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Soft buzzes flittering against her pockets are what wakes her up from her attempt of serenity.
Yuliya sighs, leaning her head and back against the walls as her feet seem to drag her down, digging into the powdered concrete floor. A woman deserves to have uninterrupted time alone. She takes her ‘sell-fone’ (god, she really can’t remember what it’s called) out of her pocket and glances at the screen, her eyes squinting at the sudden burst of light.
It’s Yuusra, of course it is. It’s always Yuusra.
Always Yuusra who seems to chase after her, always Yuusra who seems to never realise when she wants to be alone, always Yuusra to realise there must be something wrong. It’s a horrid trait with a glaze of sickly saccharine to make her nauseous. Yuliya answers the call. Anything to stop that incessant buzz.
“Yuliya!” is the loud cry that immediately blares in her ear like the crackling pop of lithium meeting water. Her voice is urgent, almost accusatory, with that gentle flair she always laces her words with. Courteous, respectful, presentable - that’s who Yuusra is. “Where are you? You can’t just run off like that!”
In a way, that’s what the two of them are, Yuliya idly thinks. Lithium and water. Yuusra as this malleable metal that bends to become what others want to hear, and reacting just as fast to placate them - though, that doesn’t mean she’s dense, and she could definitely be much more violent. Yuliya as water, able to dissolve many substances and pick them apart piece by piece, something versatile, something to rely on, and readily able to be transported through the form of vapour if it would better nourish her (or how it better nourishes nature. like plants. or like Yuliya moving to a closed off Soviet town because she was so, so terrified).
The two do not work together. The introduction of water (Yuliya) intimidates the reactive metal (Yuusra) - or, well, scientifically, it is strongly attracted to the water molecules.
But that doesn’t quite work with her metaphor.
“Look, is this about what Crowley said? I know. I know, okay? It’s hard. And it’s awful, but…” Yuusra starts up again, and her voice is such a lurid thing. It’s popping in her ears. It’s brightness flashing in her eyes. Yuliya wonders if she will take a hint and just leave her be. “… we have each other. We can get through this.”
What Crowley told them is that they can never go back home again.
To her, that translates into: all your work was pointless, absolutely pointless. The years of studying and the years of trying to etch your fingers into that invisible dome of the unknown is all for naught. Earth is no more. Russia and Ukraine is no more. Your home is no more. Everything as you know it is completely, completely pointless. Most of all, you will never feel safe again. The knowledge of your world is not exactly transferable to this magical, mystical world, one that others dream of and that you are terrified of. You won’t understand things. You won’t be able to get things that are the baseline of an average person’s knowledge - things that even the dullest know. How’s that? How does that feel?
So, Yuliya does not respond. How can she?
Does Yuusra think this is some sort of joyous field trip? She must understand the weight of things - the woman, from what Yuliya can gather, left a country behind. A child behind. A life behind. Surely, she must feel the same level of insurmountable grief that Yuliya does - they may not be the same but the human experience must involve not wanting to abandon everything, right? And yet, here Yuusra is, telling her to stay positive of all things.
Of course Yuliya hasn’t completely given up. To do so means to render yourself completely vulnerable and allow others to pick parts of you away as much as they want, while you lay rotting. Of course she hasn’t. In fact, her new mission is to discover the crux of Twisted Wonderland, figure out how things fit together like a puzzle piece, to the point she’ll be able to see the whole image and make her own puzzles too. But she’s allowed to grieve. Allowed to get away from everything and finally, finally, be in solitude - that, at least, she can have back from her old world.
But no. Yuusra keeps following her. Is she that desperate for some form of power? Is that her version of solitude? It must be. Obnoxious thing.
“On a walk. I found a tunnel a while ago while trying to explore,” Yuliya explains. On her first few nights, she had desperately tried to explore what was unknown, so that Ramshackle, her new home, could at least be familiar territory to her. Could at least feel safe to sleep in. During her nights of exploration, she had found a tunnel lined with pink and marked with graffiti. Yuusra mutters a small affirmative response, with sounds of something moving and distant voices in the background accompanying it, before there is quiet between them again.
