Title: A Long Winter's Night
Author: Celestejz
Summary: Inspired by Boris Pasternak's " Winter Night". (Which you can read here: http: Don't belong to me, etc. etc.
Prologue:
A candle slowly burns on the windowsill.
For the past couple of hours, this has been their only source of light, a beacon in what would otherwise be an inky nightmare of despair.
As rivets of wax slowly drip down the candle, plinking gently onto the splintered wooden frame, the two lovers' cling to each other, knowing that come morning, their fate will be decided.
Life or death lies just a few hours away.
It is nearing midnight, in the Russian countryside. In a far-flung region of the Urals, flurries of snow are swirling merrily around the expansive night sky.
It is wintertime in the region, an extended period of time renown for notoriously bad weather. Temperatures can often drop down in the negatives, and there are often very few hours of sunshine in a day. Couple these two things together, it is little wonder that droves of people fall sick every year. Many stay inside for a profound number of hours every day, simply to avoid the stress of tangling with natural forces.
He reaches out to her, and touches her gently on the cheek. Her skin is waxen and cold to the touch, but she struggles to smile.
"Quite a place for a honeymoon, huh?" She jokes weakly, as she turns to look at him. Her face is remarkably pale now, and her eyes have morphed into narrow slits of pain.
"Well, it was either this or Italy." He shrugs and winks at her with a forced nonchalance, trying hard not to cry. It pains him to see her so frail and vulnerable."And who wants to go and sun themselves on the Italian Rivera when you can have the snow-covered Urals? I thought the choice was obvious."
"Of course." Her lips turn up in an obvious attempt to provide a happy face, but the moment as fleeting, as she grimaces instead.
Gripping on to her hand, he feels helpless, as she visibly fights the pain. The seconds slowly tick by…one…two…three…
As she finally falls limp again, he soothingly strokes her hair. "Was it bad?" He whispers, already knowing the answer.
It was obviously painful, but he knew she'd try to make light of it.
"Not as bad as the time I was tortured by Suits and Glasses." She mumbles back, reaching to entwine his hand with her own.
He doesn't respond, choosing instead to focus on the candle, that is flickering unsteadily on the frost covered windowsill. By the looks of it, the candle would only be of use for another hour or so.
And then, they'd be left in the dark.
But before he can let his mind contemplate that decidedly grim possibility, he is quickly summoned back to reality. She is gripping his hand again, as another jolt of pain ricochets through her.
He murmurs a series of nonsensical words to her, as he silently urges her to hold on. Just a few more hours…hang on…