Chapter 3: Marishka
Hungary, 1789
The sloping woodland was blue in the twilight, the four young people's giggling like birdsong in the gloom.
"Surely you made that up, Lavinia," said one woman, grinning brightly. Unlike her companions, she had Caucasian skin and dirty-blonde hair. She wore several layers of clothing including baggy pants, a red sash above a thin strip of exposed belly, a thick shirt with slightly-hanging sleeves, and a thick shawl around her upper-arms – all her clothing had patterns ranging from simple stripes to flower-designs on them like they'd been made from curtains and carpets. She wore several necklaces, made of beads and decorated with gold plates, and large gold earrings.
"I didn't, Marishka, it's completely true," laughed another woman on the blonde's left, also carrying a sack. She had high cheekbones and thin eyebrows, and had the Roma's dark skin and hair. Her clothing also consisted of decorated materials, gold and necklaces, though her pants were mainly blue, her shawl orange, and slightly more of her belly was exposed. "Uncle Patrin thought this lady was another traveller, and when he followed her to her house, he found a brothel!" The broad-shouldered Roma boy hauling branch wood at the group's tail, laughed.
"That, Timbo, was my reaction when I saw it," said the slightly deeper-voiced woman on Marishka's other side, grinning back at the boy. She was round-faced and stout, also possessing Roma hair and skin.
"What happened next?" Timbo asked. He had a round yet worn-looking face, and wore slightly-baggy pants and a dark-brown tabard.
"He left as fast as he could before someone noticed a gypsy standing outside a brothel," Lavinia replied.
"Though many people on the next street parted and watched him fly like he were mad," the stout woman chuckled. Marishka gave her a suspicious, almost mischievous look.
"Don't tell anyone else of that before Marishka and Lavinia do, Rhoda, or Patrin will never hear the end of it," Timbo warned the stout woman.
"I'll do no such thing," the stout woman Rhoda said, sounding like she meant it. Marishka and Lavinia looked pointedly – forty minutes ago, she'd told Marishka she wouldn't say anything, before telling the first half of Lavinia's story.
"The Tail of the Farsang is five days away," Timbo said, changing the topic. "Does anyone intend to go into the town to see it?"
"What?" Marishka looked back at Timbo, shocked. "You suggest we do that after what happened the last time?"
"It was three years ago, and we aren't in Austria anymore," Lavinia said reassuringly. Marishka looked at her, smile gone. Lavinia tried broadening her grin. "Come, it could be fun." Marishka looked at the ground, lost in memories. When she'd been twenty and Lavinia seventeen, they, Timbo and four other friends had tried entering a town to see the Farsang celebrations, but hadn't gone further than the outskirts before three burly men had stopped them, saying they'd drag them behind a nearby inn and scalp them if they didn't turn around.
"I'm not sure," Marishka murmured slightly-weakly. She rushed ahead of her friends, hoping to leave the topic behind them. Reaching the hill's bottom where the wood turned to grass, she looked at the many large tents ahead – the camp was nearly a mile wide, with many-dozens of people and animals mulling or sitting about. Campfires were already being started. Marishka smiled and shook her head slightly, before advancing on.
After giving several friends spare mushrooms, Marishka went in search of her father, sack lightened. She quickly found him by the sound of his guitar and singing, like a dozen birds' songs filling the night – he was at a campfire, near a two-wheeled wagon with a cylindrical tent, with an audience of over a dozen people and several mules. Marishka's father was a bulky Russian man with bright-blonde hair, friendly mutton-chops decorating a pudgy face. He wore particularly-baggy, dark pants, pointed wooden shoes, and he had a long, brown-furred tabard with strips of silver, over a grey-white shirt. He stopped playing on seeing her approach, and rose to kiss her on the forehead.
"We have enough to feed six hungry mouths," Marishka said, holding up the sack and grinning. Her father, who was half a foot taller, chuckled heartily.
"Well, you and I had better get to work on this stew, but first I think it'd be best I finished singing or anger everyone," he said, smiling through his moustache.
"Certainly," Marishka said – her father's folk songs from his homeland were well-liked among their band. Retaining the sack, she took a place sitting around the campfire and listened to the resumed singing. Over the following thirty minutes, Lavinia and several other found the fire and joined them. One of the neighbours had made enough stew for several, and offered Marishka and several others bowls, which they took.
"Is it true you and Lavinia are visiting the town to celebrate the Tail of the Farsang?" a young boy asked over the singing. Marishka looked up in surprise, then looked at Lavinia, across the fire – her expression mirrored Marishka's. Thinking of Rhoda, Marishka could've groaned in exasperation.
"We are not," Marishka said, spooning her stew. She'd only eaten two spoonfuls before the pleading expression on Lavinia's face – the one she used when someone had told her no and she refused to listen – became unignorable.
"What is it?" Marishka asked.
"Marishka, please, I do not want to see the festivities but leave you behind," Lavinia said. Marishka was slightly touched – neither one of them had partaken in fun, when it rarely came, without the other by their side. Doing so seemed selfish and wrong to a point where indulging that way just wouldn't be the same. But Marishka remembered what had happened the last time, and though there were no laws against the Roma's existence in Hungary, she'd received the settled folk's message that gypsies weren't wanted.
"I said I didn't want to go," Marishka said, slightly firmly.
"Please, Marishka?" Lavinia pleaded, leaning forward slightly. Lost in his singing, Marishka's father didn't hear anything. Marishka looked up and saw the doe-like eyes Lavinia was giving. "I'll be heartbroken if I have to spend that evening without fun after I promised myself I would go into the town." Marishka's jaw clenched.
"What did you promise exactly?" Marishka asked.
"I said, 'I swear by my mother and father and their ancestors that I shall see the celebrations of the Tail of the Farsang in the town nearest here,'" Lavinia said. Looking sideways at Lavinia, Marishka sighed in exasperation, wishing she'd worded her vow poorly. Lavinia grinned, seeing she'd won, then looked past Marishka.
"Oh, goodness, it's Lash!" Lavinia exclaimed.
"Don't worry, I'm sure he won't do anything worse than borrow your mother's clothes again," Marishka said.
"No, Marishka, he's set himself on fire!" Lavinia exclaimed, not grinning. Following Lavinia's gaze, Marishka saw the thin-faced, stick-limbed man was running about three tents' lengths away, frantically beating a cloth on his pants' flame-ridden sleeve. Gawking briefly, Marishka dropped her bowl and ran towards him, several others following.
