Prologue: The Dark Side of Moscow.
A mountain of rubble and cobblestone. A building that once was, but no more. A young girl climbs, trailing behind her two boys, around the same age. Casualties of human neglect. This wasteland is their playground.
She reaches the top first, pale skin covered in sweat and ash. She smiles and brushes away strands of short, almost platinum blond hair.
"Irina!"
One of the boys calls from below, obviously struggling with the climb.
"It wasn't a race, you know!"
The young girl laughs.
"Last one up has to get papa's vodka, remember?"
The boys stop, stare at each other, and continue the climb with newfound desperation. Iina's brother, Leon, is the faster climber.
"Ha! Gwin has to do it!"
The youngest boy, Gwin, finally reaches the top with a defeated groan.
"This isn't fair, he's not even my dad. And he's scary."
Leon and Irina exchange mischievous grins. Gwin is visibly stressed out. Leon playfully shoves him.
"Relax okay, we won't actually make you do it. Besides, he asked Irina."
The girl sticks her tongue out at them, knowing full well she'd end up running the errand anyway. Papa always sent her, the oldest. And he always sent her without money. It was supposed to teach her resourcefulness, or something like that. Irina sighed quietly to herself.
"I know."
Despite the uncomfortable, harsh lessons, Irina had great respect for her father.
Across the horizon, the children watched as the sun began to set behind the mazes of stone buildings. Webs of clothing lines draped across from window to window. Old babushkas stood out on their porches with hair rollers and cigarettes. Distant graffiti peeked around the walls of neglected buildings. From down below, they could hear the sounds of the streets. Sirens and cars and people and white noise.
They liked the feeling of being up high, surveying their city away from the barbed wire. In the far off distance, the lights of the wealthy began to turn on.
Irina slowly ran her fingers through her hair, as if an act of preparation.
"Okay you two. Help each other home. Leon, tell papa I'm not far behind."
The boys salute her as she descends into the streets, like a soldier.
Irina had a system, the young girl was clever. Years of living on the dark side of Moscow had taught her to move through the streets like a rat. Beg, lie, steal, and trust no one.
Moving to a part of the city less populated by police was risky, but it was the only way to beg for money without being forcefully removed.
She held out her hands at the passing crowds, hunching her shoulders in order to appear more frail, and sympathetic. Being a girl also helped to gain sympathy, but it was a double-edged sword. People felt sorry for her, yes. But if she appeared too weak, wicked men will start to notice. She kept alert.
It was busy on this night, thankfully earning her enough to scrape up a bottle for Papa. She retreated to a less populated area, in order to count her money without drawing attention.
Suddenly, a sound from the alley behind her. She tenses, quickly shoving her earnings into her trousers. Irina prepares to face the presence with aggression, her default.
When she turns to see the perpetrator, her eyes widen. It wasn't a wicked man, or a thief, or police. It was a girl about her age.
Irina knew of many slum children, but had never seen this girl before. Irina cannot help but stare. The girl is covered in rags, a mess of tangled white-blonde hair hangs over her face. It's short and blunt, as if she had just cut if off herself without care. Her face is soft and slender, but much too mature for her age. The streets will do that to you.
And her eyes, Irina could not look away. Brown? No, violet. Gleaming in the night lights hanging above the alleyway. Irina knew those eyes. They were the eyes of someone who had seen death.
The silence between them was finally broken, when the mysterious girl spoke.
"I was watching you. You're pretty good."
She began to move closer, this made Irina tense up again.
"Watching me?"
"Yeah, taking money from those people. Could you teach me?"
The girls are now facing each other, too close for Irina's comfort. The girl is staring at Irina quite intently. There is something about her. A feeling Irina does not recognize right away.
"Who are you?"
Irina asks as if she's talking to someone from another planet.
"Will you help me if I tell you?"
Irina nods, cautiously.
The girl then swiftly moves her lips to Irina's ear. The sudden closeness causes Irina to freeze. The girl's whisper is warm against her skin.
"Sharon."
Irina would never forget that name.
Author's note: I felt it was important to begin with a snippet of how Irina and Sharon met, as well as prefacing their life and environment as children in the slums of Russia. So have a short prologue! Thank you for reading.