“Hey, I have an idea,” Yuusra says. She really can’t let the silence sit for even just a second. “What about you tell me everything that’s on your mind, but… in Ukrainian?”
What?
“I won’t be able to understand a thing, but it’ll help.”
Yuusra wants to unravel her completely - Yuliya can tell that much.
She’s studied for a decade in a field dominated by men with sly smirks, earned her PHD and put the work in for it, clawed for any brief flicker of knowledge she could get on how the world works and lit her mind up with it - her form of safety, this enlightenment. All this to say, Yuliya isn’t stupid. She can tell Yuusra is threatened by her. She can tell Yuusra wants more than she tries to act like she does. She can tell what Yuusra plans to do. Digging her hands into Yuliya’s flesh, soaking her hands in scarlet without a care in the world how much it will take to wash off, ripping out her organs just for a slightly closer inspection - all done with prying questions that push a bit too far and lingering stares that attempt to create an entryway into her skin.
Here is the worst part about Yuusra and the headache she brings: Yuliya does not hate it as much as she should. As much as she wants to.
The way her hands would reach into Yuliya’s body must feel like this hot touch of heat pressing into frigid flesh, with only a slight graze needed to warm her completely. That unfamiliar contact - it almost feels like comfort, the most thrilling a threat can ever feel. Fingers raking through effortlessly. Heat making her curl inwards. Ribcage coiling around her and twisting her fist into a makeshift heart, freezing that position in place. It’s the same size anyways. It can be easily mistaken for the other. And still, Yuliya on the outside would protest and protest, competing just to compete with her and her specifically, with a vile inner desire for those invasive fingers to reach deeper, deeper, deeper. Just like Yuusra, she wants, wants, wants.
That is why she picks up the call, even though she would much rather throw her cellophane (did she get it right this time?) down and crush it with her foot.
“Fine,” Yuliya finally responds, stiff and cold. If it gets her to shut up and leave her alone, she’ll try anything.
All of this is just another attempt at trying to get Yuliya on her side, even in a moment where she can tell Yuliya doesn’t want to be here, doesn’t want to exist, doesn’t want anything but to finally, finally be at home again. Does she realise she won’t even get information out of Yuliya this way? She’s as desperate as one can be - the embodiment of a politician. But still, Yuliya gives in. Of course she does.
“I do not want to be here anymore,” is the first thing she says, and it encapsulates everything she feels. For once, Yuusra is silent. Listening.
“I fucking hate it here. I worked so hard to understand my world. To understand Earth. Ukraine. To understand how to keep myself safe,” Yuliya begins to rant, the frustration strong in her voice as she practically spits it out. “And now I have to start all over again.”
When she starts, she keeps going. Everything she’s felt and every repulsive feeling that’s plagued her is expressed to this little device with Yuusra in it - Yuusra, of all people. But it feels like a weight off her back. It feels like she can finally be open without feeling unsafe - without feeling like her vulnerability is something that can be used against her. She’s been keeping it a secret for so long - her previous life, her feelings, the things she hates and the things she so desperately wants, everything about her - and being able to try let go of things and express things is new to her. Even in her previous life, she was in complete solitude. Silent as ever. As much as she hates it, Yuusra gives her some sort of outlet.
The words flow out of her like electricity through a circuit. Fast and sudden.
“I did everything. I studied for years, for my PHD. I worked in assembling the fissile pit for intercontinental ballistic missiles. I even moved to one of the Soviet Union’s closed towns. All to finally feel safe,” Yuliya says, her voice shaky as she continues. Her foot kicks the snow around, carving lines upon lines upon lines. Something structured. She wonders if Yuusra can hear that tremble in her voice beyond a common language. Wonders if she cares. “And now, suddenly, I am here, and the only fucking word I ever hear is: “We want more, Yuliya. We need more from you, Yuliya, more, more, more!”
