Ick. It's okay. Seemed a lot better at three in the morning, though. Try to enjoy!
Yabloko moego glaza. The apple of your eye. Remember when you told me that, dear brother? You would walk in the door, throw your bag to the floor and scoop me up into your arms. The prettiest, you said. Your little printsessa...
The rain was cold that day. Unrenentless. It fell in mountainous drops atop my head as I sat in the street. Then your body shielded me. Your tall frame towered over me, making my body seem frail and breakable. Those eyes locked onto mine, and I knew I was yours. Navsegda. Forever. Isn't that what you told me?...
Ukraine was there with us. We were warm, safe. Happy. I loved your laugh. It was strong, confident, just like you. Every time you smiled at me, I felt butterflies in my stomach. As the night crept on, you carried me to my room in those muscular arms. The way you tucked the sheets in around me made my heart sigh. "Goodnight," you would whisper, "my milaya Bela. My sweet little Bela"
The wars were hard on you. The beautiful rosy color was drained from your face. I could feel your pain drifting throughout the house. Every drink you took hurt me. If only I could make you happy...
You returned. You had conquered all. You always do. But you had changed. Or maybe, I had changed. My love for you was still there, burning a hole in my heart. But the eyes that had once looked at me with such longing were gone, replaced only with the reflection of a bottle. The dreaded butel'ka.
How long had it been since you last told me you loved me? Your eyes were cold, your hugs stiff. I called to you. I cried for you. But I was pushed away, time after time...
Our great house was quiet. Empty. It was your home, your country. But I was alone again. I tried to help you; tried to comfort you. Did you not hear my knocking on your door? I screamed your beloved name. Why did you answer with tears?
You smile, but it's not the same. I no longer try to find the love beneath your eyes. I am afraid of what I might find instead. Those pictures of us, smiling and laughing, are up on the mantle. I spend my days gazing at them. That girl, so happy and young, is what I wish to be. But when I look in the mirror, all that is there is the reflection of a tired, sad girl. A sad little girl...
I saw you today. You were laughing. But not with me. With those new friends of yours. They sicken me. None of them care for you as I do. You are my Ivan. Not theirs.
It was not a simple task, but it is done. They are gone; their remains stashed far away. But as I tell you what I've done, you turn away. I have cheated, lied, and killed for you. All you repay me with is a frightened face and locked doors. Why is this so, brother?
There is much in this world I do not understand, but I can grasp this; you do not love me. In my dire effort to show you how much I am devoted to your very being, I have turned you away. You think that sending me off on my own will be a way out, but you are wrong. If I can not have you, then no one can...
They say that killing is easy, and that the gilt is the hard part. I disagree. You do not know how hard it was for me to do this, brother. But it was for the better. Trust me. It will be alright. There is no need to cry. We will be together again one day. Moi dorogoi brat.
Wait for me, will you?
So... yeah. She killed him. If that wasn't clear. I like stories where Bela gets her revenge on Ivan. Shoot me.