On the first day of the Tail of the Farsang, Marishka and Lavinia both added an extra layer to their upper-clothing – Marishka a thick shirt with rose patterns, and Lavinia a pink shirt with two dark stripes, covering more of either woman's belly. Marishka removed most of her gold necklaces but one, and kept her earrings, while Lavinia wore as much jewellery as ever. Marishka wasn't worried about their families missing them, as several of their friends had agreed the previous night to cover both women's chores. Marishka and Lavinia slipped out of the camp in the evening, navigating the band's safe path to the main road. The women followed the road without hitching a ride, knowing what could happen to beautiful women in strange men's company with no-one to protect them. Only when they were past the outskirts, where people were seemingly-constantly about, did Marishka and Lavinia stow away on a wagon's rear. They kept their shawls wrapped around their heads so their hair and earrings were mostly hidden, and their faces slightly shadowed. Watching the streets roll by, the sky darkening, Marishka saw more Roma and travellers than she would've expected. Many she recognised from their band, but there were also strangers; selling flowers or other goods, or purchasing. When Marishka and Lavinia thought they were near the town-centre, they got off the wagon and walked the rest of the way in. Unused to the streets' winding and twisting, they asked passers-by if they were going in the correct direction. Marishka was surprised at how few people were openly hostile or looked ready to spit at them.
The sky was nearly black when Marishka and Lavinia reached the Tail festival – Marishka's eyes widened when she heard the noise, and her breath was taken away when she and Lavinia came towards the street. The street – Marishka supposed the town square by its greater width and the central statue – had been converted into a chaotic camp of men playing instruments; sword-swallowers standing above other heads; men riding donkeys backwards; and men or men-dressed-as-women performing in crowd-clearings or from balconies. Several regions of the crowd consisted of dances and various music tunes. Men and women were drinking and being cheered on. Small boys and girls scrapped in the street while adults surrounding them yelled and cheered. There was a Roma minority present. Marishka stared a long time before thinking again – re-observing the Roma, she grinned, moving her shawl slightly back from around her head.
"Are you happy we came now?" Lavinia asked.
"Not yet, but that could change," Marishka replied playfully, grinning at Lavinia. They pushed forward, winding through thick throngs of people. Marishka didn't think she'd been among such a chaotic mess of strangers in her life. Looking at the festival's absurd sights on both sides of the square, Marishka smiled.
"Drinking ten mugs of milk!" Lavinia exclaimed, pointing. Marishka looked. There was a table lined with metal mugs, at which a woman was gobbling a jug's contents, milk spilling over her face, before proceeding to the next. "Perhaps we can both try that?" Marishka grinned, chuckling.
"I don't think so," she said. She didn't enjoy that kind of game, because things came and went too quickly for her to enjoy.
"Then what about that?" Lavinia asked, pointing in another direction. Near the milk-table, on the same side of the street, people were dancing in pairs to a small family's instruments, various clothes giving the group a Roma-like array of clothes-colours. Marishka spotted four or five Roma men and women. Lavinia grinned.
"Maybe," Marishka said, smiling. She liked dancing – the twisting, movements and mobility it involved had always slightly appealed to her. "Want to join me?"
"I have my sights on something else," Lavinia said, before promptly pushing Marishka towards the dance, and practically running to the milk table. Marishka saw Lavinia eagerly awaiting her turn by the table. Turning her head back, Marishka slowly proceeded into the dancers, passing between twirling pairs. There was a beat in the music, at which all dancers stopped. Then a stout, brown-haired man grabbed Marishka's hands, and they were twirling when the music resumed. Marishka stared at the man's face, before shedding her resistance and grinning. The man led, then there was another beat at which everyone exchanged partners. Leaving the first man, Marishka took a tall, black-bearded man, leading him. She guessed he might be a rich man by his unnaturally-kempt clothes and how clean his face was. The beat came again, Marishka left the kempt man, and her hands were sharply taken before she saw her next partner's face. The music resumed, and they danced. Looking at the new face, Marishka saw her current partner had a thin, slightly worn-looking face with large eyebrows, smiling pleasantly. His dark hair was held up at his head's back in a ponytail, stray strands seemingly-deliberately framing either side of his face. Marishka realised she must've been staring for some time, but found breaking contact with his blue eyes to be a slight struggle. He wore a black coat that was slightly-open at the front, showing his equally-black undershirt, and he wore high boots.
"You have heard this tune before?" the new dance partner asked.
"I haven't," Marishka replied, taking a moment to find her voice. "W- Why do you ask?"
"I would've thought someone who has travelled to many places might recognise it," he replied. "Forgive me, I can recognise a woman of the Roma anywhere, not merely by their appearance but by the way they carry themselves." Marishka's eyes widened slightly, quite unused to hearing anyone compliment her people so. It also served to put her wariness of this outsider slightly at-ease. "Do you enjoy dancing?" he asked.
"I- I do, when the opportunity for it comes," Marishka said. Blinking helped her break eye contact, but looking at the man's chest, his voice and presence still held some strange power over her mind.
"It's a most becoming activity for any intelligent specimen to spend time on," the black-clothed man remarked. Marishka looked at him, surprised to hear her intelligence complimented. "If I may ask, how long have you been in Eger?"
"My band aren't staying much longer," Marishka murmured, then suddenly felt slightly-uneasy about sharing such information. "We'll be gone soon, and I won't see this place again."
"It's such a shame, to have such a fleeting experience of a place, then never see it again," the man said. He unexpectedly brought Marishka's hand over her head – her shawl falling halfway-back, exposing her dirty-blonde hair – twirled her around, then brought her arm back down in front of her, pinning her back to his chest. "Imagine what it would be like, if those moments that most only spend seconds on, could last an eternity." His voice sounded very close to Marishka's ear.
"Always moving is the Roma's way of life," Marishka said nonchalantly, feeling slightly defiant now they weren't face-to-face. She thought she heard the man release a slight chuckle. He sharply reversed the arm-lock, and they were face-to-face, dancing again.
"Please tell me if I may ask it, how did you come to be in this way of life?" the man asked. He sounded sincere, and Marishka was sure he was only curious – but she got the nagging feeling an unplaceable something was missing about this man, making her feel like she couldn't properly connect to him.
"My father came from Russia, and my mother abandoned the New World before she came to his country," Marishka answered. "My mother died when I was born, and my father afterwards sought a different life. We were adopted by a vitsa outside my father's homeland."
"How does this life suit you?" the man asked, leading Marishka. "Do you ever tire of it?"
"I cannot imagine any other life," Marishka said truthfully. To wake, sleep, eat and drink in the same place, not seeing new stranger faces for months, traversing roads leading to another place only to retrace her journey in reverse? These seemed alien.
"Perhaps you first need to see a different life," the man said. Marishka looked away – was he suggesting she run away with him? She immediately felt like slapping herself, as this man clearly wasn't a traveller. But she'd heard stories about men and women running away, and she knew so little about this man so far.