She drops every detail Yuusra has wanted to discover about her causally, these basic things she still never wants to talk about, and there is a glimpse of power in the way Yuusra doesn’t understand a thing she’s saying and never will understand. Yuliya’s practically dangling everything she wants right in reach and she can’t access it, can’t take it, can’t have it at all. It provides reassurance and a justification for why she spills so easily.
Even then, that small glow of power (or, really, a poor semblance of such) is not enough to evade the fact that Yuusra is just… okay. Of course Yuusra has argued and fought back and pressed for better for them, Yuliya does owe her that because who knows what small privileges Crowley would’ve allowed them without it, but she still seems content. Able to go through this sudden upheaval and still carry a smile on her face. Still be so willing to lead an entire debate team in a school and nurture them. Still be so willing to interact with anyone in their day-to-day lives. Yuliya can’t even pretend like she’s some non-human freak sent to torment her because Yuusra is still so clearly human - still expresses weakness, still shows her annoyance, still argues against these circumstances. All while still somehow seeming satisfied. How can she do that?
It’s so frustrating.
“And I have nothing for these people. How am I supposed to understand the inner workings of a completely different world in such a short time?” she expands. “How do they expect me to adjust, to feel so casual about it, to just laugh away and play teacher for them and do more, more, more?”
Yuliya doesn’t understand how Yuusra exists like that. And she doesn’t understand how they could think she could imitate that. Frankly, she doesn’t want to. Her approach at leadership seems exhausting - this open, honest woman, who forms bonds and creates camaraderie with everyone. Yuliya wants that same position of power - wants them to follow her, wants them to listen to her, wants to have at least some form of control in this delay on her way home, but she wouldn’t approach it that way. They’re fundamentally different people with the same thirst. And unfortunately, Yuusra is winning. Because she can manage to adjust without fear acting as a chain on her ankle.
Crowley is worse. They’re all worse. That entire school is worse.
Even if Yuusra sets this example of a good woman for the people, willing to adapt and work hard, they still have these demands in the first place. They want her to be a janitor. They want her to be in charge of an activity - thank god tech support counts, even if it’s annoying and irritatingly difficult in ways she doesn’t want to admit. They want her to be content. Want her to give up basic necessities if she doesn’t play an obedient dog at their beck and call for them. Expect her to just know these things, know all these little gadgets and their entire history and the way their spells work, when none of this exists back in her world. How can they expect that? How can they be so ignorant?
She doesn’t understand it. She doesn’t understand it at all. But there is nothing she can do.
“I try to fit into the structure of this school, but I feel fucking empty. They do not care. They look at me and see a prop. Something to control. Of course they do.” Yuliya tells her, slowing down. There are more pauses. Her voice is shakier. Again, she wonders if a different language can mask that. And she wonders if she can justify it. “Nasimiyu, Mathieu, you… You all are better than the rest. You understand my position and I understand yours, even if I don’t fully understand you.”
Nasimiyuu and Mathieu — them and Yuusra are the only people in the same position as her, making her one out of four vulnerabilities. It means she can rely on them for small things. For things that involve the four of them and the life they now have to lead. And because of this, they’re grouped together, both because they want to and because the rest group them together, meaning her time is spent mainly with these three.
Yuliya is the type to pay attention. She’s gotten to know their small habits, and their small favourite things, and the things they know and don’t know. In glimpses, she can see their struggles. In grins and celebrations, she can see their strengths.
In a strange way, she’s become accustomed to the life they have curated, just the four of them. They’re more tolerable than the rest. More trustworthy, considering they’re subjected to the same circumstances. But simple tolerance has grown into something resembling comfort, and she has to remind herself she still can't fully trust them. They’re still strangers. They’re still people who could use their weaknesses against her. No matter what sort of fondness seems to start growing and twisting in their direction.
