Chapter Text
The fire had gone out sometime late in the morning leaving the room freezing and dark save for the soft morning light peeping through the curtains. The dark wooden apartment was covered in blankets and sheets, from the coffee table, to the mannequins and hat rack. It gave the impression that it had been abandoned for some time.
Its sole occupant, hunched up under the blanket and oblivious to the outside world, laid as inflexible as a statue praying that the cold night's sleep would have made her sober after all.
She could hardly get out of bed knowing that the small cocoon of body heat she had enveloped herself with beneath the covers would dissipate if she got up too soon. She didn’t really want to open her eyes, she didn’t want to blink away the dreams already.
She cherished this time, loved this warmth; loved the clarity and the lightness it left her with, loved the way her mind felt quiet and empty and loved the way she could blink and forget everything that had happened the evening before.
She had been practicing as well; she noticed that the longer she thought about dreams in the mornings, the more she would remember, and the more she could remember of her dreams, the more she could forget of her waking life. There was comfort in dreaming. The thoughts in her dreams were her own, they were hers alone. Thoughts were interesting there. She squeezed her eyes tight trying to recollect the treasures her subconscious had delivered her.
There had been gold. Glistening gold. Violins, not fiddles, played music which moved the faceless men and women of an imaginary ballroom to waltz. Her mind had to fill in the gaps in some places seeing as how she’d never been to an actual ball, so it wasn’t perfect, but it was splendid. There were tinkling glasses of bubbling amber liquids and exquisite jewels adorned every woman’s throat. The men wore dashing suits with sashes and medals for their valor and bravery.
And there was something else. There was an undercurrent to the aesthetic pleasure of the dream, a general feeling that she had met someone special…She could feel him there, his hands lightly sweeping her narrow waist. She could feel the warmth of his body against hers slipping away with every second until there were only ribbons of her imagination left.
Just then, She felt Czarina stir beside her hip underneath the blankets. She must’ve curled up with her when the fire went out in the early morning. There was movement underneath the sheets as Czarina wiggled out and off the couch, onto the floor, where she stretched her little coal black paws and yawned widely. A cold air wafted in where she’d slipped out and broke the barrier of warmth. She strutted over to her owner, sat beside her and nudged her arm hanging off the couch with her head.
‘Dobroye utro,’ the girl mumbled, feebly moving under the covers to scoop her in her arms. The cat arched her back and stretched her claws upwards. She never liked to be hugged; it made her fur stand on end, but the girl liked hugging and so she clutched Czarina as she sat up.
She knew that the spell of the dream had been broken and there was no longer any hiding from the day. She rubbed her eyes, trying once more to recall any detail of the man, but like a spirit, he had disappeared.
There was no chasing him down by trying to fall asleep again this morning, she thought. Maybe on her next day off.
Whenever that’ll be.
* * *
"Alex...Alex."
A small voice gently stirred him to wakefulness.
He opened his eyes to early light, blinking as his focus adjusted.
"Sofia? What is it?"
She looked down at him blankly.
"I want a cigarette."
"What?"
"A cigarette."
"But..." He sat up, and looked out the window into an unblemished blue sky. "What time is it? Why do you want one?"
"It stops you from going hungry. Can you get me one, please?"
His chest tightened at the thought.
"You smoke all the time." She was still sitting on the bed.
"No. You do not know how and you would just wake the lads with your coughing. What happened to the 10 kopecks I gave you yesterday?"
Her voice was small and distant. "I lost them." She turned a look at him that was not at all guileless.
"You did not lose them. Did you spend it?" he was growing frustrated.
At this her eyes turned misty. "No, I...I...I went looking for papa, I gave it to a priest. He said he would ask God for papa to come home."
He took her hand. It was cold, like the rest of her. Thin too. He rubbed his face with his hands unsure how to answer. He could not both keep an eye on what she did during the day while also stealing in the markets. Not to mention the realities of housing a 14 year old girl with 4 young men who were bringing home whores and up drinking most nights. He had come home two weeks prior to find two girls that the lads brought home were sharing their rouge with Sofia and he had nearly thrown them out the window. Not like he wanted to. And it wouldn't have mattered to him if she were older-- but it felt like he was watching her choices be taken away every day.
"Please, Alex, give me a cigarette."
"Shut up. I'm going to get you something to eat. Just leave and let me get changed."
* * *
“I never see you anymore.”
You skated around him slowly, drawing his hands into your own.
“What about last night?” you hummed.
Dmitri frowned. You weren’t sure if he could even recall last night. He had asked you to meet him outside of the Mariinsky at midnight and was drunk as a fish by the time you arrived. You could still feel his grubby hands sliding over your sides, his lips slobbering all over your neck, trying to guide you down some dark town corridor before you put a stop to it.
“Hey you can’t be upset! I told you ahead of time I might have to go home early! The landlady has been torturing me lately; she thinks because I don't have any husband or children that I'm some hussy. ”
“And the night before?”
“I had to work.”
“And the night before that?” Dmitri twirled you around on the ice, your fingers in his.
“It’s been a very busy week.”
“So you say.”
“I do say.”