"I am very comfortable in this life," Marishka said rather quickly, fighting the blush threatening to show.
"You might change your mind," the man said calmly, making eye contact. "I think you'll find a change in perspective can be very persuading." His tone dipped at the last two words, becoming so husky it were almost a growl.
"Marishka!"
Turning her head, Marishka saw Lavinia half-run to the dance's edge, grinning. Her face and shawl had traces of milk she'd failed to wipe away. "There is a man swallowing fire. You have to see it!"
"A friend?" the dark-haired man asked pleasantly, looking at Marishka.
"Yes, and I shouldn't risk her wandering off without me," Marishka said.
"Then it seems we must part company here," the man said. He led Marishka between the other dancers towards Lavinia, bringing her hand above her head and then twirling her two feet away from him. "For now." He smiled pleasantly.
"Perhaps we may dance again," Marishka said, smiling. She was shocked at her own words as soon as she'd finished them. The man grinned.
"But before I leave you," he stopped her before she could turn to walk away; "I should introduce myself by name, since I now know your name but you do not know mine." He gave a small but meaningful bow of his head. "I am Vladislaus Dragulia." Raising his head, he brought the back of Lavinia's hand to his lips and kissed – she stared. Then he took Marishka's hand and did the same, but longer and slower. Marishka was surprised at how cold his lips felt. His eyes unblinkingly held hers as he kissed and as his lips left her skin. He smiled in a way Marishka thought would've been warm if not for that lack. "May we see each-other again, Marishka."
"I won't easily forget our first encounter," Marishka said quickly. Not sure how to properly say farewell to him, Marishka mimicked the man's head-nod, then turned and began walking away, leading Lavinia.
"Who was that?" Lavinia asked, slightly bemused.
"I don't know," Marishka murmured, instinctively drawing her shawl back over her hair, resisting the tingling urge to look back and see if Vladislaus was still watching.
When the Farsang celebrations died down, Marishka and Lavinia sought beds in an inn members of their camp had used, paying for their room with their own savings. Marishka didn't sleep well – she dreamed of her dance with Vladislaus Dragulia, the two of them remaining still while the world spun around them. Leaving the inn just after dawn, Marishka and Lavinia retraced their journey from the camp. They weren't in much trouble when they returned in the late morning, since those who'd known what they were doing had told the women's families they'd slept in their friends' homes – but many were still irritated at the women allegedly sleeping in, which had prompted them to get to work helping Lash with milking cows. Lash had a fear of cows, and he needed others' help milking them to assure him he wouldn't be trampled. For most of the chores, Marishka couldn't stop thinking of the dance. In the mid-evening, Marishka, Lavinia and several friends chased a dog that had gotten loose – harmless but elusive, running between and under tents and a few wagons, and easily slipping out of people's hands before they had a firm hold. Marishka caught it in the end. She enjoyed the chase – she'd enjoyed playing tag as a child, and this was no different – and wasn't quick about ending the chase.
The next morning was the morning the band would leave Eger. Waking, Marishka took a moment to register the soft wailing outside hers and her father's tent. Then she rushed from the straw bed to the tent's flap, exiting a second before the woman screamed long and hard. Marishka saw a man and woman crouched on the grass right of her tent, a body before them – Timbo. His eyes were closed, body looking undamaged at this angle.
"Father, wake up!" Marishka urgently cried back into the tent, throwing the flap open. Timbo's mother wailed again, and he shot up.
"What's happened?!" he cried calmly but fiercely.
"Timbo is dead," she said. She moved, letting him quickly exit. Seeing the parents, he rushed towards them, wearing the same clothes he had yesterday, as Marishka did. More heads were poking out of tents, and people who'd been sleeping outside had fully risen. Marishka's father crouched by the body, and she crouched further behind him.
"What is happening?!" Marishka and her father's heads turned, seeing a tall, thin, broad-shouldered man with curly shoulder-length hair and a bent nose approaching fast – Motshan, their vitsa's voivode.
"Our son has been killed in the night!" Timbo's father cried loudly.
"What happened?" Marishka's father asked softly, putting a hand on the man's shoulder.
"We found him like this just now," Timbo's father murmured weakly. The body's head was lying almost on its side – looking closer, Marishka saw a small amount of blood staining the neck and loosened collar. On Timbo's neck, in his skin were four close-together punctured holes. An animal attack, Marishka realised.
"Marishka, get back inside!" Motshan roared commandingly. She briefly looked at him, then obeyed, having never liked his temper being on her. She heard him say more softly something about looking for other bodies, before she slipped into the tent.
Though slightly delayed, the band set off in the afternoon, a long line of mounted horses and the occasional wagon advancing slowly on long country roads. Timbo's body was carried on the back of a mule, either of his parents riding directly in front or behind. Marishka was disturbed and glad to be moving on before risking another night; this was the first time a beast had killed in the band's camp in six years. They travelled south over three days before setting up camp in the afternoon – the new site was atop a short cliff, in a hilly place with little woodland. While the younger unmarried people sought medicine herbs, Marishka and Lavinia were tasked with helping Lash tend to several horses he would trade at a market town.
When the sun was near setting and the sky red, Marishka and Lavinia approached Lash's tent – the surrounding tents lent Lash's more space, which was taken up by mules, a couple cows and other animals whose reins were tied to spikes in the ground. Past the tent from the women, a thin figure was trying to calm two of the horses, which were screaming uncontrollably. Marishka noticed Lash, whose back was facing her, was clad in extra layers of clothing and had a shirt tied around his head like a shawl.
"That's strange," Marishka murmured, she and Lavinia frowning slightly.
"Lash!" Lavinia called. The figure turned, thin face shaded under the shirt-shawl.
"Lavinia, Marishka!" he called welcomingly in his high, slightly-nasally voice, grinning broadly. He raised his hand as though in a wave. Lavinia all but skipped forward, grinning slightly, Marishka behind her.
"What's gotten into the horses?" Lavinia asked in concern.
"I'm not sure," Lash murmured, looking back at them. "Every one of the beasts have been like this since this morning. Only when someone gets close. They just won't calm." Marishka was slightly surprised – Lash had never failed to calm horses before.
"Has anyone else tried calming them?" Marishka asked.
"No, just me," Lash said, seeing nothing wrong.
"Perhaps we can try?" Lavinia suggested.
"I never say no to a handy friend's help," Lash said, smiling broadly. Marishka smiled back genuinely. Passing Lavinia and Lash, she was about two feet from a horse's front legs as it cried and tried to escape its confines, rearing and kicking its front legs dangerously close. She hummed – she'd been able to soothe horses that way before – and they calmed surprisingly quickly. Looking back at Lavinia and Lash, Marishka saw their surprise.