“It kills me to see how you seem to get over things so easily. It is so easy for them to play the role of detective, and for you to play leader,” she says, her breath starting to stutter. “It is so easy for you all to settle into this life like nothing happened. But I cannot. I cannot feel safe. I will never feel safe.”
Graffitied pink walls feel like they’re closing in on her.
She clenches her fist as she spots footprints, curious patterns scattered on the snow, and kicks them away, frustrated. Underneath, she sees dull gray littered with scratches and markings. The sight makes her want to hurl. Even in a place as simple as this, she will never understand why it seems this way. She will never understand what the graffiti means, and if the phrases she doesn’t recognise are because she simply hasn’t heard of them, or if they trail back to niche history she simply does not understand. If it’s the same as on Earth, or if there’s a completely new explanation to replace her previous understanding.
Understanding that she worked so hard to accomplish. A decade. An entire PHD. More than that, a childhood, a life, all dedicated to discovery.
“Not when I have to start from scratch. Not when I do not know a single thing. Not when I have to grasp entire new systems and history,” Yuliya admits. “Not when I don’t even know what a fucking ‘cellphone’ is. Not when we are stuck here, in this agonising purgatory.”
Of course, she’ll still try to understand this place. Of course she will. She has to. But she has to start anew as an almost 40 year-old woman while there are teens in gaggles giggling away making casual remarks about things she doesn’t even know the first part of. Commenting that it’s stuff that even kindergartners know, something learnt alongside first steps. She’s already vulnerable. She’s already something to target. And now, she can’t even defend herself with the only weapon she’s ever had - her knowledge.
Instead, the knife of wisdom is turned against her. And she can’t do anything but put her guard up. Pretend like her feeble fists can compare.
“And it means I do not even have someone I could try rely on. No one is trustworthy,” Yuliya continues. She thinks for a moment. She thinks about their (forced) bonding, game nights, dinners, all of the time they’d spent lumped as a unit because of their otherworldly status. And she breathes in. “Well, not no one. I have Nasimiyu and Mathieu. And they both are the most patient with me, the most courteous, the most earnest and genuine. I can almost trust them.”
Almost.
She can just almost trust them.
Even if they’re all from the same atoms, from the same world, sharing the same utterly impossible situation of being transferred to another world, she is still below them. Below even two naive teenagers who have their dinner cooked by Yuusra and Yuliya. And most of all, below Yuusra Afzal herself.
The thing that fundamentally separates her from the rest of them is one thing: she cannot seem to settle in this life with the ease that they seem to have. The three of them almost feel a part of this world if you squint - it is Yuliya who drags along her crazed humanity and makes her lack of competence obvious through her need to know, to investigate, to pick apart every little thing. By now, they must’ve accepted things. She has not. She likely never will, even when she’s 92 and trying to craft a solution with her mind, the only thing she can trust.
She’s this rigid thing who can’t make herself shift to becoming a natural resident, forever in this liquid state that keeps her weak and so, so helpless. And she’s always prided herself on her stubborn nature, that want to discover and how she grasps onto anything she can, but now it means she’s the same as she was on Earth, and that simply is not sustainable. Especially not in comparison to them.
Them, who have made friends and acquaintances. Them, who have joined (or led) sociable clubs. Them, who breathe so easily in comparison to her.
It paints a target on Yuliya. Bright and red and glaringly obvious to predators.
Except… at the same time, the closest vestige of safety she has felt in this wasteland has been with them. Even beyond her gnawing cravings for knowledge that she has to try harder than she wants to wrap her head around and let retransform her entire way of life - which usually makes her feel safe. The real safety has been with them, the only tangible and familiar things to her. With their silly reassurances and silly smiles and silly words about how much they appreciate her. With their fear they are so willing to show her. With their pride and protection. They’re a reminder that she’s not alone, she’s got people willing to fight for her, and without at least some others in her situation, she’s sure she would’ve lived every day in terror being all alone in an unfamiliar land.