“And I say I never see you anymore.” I never get free or easy sex anymore.
You smiled: “I’ve been busy.”
“I know.”
“And I’ve been tired.”
“You don’t look tired right now.”
“It's my day off!”
He pouted anyway. You knew he was going to keep sulking until you warmed his spirits the way he wanted.
You push your hands up to his chest and crowd yourself against him.
"I know, moj malenkij czar, it has been very hard for you. It's been very hard for me too," and with this you knit your brows together and let your voice go quiet and breathy so only he could hear you, "it's been terrible these last few days without you...I've been alone with my work and fingers for so long..." he looked down at you sternly, but you could sense your magic working on him, the stiffness in his trousers pressing against you.
"Mhm..." he wasn't a fool, he knew his behavior last night wasn't acceptable. You could see he was thinking about what could make up for it.
"Why don't we go to the Hermitage next Friday?" he offered.
You smiled at him, genuinely. Through all of your double-speak you both always manage to get what you wanted.
"That sounds lovely, I'll make sure I finish work early."
"Good," He shifted away from you, and you could feel him softening up. "I'm going to grab some tea, do you want anything?"
"Tea please," you smiled sweetly. He squeezed your hand and then turned around, skating off in a lumbering sort of way. You breathed out a sigh of relief.
You hadn't laced up properly before coming out here onto the ice and the flaps of the front of your right boot were digging into your feet. They were awful men’s boots with crepe soles and flaps covering the front like a woman's shoe. You could hardly get away with wearing them without getting blisters. Today was much worse as you hadn’t any socks on.
You leisurely glide past a small family, nearly knocking into another visitor at the market before skating up to a small shop with a bench beside it. You begin to undo the laces of the boot, hardly able to undo the tight knots with your raw fingers. You flinch at the feeling of the leather peeling off of your flesh and gently rub the raw skin there, feeling it shift around and knowing it would shortly blister anyway. The most you could do is hope it healed by Friday otherwise you'd have to find the kopeks for a pair of hose.
You sigh, smoothing over the tongue of the boot and lying it flat against the soreness. The last time you visited the Hermitage was with Pyotr and though you think you could find your way around it quite easily, there was no telling who was to be featured in the modern paintings section. You make a mental note to visit the Hermitage tomorrow evening.
You smooth your dress over, and stand up on your skates. That was one more thing that you have a lot of work to do before Friday. There was also Madame Petrov’s coat to repair and Mademoiselle Sokolov’s applique dress, not to mention your own dance slippers. You blink at the thought of the slippers and auditions…you are so close to getting your name on the roster at Mariinsky, but last night was cutting it close. You had recognized a troupe of dancers leaving right as Dmitri's hand practically cupped your breast in the middle of the street and had to bury yourself in his chest for a moment, enough time to let them snicker as they passed the loose woman getting groped. You shuddered.
You skated over the ice, sliding past other guests back to where Dmitri left you. You feel a quick gust of air zip past your right shoulder.
Confused by where the direction of the motion is coming from, you sharply turn to stop, but you don't account for how much you've loosened the strings against your blister.
Your boots stop as intended, but you rock up inside of them and stumble forward with your hands up to catch yourself, but you can't stop a hard fall. Your other leg lands awkwardly, twisting your ankle and sending a sharp pain up through your shin causing you to wince in pain.
"Mademoiselle?" you hear a man’s voice.
You feel a hand grab your arm, quickly lifting you up to your feet and holding you there. You look up to see him.
He was a handsome, clean-shaven man of 20-some years. He was tall enough that the small smile on his lips could brush your forehead. He wasn’t brawny but lean and sharp looking and very-well dressed in his dark wool coat and karakul hat. He had strong cheekbones, soft depressions beneath his blue eyes, and a tough jaw.
“Are you alright, mademoiselle?”
Though he’d asked the question, the tone in his voice lacks any concern.
“Yes…” you say, straightening your dress and waiting for your heart to calm down. You look up and down the path, the men and women who stopped to see if you were alright have continued on their way and Dmitri is nowhere to be seen.
You turn back towards the stranger but step out of his intimate space.
“Ah, thank you,” the embarrassment creeps into your cheeks. You lock eyes with him and notice a sly grin tugging at the edge of his lips.
“You should really wear socks next time,” he advises you cheekily.
“Y-yes, I will,” you stammer, not really sure what else to say to that.
He folds his hands behind his back and gives you one last knowing smile before turning on his blade and skating away casually.
You look down at your boot and see the smallest patch of blood bleeding through the top flap. Next time he said. Did he see you fixing your boot earlier? Or could he just tell right now? Wait a moment, did he push you?
“[Y/N!]” you look up to see Dmitri skating towards you with a tea in each hand. He stops a meter away, clearly out of breath.
You stuff your hand in your left pocket looking for your cross and find it empty.
“I saw several people stop, did you get hurt?”
“I think I was robbed?” you look up at Dmitri’s confused face while searching your right pocket too.
Your hand does find the thin gold chain which you pull out for closer examination, both of you looking at your outstretched and open palm.
The wooden crucifix had gone missing.