Disclaimer: I don't own the Grisha Trilogy and its characters – it belongs to Leigh Bardugo. I do not own the Shadow & Bone TV series, which was developed by Eric Heisserer for Netflix and based on Leigh Bardugo's books. Any recognisable dialogue is from the books or TV show – some lines may be included verbatim, others in an amended form.

Dolls

Professor Morozova was, simply put, an asshole.

That wasn't just Nikolai's view, but one shared by every student who took his class.

Demanding, insulting and intolerant of mistakes, Morozova took a great deal of joy in surprising them with random quizzes, and you never scored well on his tests unless you knew the subject back to front.

He was, however, completely brilliant.

Even better, he had connections all over the world. If you got on his good side, his recommendation could give you the edge you needed over your classmates.

The problem was, Nikolai had yet to see evidence of a good side.

He was trying, though, with this class. Working harder than he ever had before. He'd even arranged an out-of-hours meeting with Morozova at the professor's (palatial, imposing, kind of spooky) home to discuss his essay, since he'd missed that week's office hours due to student council elections.

Spending forty-five minutes having his work verbally eviscerated was not Nikolai's idea of an entertaining Friday night, but needs must.

"Is that your wife?" he asked, pointing to a series of paintings across the wall.

Each showed Morozova and a beautiful young woman who looked barely twenty. Since Morozova had to be in his mid-thirties, his wife must be a good deal younger (or employ an excellent plastic surgeon).

The paintings were odd, as if from different eras. The artist had clearly gone all out – the outfits were perfect, the canvases a little cracked and aged, just as they would be if they'd really been done centuries previously.

"My Alina," Morozova's expression softened, a rare half-smile on his face.

"How long have you been married?" Nikolai asked, hoping that expressing some interest would put Morozova in a better mood.

The professor gave a low chuckle, "oh, it feels like centuries now."

"What does she do?"

Nikolai was curious about the sort of woman Morozova would marry. She looked kind but surely she needed a spine of steel to cope with her husband's forceful personality.

"She's taking a sabbatical right now, building orphanages and schools. She's always had a soft spot for orphans, my wife."

Nikolai wanted to know more. Not only was this the most personal information his professor had ever divulged, it was also a welcome break from being harshly chastised for 'poor sentence structure and overenthusiastic use of commas'.

Before he could say anything else, though, his head started spinning.

Odd, he hadn't had anything alcoholic since the night before.

"You didn't tell anyone you were coming here, did you, Mr Lantsov?"

Morozova's voice seemed far away, but Nikolai managed to shake his head

It had been a condition of the agreement to meet outside office hours. Morozova didn't want it becoming a regular habit for students and insisted Nikolai keep his mouth shut.

"Good," Morozova's smile was suddenly cruel, "that makes things easier."

"What …"

Nikolai found himself unable to do anything but slump sideways in his seat.

His vision blurred, his eyes fluttering shut.

He was tired, so very tired.

The last thing he heard was Morozova's voice in his ear, "it's nothing personal, Mr Lantsov, but there's a price for power and someone has to pay it."

Aleksander waved one hand across the door to remove the wards and allow him entrance to the room.

He placed a little doll – golden haired and handsome – on a shelf next to the others, before he turned around and tutted at the sight before him.

"You know I don't like it when you hurt yourself, Alinochka."

He crossed the room, lifted the wrists she had rubbed raw trying to escape from the spelled chains, and ran his thumbs across her skin, letting his magic seep in and heal her.

"You've done it again, haven't you?" she looked at the newest doll, all that remained of Nikolai Lantsov.

"Power requires a sacrifice, milaya," he reminded her, "you know that."

He leant down to capture her lips with his, pleased to find she responded hungrily despite her professed disdain for his actions.

"Must we do this every few decades?" he sighed as they broke apart, "aren't things so much better when you behave yourself?"

He still couldn't believe she'd chosen Malyen Oretsev, of all people, as the source of her most recent rebellion one year previously. The boy had been an idiot, even if he'd held a bright spark of power that made him perfect as a boost for Aleksander's magic. As he'd told the Lantsov boy, his wife really did have an appalling soft spot for orphans.

"You can't just expect me to be ok with you murdering someone once a year."

"Whyever not, milaya? It's a small price, really, in the grand scheme of things. And don't pretend you haven't loved our centuries together."

He knew she wanted to protest, but she couldn't make the lies fall from her lips. His Alina might be averse to bloodshed, but she had always thoroughly enjoyed the perks of an immortal life – the travelling, the experiences, living through history.

And, of course, he'd never let her go, not his precious little wife.

"Are you ready for me to take off the chains yet, moya lyubov?"

She was a proud, defiant little thing and, when she was in a mood, prone to making herself uncomfortable simply to make a point. It had been a year, though, one where he'd carefully given her enough attention to make her crave his presence, but not enough to satisfy.

For a moment, it seemed like Alina would hold firm, but, eventually, she nodded her head, "I'm ready, Sasha."

The bindings were gone in an instant, his murmured "good girl" as he wrapped his arms around her making her melt into his embrace.

"Come, milaya, I'll make your favourite for dinner. And then tomorrow we can go to the park nearby – you'll find plenty of inspiration for your sketches."

"It sounds lovely, Sasha."

Her voice was quiet, compliant, careful. It always was after he'd had to punish her. She'd perk up soon enough and they would be back to normal.

It might be frustrating sometimes, having to navigate Alina's moral scruples and the bizarre way she cared about complete strangers, but she was his soulmate and Aleksander loved her, quirks and all.

The door closed behind them, leaving the room in darkness.

Rows of dolls stared outwards. Male and female, old and young, with varying skin, hair and eye colours.

They all had one thing in common, however.

Their painted expressions were identical masks of horror.

The basic premise is that Aleksander has magic of some kind that needs to be 'topped up' by a yearly sacrifice. The dolls are all his victims. His magic keeps both him and his wife Alina young and healthy forever. Alina is about four hundred years old at this point. Aleksander is a lot older.

Thanks for reading. Hope you enjoyed it.