It offsets her persistent trepidation at least a little bit, at least. Just the slightest bit.
(there is one more thing that is different about her existence that is beyond her ability to use the world of twisted wonderland as an excuse. it makes her chest ache.)
So, at least Yuliya has them, sure. Nasimiyuu and Mathieu at least. To some degree. Again, just like her, they are vulnerable too. Objectively, they're just as weak as her, if not weaker, and that thought is hauntingly comforting to her. They’re kind. They’re good to her. They’re these sweet little kids who look at her with expectant eyes just as they do Yuusra, and she can spot the faint tinge of admiration blossoming in their eyes. She has them.
“But not like… fuck me…”
This is the part Yuliya wants Yuusra to understand the least.
“But not like I have you,” and Yuliya wretches the words out like a terrifying confession.
“That is the worst fucking part of all this is… that all I seem to want is you,” she says, tentatively, the words dripping with caution. Fear. Her eyes dart back and forth from each end of the tunnel, as if anyone in this confusing world will ever recognise what she’s saying. “ I keep feeling drawn to you. I keep wanting more. I keep telling myself I should despise you, that I should view you as an enemy. I keep blocking your attempts of control.”
Sometimes Yuusra’s name on her tongue feels like a desperate prayer.
“I keep wanting… you,” Yuliya tries to say again, tasting the words on her tongue. It’s sickly. It’s horrible. And terribly addictive. “For some reason, it feels like all I want is you. It is always you my mind comes back to in this way. I’m so… I want you in this horrifying way. And it terrifies me.”
It feels like a prayer because it is completely unstructured and illogical and Yuliya doesn’t even care for it nor believe in it and it’s a higher power and that means it has control over her and it’s something divine she won’t ever understand and discover the root of discover how much of her is truly real and yet in secret in her own mind her own thoughts she says it so so raw and honest and there within it lies the biggest thing she needs to confess and that thing she refuses to say even to herself even in the comfort of her own mind because how can she and because she wants it so so much and the ache won’t stop it won’t stop.
Because she needs this. Or, not ‘this’. She needs her. Because she wants, and wants, and wants, and wants. Because 20 years of solitude is a long, long time.
And she still tries to convince herself that, yeah, she doesn’t need ‘this’. She doesn’t need people. Why would she want something as unreliable and fickle as that? How could she need it? But her disgusting obsession with this pathetic power-hungry woman (which one of them is she even talking about? the lines are starting to blur) claws its way into her chest and makes a clamouring home in her ribs - her power over Yuliya was already clear, and now she has this? And she likes it. Likes it enough to want it to linger. To want more. To keep playing this game, this stupid stupid back and forth with her, dancing on the edge of the world together with the both of them trying to take the role of lead. Power and desire have blended into one for Yuliya, and it takes on the shape of Yuusra - she’s the one leading their little dance, she’s the one leading Yuliya to her demise, she’s the one who’s winning, but it doesn’t mean Yuliya will stop trying. What has this want for power turned into? Does she even want to know?
Scientifically, she knows humans need other humans. It is the one thing she is willing to disregard.
She doesn’t want this but yet she seems to want and want. An awful contradiction. Logically, she knows this is no good. Logically, it’s poison in her lungs, eroding her means of breathing and robbing her of it completely. Logically it will ruin her. Logically, it will make her a pliant victim to Yuusra’s every whim. Logically it’s inconvenient, and messy, and more trouble than its worth, and she doesn’t even like Yuusra as a person. So why does she keep wanting this, this entanglement they have seem to have found themselves into? The bickering has become a comfort for her. Their banter feels like a warming sweetness on the blizzard of her blood. The way Yuusra looks at her feels like a thrill she can’t deny herself. She can’t keep calling her absurd attempts to be an inconvenience in Yuusra’s plans just a way to throw her off. It’s too intense. It’s too much. It’s exactly what she needs to quell that sickness pervading her body.
