Scene: The Little Palace, night of the Winter Fete.
Alina sat on her bed, sobbing inconsolably. "Maaaaaallllllllll," she wailed, thinking of their terrible argument.
"I will always looove yoou, you complete me, you had me at hellooo," she ugly cried desperately, scrolling through Mal's Facebook and Instagram accounts.
Suddenly, she heard voices outside her door.
It was the Darkling's smooth voice. "No, mother, I got here first." She could hear tussling in the hall.
She sniffed miserably and wiped her face. She strode to the door and opened it.
A slightly bloodied Darkling stood on the other side, waiting expectantly. There was an angry Baghra standing behind him, leaning against the wall. She was flipping them both off.
"What's she so angry about?" Alina asked, bemused.
"Oh, nothing, probably menopause." He swept past her into the room and she closed the door.
He grabbed her and kissed her passionately before he noticed how well lit the room was. He drew back and gasped, seeing her face in full light. He took in the pallor, the lank mousy brown hair. He stared at the under eye circles, the bones jutting out of her malnourished frame.
"My mistake, I was looking for the Sun Summoner, not a heroin addict," the Darkling said, embarrassed. "Apologies for disturbing you, ma'am," he said courteously. "I'll show myself out," he turned to leave.
"Wait! It's me, Alina," she said, confused.
"Really? Oh, okay," the Darkling said with forced cheerfulness. Saints, he thought. He remembered their passionate make out session earlier in the evening. That sitting room must have been very, very dark.
"Lets do something about the light in here, then," he said, clapping his hands together and ushering in a wave of darkness.
"Much better," he murmured, kissing her again.
"No, wait, I want to look at you." Alina summoned her power, bathing them both in the harsh, unforgiving light of the sun. He winced.
The Darkling didn't blame her for wanting to look at him though. "Fine," he said, reaching into an inner pocket of his kefta. "I'm going to need you to wear this, then," he withdrew a paper mask with Zoya's face printed on it.
"Absolutely not," she spat.
"How about this one?" It was Genya this time.
"No," she said flatly.
Cursing, he kept digging into his kefta. "Perhaps this one," he said hopefully, drawing out his last mask. It was Ivan's handsome face.
"I can't believe you,"she said.
"Fine," he said again. "Do you have any markers?" He was holding a blank piece of paper up.
Alina brightened. "Of course I do! I was using them to write 'Mal hearts Alina 4ever' all over my algebra notebook." She showed him her collection. He picked up a black Sharpie.
He was hastily scrawling something on the paper. "Yellow," he barked, holding out his hand. She handed the marker to him.
"Will you wear this?" He held up the drawing he'd made. It was a cartoon sun with a smiley face.
She threw up her hands this time. "I can't help how I was written."
"I know," he said sulkily.
She bristled. "I'm not actually unattractive," she said defensively. "Just fantasy book unattractive."
"What?"
"No heroine in a fantasy novel ever has brunette hair or brown eyes," she pointed to her drab, unremarkable locks and her horrifyingly common eye color. The Darkling suppressed a shudder.
"Fantasy book heroines typically have red, gold or some other exotic colored hair," Alina said. "Dark hair is attractive as long as it's black or at least described as 'dark' or 'raven,' certainly never brown." She sighed. "Same with eye color. Apparently eyes as blue as Nordic fjords or green as emeralds are a prerequisite for dubiously explained magical powers."
"And another thing that annoys me," Alina continued. "Ever notice that all the so-called unattractive heroines are almost always described as skinny or bony? And pale. They're never fat or have bad skin or missing teeth."
The Darkling nodded his head in agreement, grasping the point she was trying to make. "And we both know that Western society finds young, thin white girls so unattractive."
"Exactly. So like, in reality, I'm an L.A. Four and a Seattle Eight. But in a world where people are ethereally beautiful, with my brown hair and eyes, I'm a Grishaverse Two."
"Negative Two," he muttered and she kicked him in the shin.
"Ow," he said, hopping on one foot.
"Have you skipped ahead to the last book?" she whispered conspiratorially. "Do you know there's a love scene where I'm described as having skin as thin and dry as an onion?"
"Oh, I know," he groaned, covering his eyes with his hand. "Even I felt sorry for Mal in that scene."
Alina shook herself. "Our pillow talk needs some work. Where were we?" She pursed her lips again, waiting for his next kiss.
He stared at her. Okay, just think of Ravka, he told himself, wishing he'd brought his bottle of kvas with him.
He hesitated. He just needed more time, he thought desperately. Like a thousand more pages.
"Alina, I just remembered, I forgot to tell you something important," he said, trying to extricate her hands from under his kefta.
"Hmm?" she said, hooking a leg over his hip.
He pushed her gently away. "I told you all about the Cut but I may have forgotten to mention I have the Clap. And I do have a piercing headache," he added for good measure. "Perhaps you should talk to Baghra."
"Whatever for?"
"No idea," he said, feigning innocence. "But here, let me help you pack."
"I don't understand..." she murmured.
"It's fine, my pet," he said brightly. "I just think it might be better if we followed the original story line, is all. You know, you fleeing into the dead of night."
"Oh," she said, understanding. "You want the thrill of the chase."
"Yeah, sure," he said, jamming her stuffed animals into her Hello Kitty luggage. "Off you go, I'll escort you to Baghra's hut."
"Okay," she said, disappointed. "I guess it's probably for the best. You'd wreck me for other men, if the fan fics are to be believed. And Mal is my One True Love."
"Oh," he said in mock surprise. "The story has been really subtle about that. Seriously, as soon as I saw you two were childhood friends, I knew I was dead in the water."
They walked in companionable silence to Baghra's hut.
"At least they got a hot girl to play you in the Netflix series," he offered.
"Yeah, they did," Alina agreed. "I wonder if they'll try to make her 'Hollywood' ugly though."
"Oh, you mean like pull her hair back in a pony tail, give her some frumpy clothes and wire rimmed glasses?"
"Exactly."
The Darkling thought about that. "Still be hot."
"What do you think about Ben Barnes?"
"I'm not sure he has the sinister charisma to play me, but then again, I've only ever seen his work on the first season of The Punisher. Which wasn't like the best show. So I'll reserve judgment. He is man-pretty though."
"Hmm hmm," Alina agreed, thinking about Ben Barnes in a three piece suite. "And don't forget his sexy British accent."
"I am not liking the General Kirigan thing though. I'm the Darkling, damn it."
Alina mulled his words. "Well, I think they did that because the Darkling as a title works in a book because you're reading it but imagine characters on screen saying it multiple times out loud. 'Oh no, the Darkling is on his way! 'Look out, the Darkling is behind you!' Eventually it's going to start sounding like the Darling or the Duckling."
"Yes, I can see how that would get silly really fast," the Duckling admitted. Er, Darkling.
They stopped outside of Baghra's hut.
"Farewell, Alina. We will never again be on this good of terms."
Alina nodded. "I know, I've read ahead, remember?"
"Indeed."
She looked longingly at his beautiful face. "Are you sure you don't want to...?"
"Positive."
She nodded. "Okey dokey."
"Hit me up after your hair turns white. I haven't the foggiest idea why, but it instantly makes you a thousand times more attractive. But I've always had a Daenerys fantasy."
Alina pinched the bridge of her nose. "Of course it does. Did you forget our previous conversation? Stupid fantasy tropes."
