on, you had to have known what she was." He thumbs the bills again. "And Mom needs this money."
Anya can't form words. She wants to beat Yura to a pulp. She wants to chase Katya down. She wants to curl up into a ball and cry.
Oh, Chernavka, the killer of your tsarevna once more.