"It must be something on you they smell," Lavinia murmured, looking at Lash.
"I think so," Marishka said, stroking a horse's snout. "Have you been feeling well, Lash? You look slightly overdressed."
"The sun is hurting me," Lash mumbled, sounding bitter. "It's been hurting all day." Marishka and Lavinia exchanged puzzled looks. Seeing him draw his shirt-shawl lower, Marishka thought his hands looked healthily full. "If you don't feel it, and if it keeps up, I'll see the doctor about that too tomorrow."
"What else are you seeing him about?" Marishka asked.
"My neck's sore," Lash said, looking at Marishka. "I think a rat or a bat bit me a night ago. When-" Lash halted, large eyes going elsewhere, then he made a low mourning sound. Feeling sad herself, Marishka walked forward, putting two hands on Lash's arms and resting her head on his shoulder.
"I'm sorry about Timbo as well," she said sadly. Lash released a slight groan, closing his eyes. Marishka stayed like that with him for nearly two minutes, before lifting her head. "Try bringing those horses out now," she suggested. Lash nodded weakly, then advanced towards them. The moment he came within four feet, the horses started crying and fighting their reins again. "It's something on you that's scaring them," Marishka said, looking between Lash and the horses. After a moment, she ran forward to help.
The next day was mostly filled with chores for Marishka – gathering food and wood, setting up her tent with her father, and helping attend Lash's animals again. Half of Lash's otherwise-gentle beasts remained terrified of him, and he barely emerged from his tent before dusk, complaining about the sun. Rhoda asked if he'd seen the doctor, Lash said he hadn't – Lavinia urged him to do so.
The following night, Marishka shot awake upon hearing a scream. It repeated, and her father also shot up. They armed themselves with a long-handled shovel and hoe respectively, and Marishka's father looked outside first before they exited. Several others and the mules had stirred, and people were running in the direction behind Marishka's tent. A rifle-shot fired. Marishka looked at her father, whose eyes were in the direction people were running, then ran around the tent's front in the same direction, shovel held slightly close to her chest. She heard her father yelling behind her but ignored it. Ahead, she saw everyone was adding to a thick throng at the cliff's edge. Reaching the throng's rear, Marishka started pushing through.
"What's happened?!" she stopped to ask a moustached man.
"Beast got into the camp, sent someone over the cliff!" he exclaimed. Another rifle-shot made Marishka continue through the throng. She made it to the front, where hills beyond the cliff were visible for miles in the moonlight. A second rifle-shot sounded, then a pistol-shot on Marishka's other side. Of the sights below the cliffs, Marishka's gaze first focused on the large silhouette moving across the hills. From up here, it looked like it must've been close to a man's size, and it ran on all fours, but the way its body moved was unlike any four-legged animal Marishka had ever known, and its speed was like one of the fastest horses'. Another shot fired, before the silhouette reached a dark patch of trees between two hills, vanishing. Shouting and arguing started around Marishka. She turned her gaze to another sight, forty feet below the cliff. A woman's body was impaled on a dead tree, branches' ends poking out of her, one arm torn off. Her remaining limbs looked splayed about and broken among the tree. Her head was dipped so her face wasn't visible, but Marishka hoped the woman's familiar attire was a coincidence.
"My God." Marishka turned her head, seeing Motshan across from her at the throng's front, staring down. Five seconds later, his face became steely. "We need a party of armed, able-bodied men to get the woman's body back!" he addressed the throng. "Who will accompany me?!" Over a dozen voices started responding.
"Marishka!" Turning her head, Marishka saw her father approaching. She felt the urge to cringe at his pudgy face's stormy look. "What were you doing, running head-first like that?! We didn't know what was happening, you could have been killed for all you knew!" He paused, just a little fury seeming to leave him. "Come." He grabbed Marishka's arm and made to turn her away from the cliff.
"No- Father, I fear that woman might be who it looks like it is!" Marishka shouted, stopping him. He looked down the cliff, recognition dawning on his face.
"Oh, no…" he murmured dreadfully, face now like thunderclouds which had little thunder left.
Two-dozen men were below the cliff in four minutes, several helping three men climb into the tree while others watched the hills for the beast's reappearance. The men began forcing the body upwards off the branches' ends. As it slid off, the head lolled, and Marishka clearly saw the pale face, its mouth half-open. It was Rhoda. Marishka's hand slowly floated to her mouth in horror, watching the men lower the body to their ground-based fellows. Marishka's father let her stare seven seconds longer before turning her away, marching with her towards the throng's back.
The next day, half the men in the camp formed a hunting party, scouring the hills for the beast. At the same time, a wake was held for Rhoda's body before she'd be buried in the evening – Motshan had said if the hunting party didn't kill the beast before dusk, the camp would move out early. Marishka was quite glad of that decision. She also grew increasingly disturbed, hearing from neighbours what had happened the previous night. The animal had come into the camp before everyone had retired for rest, moving so fast it was only there a split-second. Apparently, it had run straight through Rhoda without stopping and sent them both over the cliff. Many people couldn't agree on what the animal looked like – they hadn't clearly seen it, and some said it was the size of a man, it was a bear or it was a wolf. Marishka shuddered, not thinking any animal could leap from that cliff and run as fast as the silhouette had. Half the camp were inclined to agree with her, saying it was the Devil's work.
In the same day's mid-afternoon, Marishka lost another loved one. One of Lash's cousins had found his body inside his tent, having apparently died of sickness - his eyes had been open and he'd been horribly pale. Marishka could've collapsed to her knees at the news, with this death occurring so soon after Rhoda's and Timbo's. Lash's body and Rhoda's had separate wakes that weren't geographically far apart, with so many of the band out hunting. Considering the deaths – how they were so close-together, were so sudden, and had all been some of her closest friends – Marishka had the mad urge to laugh out loud. The party, which had included her father, returned an hour before sunset with no slain beast. With everyone present for the ceremony, Lash and Rhoda's bodies were buried side-by-side. After the hunting party's failure, Marishka looked forward to leaving this place tomorrow – and hoped she was mad to think death were following the band, and following her specifically.
Marishka woke easily, having retired with a sense of semi-alertness tonight. She heard a scream, then she also registered the cries of terrified animals and a second voice screaming. She shot up just before her father. The first thing they noticed was the orange glow outside the tent's slit. Marishka stared a moment, before her mind took action around the same time her father started moving. Going to the slit, they pulled the flap back – revealing a scene of utter carnage that Marishka's mind couldn't emotionally respond to in one go.
A fire – no, two fires – were burning in the camp, left and right from Marishka's tent. The left-hand fire was far away, its glow and smoke rising above the tents' tops. The right-hand fire was probably ten tents away from theirs, engulfing tents' rapidly-disintegrating skeletons. Its glow made the camp as visible as though it were late evening. People were running in various directions, crying and screaming, as were animals that had gotten loose. A few mules tied to the ground fought their reins in panic.