This phenomenon isn’t something she can blame on being in another world. Yuusra is from the same earth as her. There has to be an explanation. One that she’s okay with.
Nasimiyuu and Mathieu are at least young teenagers without a clue of anything in the world, simple and sweet. They come home (home?) with barely passing grades with sheepish smiles and curious questions. Yuliya can at least know, even if it’s not by the standards of this world, that she has wisdom over them - she still has her Earth knowledge and she still has her ability to problem-solve and think, think, think. But Yuusra is different. She challenges Yuliya. She takes a stand against her. She can make her feel like the things she’s thought for sure didn’t truly exist. Yuusra overpowers her by a clear margin. And Yuliya just lets her.
There has to be an explanation. But she’s not sure if she’s okay with any of them
“I hate this. I hate this so much. Because all I truly want is to finally go back home. To finally feel content again. To finally return to being the one who understands more,” Yuliya says. The walls of this pink tunnel feels like it’s closing in on her again. Maybe it could crush the part of her that makes her feel this way. “ But… this… sickening affliction you have placed on me.”
What else can it be called if not an affliction? What else is it if not a curse? Maybe Twisted Wonderland really has caused this. Maybe it’s a curse to be placed on humans like them, too susceptible to the unknown. But she knows that isn’t the case. She knows it must be a flaw of her own humanity.
Yuliya wonders, idly, if Yuusra is still listening.
If this is as big to her, a woman with a million things going on, as it is to Yuliya. If she can sense the warmth spreading through Yuliya’s cheeks. If she’s even really listening or if she’s put down the self-own (hah, isn’t that ironic) a long time ago.
Her insides must be flowers in comparison to Yuliya’s repulsive flesh. Roses. Pansies. Irises. Dahlias. Buttercups. All of the most beautiful things in the world that Yuliya has gazed on with wonder on her hikes must be natural to her. She’ll pollinate the entire area with her good thoughts, and good deeds, good things, good everything, and Yuliya will lack any stance in comparison to her. But Yuusra would still try. Yuusra would still try to attract her with sweet nectar and her ‘promising’ words, anything for pollen to graze stigma, and then she’ll have Yuliya too. She’ll win. She’ll have complete leadership. Maybe, when Yuusra reaches into her flesh, Yuliya’s small intestine could instead twist and coil around her hands until she’s wrapped around Yuusra’s entire body completely, rather than letting Yuusra take her heart. Maybe then she will have power over her. Maybe then she will win over Yuusra. Maybe then she will have what she needs. Two lonely, miserable souls, in one. And she’ll absorb all that is good of her. And she will not think of what Yuusra does to her with those fingers.
This is the worst part by far, the worst thought she has about this situation, the thing she wants absolutely no one to know, and the thing she will never say out loud again:
“I can’t go home and keep you as well. And I don’t know what to do about that.”
When Yuliya says it, it slows down to a whisper. That same feeling of a desperate, desperate prayer. Like if she says it any louder, it would become all too real. And she can’t handle that right now. She can’t. She doesn’t want these feelings to exist in the first place.
“Okay, I am done,” she says, and she wants to crumble into snow and blend into the ground.
“Did that help?” Yuusra asks, soft and gentle. The sound of her voice gives her goosebumps. She leans into her ‘fowne’ when she feels the buzz of her voice on her ears. It’s embarrassing.
“Yes.” She does not thank her. She will not thank her.
“Maybe you could teach me Ukrainian someday,” Yuusra says, tentatively. Eager. She really can’t conceal it.
“Okay,” Yuliya murmurs. She does not like how soft her voice sounds. It’s because of exhaustion. It is.
“You could teach me to say…” Yuusra pauses. Yuliya wonders if what she hears is hesitation. “… maybe something like, I’m glad you’re okay. If that would make you feel more comfortable. At home, I mean.”
Lithium and water. That’s what they are. That’s what they’ll stay as.
Maybe that means more than she thinks it does.