Ms Reprics was still mad at me. Though I was glad that she had forgotten about claiming the stolen book back from me, I was disappointed in discovering that I was forced to work for her in the secret library in her area of responsibility. Someone had thought it to be best way of punishing me. To be more specific, it had been the councillors and especially the headmaster himself who had considered this to be a good idea.

Due to this decision I couldn't help imagining the councillors as a bunch of sadistic perverts, over all of them the headmaster. You truly had to have nerves to send a student to Ms Reprics field of activity on purpose.

But rummaging through old and scattered books and carrying innumerable piles of books through a dark library wasn't that bad.

Alright, it was terrible on my back. And my bulged stomach kept getting in the way.

But I had to admit that it was rather peaceful as long as I managed to ignore Ms Reprics comments, addressed to me or just the whole world in general.

And I had time think about life again. I had time to think and reflect.

I made my own conclusions.

Distraction. Distraction had always been the word.
Koschei had managed to take control over my body while distracting me with absurd questions. And he had invaded my mind while distracting me with invading my body. He knew that I would try to stop him; but I couldn't stop him in two places at the same time.

And he knew that. He'd always known that.
That's why he had enjoyed playing with me so much.

Nightmare.

Playing with Koschei had been a nightmare. Not always, of course. Not as long as we had been children. As long as both of us had been children.

I had always envied Koschei. I cannot emphasis often enough that I have always looked up to him; not only because he had always been of bigger size then me. When we were children, about six or nine, we were equally strong. So I had enjoyed playing with him, being with him, wrestling with him, having him on top of me.

But as we grew older... Koschei grew up faster. Or his body reached adulthood before his mind could have followed.
Koschei's ignorant mind was still trapped in a well-built adult body.
About the age of twelve we weren't on the same track anymore. We pretended to be but we weren't – Koschei had become stronger and, in a way, more aggressive. He still loved to bicker with me, to run around with me, to compete with me... but he was driven by urges. And I was scared of his combative behaviour.
He would bicker with me, but only to wrestle me down.
He would fight with me only to win out over my body.
And he would stay on top of me only to touch my warm and soft skin.

Koschei scared me.
I was addicted to him, in a way; I couldn't help it. I enjoyed being with him and I knew that he was going to disturb me; but somehow I was yearning for disturbance. I always believed that I would be able to bear it.
Maybe I was even thinking that I would have to endure it only to stay in touch with Koschei.

I liked him.

I needed him.

He had always stayed by my side.
And who was I to turn my back on him when it got harder for me.

But it got harder. It became harder and harder.
With every year... No, with every month it seemed as if his urges or his drives or his instincts or whatever I had named it back then became harder to deal with.
Koschei wasn't more violent. He wasn't even harsher with me. But he was calculating.

And he was testing me.

I was his toy. I had always been his pull- and push along toy. And he would leave nothing undone to validate my robustness.

He wondered how long I would stay; how long I would persevere; how long I would endure.

And he was eager to find out.

He pushed me to my limits.

He would observe carefully how long and how intensively he was allowed to touch me in my nether regions before I would start screaming or desperately trying to push him off me.
He would gauge how often he was allowed to thrust his groin against my thighs or my crotch before I would become anxious.
He would try to suss out how long I would let him moan unsettling things in my ear before telling him to shut up.

And he would always try to push my limits.

Koschei wanted more. Always he wanted more and more.

I had never dared to talk to my father about Koschei. About that side of Koschei. About his appetency, his lustfulness, his oppressive behaviour.
I knew that he hadn't been allowed in our house; my father had never wanted him to stay with me. To play with me...

I had wanted to protect my father. I had wanted to protect him so badly.

And after all I felt guilty. I had it thought to be my own fault. My father never would have allowed Koschei to see me, he never wanted him to come near me even before he'd known what the future held for both of us; he knew that you couldn't trust Koschei; right from the beginning he knew it.

I never told my father why I was sometimes scared to play with other children when Koschei had frightened me off by feeling me up; I wouldn't dare to talk to him about Koschei exploring my body and the growing parts of my anatomy.
I had always wanted to save him from the pain of knowing. I had always wanted to spare him.

And my father would treat me likewise.

Knowing that I was going to undergo a lot of stress and pain in the future, knowing that I would be forced to carry a foe's child, knowing that one day I would come running home, crying and desperately searching for help. He knew it all. And he knew what had to be done.

He didn't tell me.

The same way I had always refused to talk to him about Koschei and what he'd done to me he refused to tell me about my foretold future.

And still he was unwilling to see that he had lost against fate...

Maybe my father was as ignorant and starry-eyed as I was.

Maybe, or at least it was the only thing I had inherited from him.

Koschei was never innocent; he wouldn't have known purity.

Innocence meant ignorance.

Ignorance meant absence of care.

And when we were children weren't caring about the soft spot between our legs. Unless of course you got kicked in it. It was simply of no further interest to us. Or at least to me.
I had it assumed to be the same with Koschei. But I never knew.

And maybe he even knew back then that there was something important about it – or at least that it could be, that it would be when we were both grown up and sexually mature.

Koschei was curious. He was always curious about something. Sometimes it was about finding another way of annoying my father; sometimes it had something to do with things he couldn't get his head around; and most of the time it was me.

Curiosity killed the cat. And it was neither the veterinarian nor the butcher who brought her back.
It was satisfaction.

It was always about satisfaction with Koschei.
Satisfaction. Longing for it; driving him.
Driving him mad.

As mad as a Chester cat
... or Cheshire cat? Which was it again?

"Theta-Sigma! Attention!"