"Quickly, come on!" Marishka's father cried. They both began exiting the tent, but froze instinctively when they heard a growl – it sounded loosely like a dog snarling, but far deeper and louder than any dog they'd ever heard. Then they saw the wolf-like monster burst from between a tent and wagon, running so fast on its clawed feet and man-like fists that it chased down an old woman in seconds. She screamed as the beast – shaped quite like a man, but possessing a wolf's head and blonde-yellow fur – started tearing into her. Marishka acted first, grabbing a pitchfork from inside the tent. Her father promptly grabbed a hoe. Marishka looked around, then started running leftwards from the tent, never wholly taking her eyes off the creature; her father right behind her. She saw another shape like the wolf-monster running horizontally behind several tents. The first wolf-monster suddenly abandoned the disembowelled woman, running off.
"Go!" Marishka's father cried. She hadn't run two steps further, before a truly horrible sound made them both look up. Visible in the firelight, a gigantic winged monstrosity flew over the camp – it had a very-muscular man-like body with arms, and bat-like wings that made it as wide as a large wagon were long from back-to-front. It had a hideous face, needle-like teeth filling a large mouth. Flying horizontally in front of Marishka, it swooped low and picked a man up off the ground with its hands, then arced upwards, lunging its face at his neck. Just before the bat-monster disappeared, another winged shape caught Marishka's gaze, flying above the camp in her general direction. It stood out by its white skin. As it got closer, flying with unnatural speed like that of the wolf-monster, Marishka thought she made out a woman-like body-shape and caught blue eyes which felt like they saw her; before it shot over her head. Marishka didn't waste any further time, continuing to run ahead. She heard something smash through wood and falling objects behind her, heard a woman screaming and wolf-monster snarling, but didn't look. She barely looked behind herself to make sure her father was still with her. Neither of them had any plan, and there was too much chaos around them to try and stop anyone and form a group. Their only plan was to run to the camp's edge as fast as they could, avoiding the left-hand fire.
A couple wolf-creatures ran by around Marishka and her father, but thankfully none of them seemed to come for them. But their growling was near-constant, and the way it changed from close-sounding to distant-sounding made sound unreliable for telling if one of them was near. Marishka became certain there were more than two wolves, seeing a red-haired wolf once and a black-haired wolf three times. At one point, Marishka and her father saw a young woman they knew directly in their path – her eyes met theirs one second before the blonde wolf pounced on her from out of nowhere. Eyes remaining on the sight, Marishka and her father quickly edged around the wolf-creature in a ten-foot semicircle. The wolf raked its clawed fingers through the woman's neck, then bounded away. That awful screech, sounding dangerously close, made father and daughter look up. The first bat-monster was flying in a horizontal line ahead of them – so low its claws could brush the tallest tents' tops – but its face was fully facing them. Marishka could swear she felt the beady eyes in dark sockets watching her. The monster changed direction, flying towards them. Marishka and her father sprinted fast. The monster flew overhead without diving at them, screeching again.
Marishka and her father hadn't run past more than ten more tents and a few wagons, before a monstrous roar made Marishka's head turn. She saw one of the wolf-monsters running at them thirty feet away, saw its yellow eyes. Its fists and feet left the ground as it leapt, shooting fast through the air. Terror made Marishka completely seize up for a second. Then, almost unconsciously, she drew her arm back and threw her pitchfork. Its spikes went all the way into the wolf's shoulder, making it screech, losing focus. Strong arms tore Marishka out of the wolf's path, just before it shot through a tall tent's opening. Marishka saw the tent collapse, just before her father dragged her behind him by her wrist, both of them running. Looking and seeing no other wolf-creatures around, Marishka looked back over her shoulder without stopping. She saw the wolf-monster's arm and head tear through the fallen tent. Its yellow eyes instantly found her and it roared furiously. Before its roar had finished, Marishka heard the first bat-monster screech above, though she didn't see it. The wolf looked up, then tore wholly freely of the tent and took off in another direction. Marishka's wide eyes lingered a second longer, before she turned them and her thoughts back on where she and her father were running.
A black-haired wolf pounced on a wandering old man, Marishka and her father skidding to a halt before they could run into it. Marishka's father kept his body between her and the wolf as they circled around hurriedly. Eyes on the wolf, Marishka didn't notice the dark gap between two tents she was slightly backtracking towards. Back hitting something, Marishka spun around, and found herself staring at a stick-bodied man, large-eyed face looking oddly serene-minded. Staring at Lash with wide eyes, Marishka grabbed her father's wrist. He also turned. Lash, looking like Marishka remembered except for his slightly earth-caked burial clothes, smiled a cold smile she didn't recognise. Rather-suddenly, Marishka's father pushed her behind him with one hand. Glaring at the Russian, Lash's features suddenly contorted with rage, irises turning bright-yellow. Opening his mouth, his jaw went unnaturally-low, teeth becoming pointed and some lengthening as he made an inhuman hissing sound. Marishka and her father immediately turned and ran.
Not ten seconds later, a horse-drawn wagon – the one with the cylindrical tent – crossed Marishka and her father's path. Both its horses had someone on their backs, while three other people clung to the wagon's tent on the side facing Marishka. Father and daughter ran forward. Marishka jumped and grabbed onto the tent near the front – her father, climbing on at the same time beside her, pushed her up the rest of the way, helping her get her feet on the wagon's ledge. Front pressed to the tent, Marishka turned her head to look forwards. One horse and the man riding it, were clearly visible. Marishka could see half of the next rider past the tent, and thought they were a woman.
"We need to get out of the camp!" Marishka's father shouted loudly behind her head to be heard.
"We know!" the woman rider shouted back. As the wagon shot on, though Marishka couldn't look behind her back, she saw tents, other wagons, panicked animals, and disembowelled corpses roll by in front. The fire that had been far from her tent was dangerously close on their side of the wagon, flames rising above unburnt tents' tops.
"Marishka!" her father yelled, making her looked towards the wagon's back. "Go to the front!" She didn't need to be told twice. She was the closest person to the corner and started edging forwards. She heard her father yell at the people further back to get closer to the front. Marishka quickly navigated round the corner behind the riders, and was relieved to reach the tent's semi-circular opening. Putting her feet and most of her body inside the tent, she was helping her father around the corner when a growl made them look in front of the wagon. A grey-haired wolf-monster pounced from twenty feet away. The female rider screamed, less than two seconds before the wolf-beast knocked her off her horse, both of them hurtling past the wagon's side to the ground. Unbalanced, the male rider began sliding off his horse with a cry.
"No!" Marishka reached to grab him, too late. He slid off, and the wagon twice bumped violently as he went under the wheels, his screaming trailing behind them. Marishka looked at her father. His face was on the rider-less horses, brown eyes' terror making her feel unnerved. His eyes momentarily locked with hers in silent communication. Then Marishka leapt from the wagon onto the male rider's horse. Her father leapt onto the adjacent horse's back.
"Everyone move, hurry!" Marishka's father yelled back at the other people, who were still edging forward from the tent's side. In front, the flames were dangerously close, less than ten feet from the Marishka's horse, light turning father and daughter's faces bright-orange. There were no more people or animals in sight, though there was still distant screaming and growling. Marishka and her father tried steering the horses away from the flames – that would take them straight to the camp's border. A burning tent passed disturbingly close to Marishka's side. The horses began changing course, too slowly. A flame-engulfed wagon passed so close, Marishka felt its heat slightly sear her leg, her horse screeching in panic. She looked behind her shoulder as the burning wagon rolled away, seeing its flames graze the tent's rear corner. A single flame clung to the tent, and slowly began spreading.
"The wagon is on fire!" Marishka shouted at her father, whilst the first person behind them rounded the corner into the tent. Marishka's father looked at her with dreadful shock, a moment before an unnatural-sounding wail made them look in front. Marishka had a second to see the woman-bat shoot towards her, see its black hair, human-shaped head, and two upper-fangs in its mouth; before it knocked her backwards, arcing upwards as it did to avoid hitting the tent. The force was such that Marishka hurtled straight to the tent's back, past the two huddled people. Forcing herself up on her hands, Marishka saw her father, looking wide-eyed in at her. They heard the horrid screech before the first bat-monster swept between the horses and tent in a blur of grey, wagon shuddering and wood splintering in its passing. Marishka and her father looked at the wooden links – they'd been partially shredded and were just holding together. Marishka suddenly ran forward. The bat-woman wailed, then swept over the wagon's links in a blur of white, feet fully tearing the links. Stopping two feet from the tent opening, Marishka stared.
"MARISHKA!" her father yelled. She looked. The wagon's broken links met earth. The wagon violently shuddered for three seconds, the links kicking up dirt, then the whole wagon was thrown forward. Marishka was thrown from the tent, screaming, while the wagon's burning back-end went over its front, everyone outside the tent being dislodged. Arms raised, Marishka prepared for the earth to tear her skin. Instead, something large flew into her side, wrapping two strong limbs around her and pressing her to itself. Marishka felt wind blowing around her, except the wind's direction was twisting and spinning abnormally. Slowly lowering her arms, Marishka gaped in shock – the ground was at least three tents' length below her, the camp's tents, wagons and corpses passing by, the whole world spinning slightly. But she felt no tilting vehicle, nor anything underneath her feet, which could only mean… she was flying! Briefly overwhelmed, once the utter shock had passed, Marishka craned her head - she found herself staring at the darker bat-monster's horrible face, less than two feet from hers. She could see the flesh's protruding veins, the creature's black hair behind its swollen forehead, the elf-like ears, and the gum and teeth the creature's lips didn't fully draw over. The monster turned its head to face her, revealing its sunken grey eyes, and Marishka instantly felt her mind calm by a will other than its own. The creature's lips and facial features contorted, forming a spike-toothed grin.
"Marishka!" she heard her father's voice yelling distantly. The monster broke eye contact, as though permitting Marishka to look. Looking past her shoulder, she saw the two horses below, far ahead of the wagon. Her father was looking straight at her. She saw the three wolf-monsters converging on him from different sides.
"FATHER!" she screamed desperately. One wolf-creature leapt from behind his head, causing the horses to fall sideways and crash. The other two pounced on her father, his blood spraying the ground. Marishka turned her face away with a pained cry, eyes closed. For an indeterminate amount of time, she quietly wept her heart out in the monster's arms, both for her father and all her friends and community – her home – dying below. The screaming and growling decreased further while she wept. The monster swooped slightly-downwards, tents' tops drawing closer. Looking ahead, Marishka saw a wide clearing between several tents and wagons. Coming within feet of the clearing's ground, the monster slowed its flight, splaying its feet which, with Marishka's feet, then met the earth. Keeping one hand on Marishka's back while using the other to grab her hand, the monster led them twirling on the grass, holding their clasped hands away from their torsos, its features melting. In the same moment Marishka realised she and the monster were dancing, the monster's height shrunk, its hands became smaller, wings folded and lengthened on its chest, its grey and pink flesh melted into peach skin and dark clothing. In a few seconds, Marishka was waltzing in the arms of Vladislaus Dragulia, who was smiling pleasantly as he had when they'd met, firelight casting bright yellow and orange shades on their faces. Marishka could only stare in utter shock, a moment before her mind kicked in.
"You?" she exclaimed.
"Yes, me," Vladislaus whispered huskily, then halted their waltz. He slowly lowered her into a dip, leaning forward until his face was vertically above hers. Releasing her hand, he traced his fingers up her arm and shoulder to her neck, then brought those fingers to her face, almost-serenely tracing them down her tear-stained cheek. Marishka's body didn't resist, and she struggled to make her eyes leave his – she remembered the trance she'd experienced the night they'd danced, but now it seemed worse. Vladislaus slowly reversed their dip, and resumed their waltz.
"W-What are you?" Marishka murmured, looking at him with utter horror.
"I am something much more than almost any mortal man can imagine themselves becoming," Vladislaus murmured, making them twirl. "A man whose life ended many years ago, but who afterwards claimed a new life; where I was strong, fast, and powerful beyond mankind's greatest living kings and warriors. You don't believe me?" He sharply halted their waltz again, then began unbuttoning the top of his innermost shirt. "Feel," he commanded, taking Marishka's hand and gently putting it on his bare chest. Marishka looked at him in puzzlement for some time, before guessing from having seen animal slaughter what was in that region of Vladislaus' body. She adjusted her palm's pressure several times, but felt nothing. She also noted how his body felt as cold as the night's air. Firelight flickering on her face, she stared up at Vladislaus' face anew. A grin slowly spread on Vladislaus' face and he chuckled darkly.
"I told you when you said you were comfortable in your current life, being shown a different life might persuade you," Vladislaus murmured. He sharply resumed their waltz, almost making Marishka cry out when he pulled their joined hands away from their bodies. "Now that you have seen the powers I possess, seen the beasts that are at my command, know that death is an inevitable fate which has already passed me by and I have returned from it; tell me – are you still comfortable in this life?" His voice was so husky at the last part it were almost a growl. Marishka's heart hammered in her chest, filled with dread.
"What will you do to me if I say I am not?" Marishka asked cautiously. Vladislaus smiled pleasantly.
"The same thing I've done to him," Vladislaus replied. He broke off their waltz, leaning backwards from Marishka but holding onto her hand, their joined arms taut. With his free arm, he gestured to the figure standing in the shadow between two tents. Lash was straight-backed with hands clasped in front of him, a very gentlemanly smile on his face, eyes cold – it was unlike Marishka had ever seen the real Lash behave. Marishka stared, but Lash didn't meet her gaze, looking at the scene with polite indifference. "But you will be more than him," Vladislaus said seriously, face dark as her gaze returned to him. He clasped both her hands with his, though the gesture was not humble as his fingers stroked between her metacarpals teasingly. "You will be my bride for all eternity. Just like she is." Vladislaus gestured diagonally outward. Between the tents, Marishka saw the bat-woman some distance away, holding a crying man by his head.
"You want to have two brides at once?!" Marishka murmured, revolted but refusing to look at him, as she felt his power slightly lessen when she didn't look.
"For a long time, my first bride was enough to satisfy me," Vladislaus said, turning Marishka's head with one finger so she met his eyes again, before resuming their waltz; "but we have both grown old since she became mine. It is time for new blood to join our family." They twirled gracefully around the clearing's edges. "I have searched far and wide for a woman fit to be my second bride, and of all the women from Ukraine to Germany, I have chosen you, Marishka." Part of Marishka's mind was screaming inside her skull for her to look away, and she would've complied if she weren't terrified of what Vladislaus would do. "You are strong and beautiful, which is exactly what I'm looking for." They suddenly twirled away from the edges, and Marishka rapidly but gently fell into a dip again, Vladislaus directly above her. "So tell me, Marishka," he growled huskily; then leaned forward slightly, handsome face intent, while Marishka groaned. "-are you still comfortable in this life?" For a moment, Marishka seriously considered her options, knowing she was utterly at this monster's mercy. A small part of her was slightly flattered to think he'd chosen her of all the women across such a wide range, but it was a small part and she refused to admit to it. If she rejected his proposal, she suspected he would kill her, or torture her first. She didn't want to die. But then she remembered her father, Lavinia, Rhoda, Timbo and everyone else she'd loved that Vladislaus had destroyed. Paying her hearing attention, she once again registered the distant cries and growling. A hot cauldron of outrage boiled inside her to think she would ever join this evil being just to save her own skin, disgust at the prospect of becoming a monster following.
"I'd rather die and stay dead," Marishka spat, glaring defiantly at Vladislaus. She wasn't sure what the expression on his face was – his features became calm, his eyes narrowed slightly. She suspected she'd find out soon enough and it wouldn't be pleasant. Vladislaus slowly straightened up, raising Marishka with him. Their faces were a foot apart. Marishka's breathing was oddly slow.
"You would choose to be dead instead of living forever?" Vladislaus asked calmly, eyebrows rising as though he were surprised.
"I would," Marishka growled. Vladislaus' eyes narrowed, then a grin spread on his face.
"Strong and beautiful," Vladislaus repeated approvingly. Slowly leaning his head closer, he murmured huskily: "But it matters not what you want. Yes or no, I always get what I want." Marishka's eyes widened. He forced her into a dip with painful suddenness. The free part of her mind, screaming loudly, managed to retake control of her limbs, and she began frantically punching at Vladislaus' chest with the arm he didn't hold. Vladislaus chuckled darkly. Striking him was like striking a stone statue. He opened his mouth, teeth changing while his irises glowed pale-blue. An inhuman hiss emerged as his upper-canines lengthened, jaw lowering unnaturally. He leaned towards Marishka's neck.
"No! NO!" Marishka screamed. A few seconds later, she cried out, feeling the sting of something biting her neck. She half-cried, half-groaned despairingly. Vladislaus' face remained buried in her neck for several seconds, during which her struggles got weaker, the energy to fight leaving her. She thought she heard the wolf-monsters howling triumphantly in the distance. Vladislaus slowly pulled away from Marishka's neck – his face looked human, but had blood between his lower-lip and chin. Marishka could only writhe limply while he released her gripped arm, bringing his now-free arm towards his face. Marishka saw the pointed upper-canines before Vladislaus bit into his wrist. A few seconds later, he brought the wrist towards Marishka's mouth. She saw how little blood flowed from the wound before Vladislaus jammed it between her lips. Body going cold, Marishka cried out defiantly in her mind, aware of blood droplets running down her mouth and throat. Then the pain, fatigue and cold all left Marishka's body in a few seconds, leaving her numb.
Most of what happened next was little more than sights and sounds to Marishka, no longer evoking feeling. Seconds after she'd drank his blood, Vladislaus transformed into the bat-monster and flew off, carrying her in his arms – one hand on her back, one under her legs. He flew low enough for Marishka to hear the odd screams and growling in the camp. Then he flew away from the half-burning camp, over the cliff and dead tree where Rhoda had died. He swooped towards a particularly-high hill's slope, landing gracefully on two feet. He transformed back into a man on landing, yet still carried Marishka like she weighed less than a small child, marching up the hill's slope. Summoning the will to crane her head, Marishka saw two wolf-creatures near twenty paces up the slope, standing placid on two legs. One wolf roared, but Marishka knew it wasn't threatening. Behind the wolf-creatures was an earth-mound near a man's height, and directly beside that was a large hole in the earth. Vladislaus walked between the wolf-creatures – their growling breaths clearly audible this close – towards the pit. When they were close enough, Marishka saw it was rectangular, and it had rugged walls on the inside suggesting it had been dug by hand. Vladislaus stopped at the precipice. In the moonlight, Marishka could see it was as deep as a man was tall, and at the bottom was an open, empty wooden coffin. Vladislaus turned on the precipice, then put Marishka back on her feet but gently held her close, their chests touching, Marishka's hand sandwiched between them with her palm on Vladislaus' breast. Vladislaus leaned backwards. Their fall into the grave wasn't hard, it was like Vladislaus under Marishka was falling through water. They hit the coffin's inside with little sound. Wrapped in Vladislaus' arms, eyes level with his chin, Marishka saw Vladislaus' eyes close and smile fade, making him look like he were really dead. She turned her eyes skyward, seeing the more-than-half moon in the grave's opening. Then a black slide slid over the moon as the coffin lid slowly swung shut on its own. Marishka was in complete darkness.
Marishka didn't know how much time passed – it seemed like an eternity, but it wasn't tedious as she was indifferent to time's passage. Unable to move, she heard only her own breath and heartbeat – but both grew ever-fainter, then vanished altogether, leaving her in silence.
When the coffin lid swung open, bathing Marishka in moonlight, the outside world seemed unwelcome, like something to recoil from in favour of the coffin's blackness. Marishka saw the moon was in a different position and slightly-fuller than before. Feeling something stirring through some new sense, Marishka looked at Vladislaus' head. His eyes opened and he smiled thinly. Vladislaus' body unnaturally swung in an upwards-and-forward arc from the coffin onto the pit's precipice, he and Marishka practically floating out of the grave. Marishka looked around, unconscious of how she was clinging to Vladislaus. The first thing she saw was the fresh-looking and fresh-smelling earth pile, in a different place than before, and a dark wolf-monster beside it looking passively at her and Vladislaus. Then Marishka saw the woman standing in front of her and Vladislaus. She was struck by the woman's clothing – she wore a gown that was white and a bright shade of green, looking like it were made of fine materials. It concealed about half of the woman's body, transparent material leaving her naval area visible, while her arms and partly her breasts and shoulders were exposed. Her face had high cheekbones and incredibly smooth features, and she had dark, smooth, waist-length hair. Remembering the bat-woman's face and hair, and her white skin which matched the gown, Marishka's doubts that this were Vladislaus' bride evaporated. She stood straight, face cool and composed.
"Verona, my dear," Vladislaus greeted her. Marishka saw him smile very warmly at the bride.
"My love," she returned, sounding genuinely warm. Thinking of the bride reminded Marishka of what Vladislaus had done to her. Oddly finding she couldn't weep for it, Marishka melted into Vladislaus' embrace like he was the only one who could comfort her. She opened her mouth, wanting to make a forlorn sound – hopefully too quietly for the bride to hear, as Marishka didn't want to appear weak in front of her. She cut the sigh short when what exited sounded like a small, half-ghostly hiss, her hand flying to her throat. Vladislaus chuckled, making Marishka look at his face again – he looked like he'd just seen an endearing pet accidentally knock something over.
"Your new sister is hungry, my dear," Vladislaus said, turning back to the bride Verona. Suddenly, Marishka became aware of the hollow, gnawing emptiness inside her, feeling a need for something. "Bring her her first meal." Marishka glanced out of her eye's corner at Verona. She was non-responsive, cold expression unchanging. Her eyes shifted slightly, and Marishka felt slightly unnerved at the autumn-like coolness Verona fixed her with. "Verona. Is there something you wish to say?" Marishka no longer had an urge to shudder, but felt like quailing from Vladislaus' dark undertone. Verona looked back at him, and a beautiful smile which didn't wholly reach her eyes graced her features.
"Nothing at all, Master," she said coolly, sounding like she meant it. Marishka watched as Verona changed into her bat-monster form, the gown-materials hanging from either arm forming wings. Taking to the air, she flew towards Marishka's camp behind where she'd been. The camp was at least a mile away, but Marishka could make out every inch of it, its clifftop location slightly below their height on the hill. It was no longer on fire, but most of it save for a central strip has been burnt, leaving blackened skeletons of tents' supports. Nothing moved in the camp as far as Marishka could see. Seeing her camp like this, she clutched Vladislaus' coat front tighter, experiencing the urge to put her lips to his neck seeking comfort.
"You killed everyone?" Marishka asked, voice hollow. Vladislaus didn't reply, but that new sense alerted Marishka to a feeling of cruel mischievousness. A moment later, with her sharpened sense of smell Marishka caught a faint smell of rotten flesh, besides that on Vladislaus. She focused, trying to pinpoint the smell's source. Then she saw nearly half-a-dozen figures standing near the hilltop behind Vladislaus' shoulder. She recognised Lash, and behind him several others from her band including Motshan. All were standing straight-backed and formal, polite cold smiles on their faces. Marishka saw as many holes in the earth behind them.
"Not everyone," Vladislaus growled huskily while Marishka stared. "We normally do not kill more than our fill, but this would hardly be a wedding without members of the bride's family bearing witness." The wolf-creature growled slightly, as though excited. "And now for the wedding meal," Vladislaus said, making Marishka look towards the camp with him. Verona was flying back towards them, carrying a figure in her arms. Flying low, she dropped the figure no more than several steps in front of Marishka. The bound, gagged woman frantically tried to worm away on the ground, but stopped when the wolf-creature growled and took a warning step forwards. Helpless horror stabbed Marishka's non-beating heart.
"Lavinia?" Marishka murmured. The high-cheeked woman's head snapped towards her, eyes wide. Marishka recognised the muffled sounds of her name being said. Vladislaus backed a step out of Marishka's grasp, then put a thumb and index finger under her chin, tilting her head to face him.
"Now, Marishka, it is time for you to take your fill," he murmured calmly. Part of Marishka felt anguished, but the hunger in her suddenly couldn't be ignored. She slowly looked at Lavinia, feeling starved. Marishka knew something on her face had changed because Lavinia's eyes suddenly widened and she tried to worm backwards. Marishka didn't want to kill this woman who'd been her friend, but felt like her will was being bent by someone else's. Turning her body, Marishka sauntered towards Lavinia, steps eternally slow from both her inner-conflict and this being her first experience. Marishka was aware of Verona landing a distance away on her right and watching, but didn't look. Making heaving breaths through her gag, Lavinia wailed pitifully, then made to crawl away. Disgust at the pathetic display festered in Marishka's stomach, though a rapidly-fading part of her knew it wasn't wholly her disgust she was experiencing. She planted a foot atop Lavinia's ankles – Marishka barely exerted any effort, but Lavinia was pinned like a mule tied to the ground.
Crouching, Marishka grabbed Lavinia's shoulder and turned her on her back. She felt like her inner-emptiness was devouring her, hearing Lavinia's beating heart pounding in her ears, eyes seeing hot blood flowing under her skin. Marishka raised a hand, stroking strands away from Lavinia's neck. Lavinia no longer struggled, panting through her gag – obedient but not very fun. Marishka was about to lunge for the kill when her mind screamed defiantly, Lavinia was my friend. Most of Marishka's mind now wanted to brush that echo of her past life aside, but at its ferocity, she halted, mind torn. She remained still a few moments, during which a single tear slipped from Lavinia's eye down the side of her head. It made a revolting spiral of sorrow threaten to consume Marishka's guts.
"Do it," Vladislaus said calmly but very-firmly. The light in Marishka's mind lingered, but her teeth changed and she pulled Lavinia into an upright-sitting position, biting into her lower neck. The light part was drifting in her head, torn free from its moorings. The other woman's blood flowing down her throat, an ecstatic feeling of being filled overtook Marishka. The black part of her, which intended to do everything in her power to serve her Master well and ensure he was pleased with his new bride, spread through her, while the part of her that had considered her prey friend faded into the darkest prison cell her mind had to offer.
A/N: Please R&R and tell me what you think of my backstory for Marishka.