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.

For the Darklina Halloween Fest 2023

Warnings: references to murder / manslaughter – references to grievous bodily harm.

Any prison or juvie sentences referred to here are not necessarily indicative of real-life sentences – I just went for what worked with the story.

Dear Sasha,

I hope you don't mind my familiarity, but I followed your case with such interest that I feel as if I have gotten to know you.

Your court records show your wife called you Aleks, but I doubt you want to be reminded of her. Besides, you being Russian and me being half-Russian, Sasha seems like the more appropriate option.

First, I must tell you that we have friends in common. I'm an artist and I've done a number of commissions for Fedyor and Ivan Kaminsky, who are, I believe, close friends of yours. I am sending this letter through them and they have promised that any correspondence between us will remain private so that we can express such sentiments that the prison system might deem … inappropriate or dangerous because they are ignorant or do not understand us.

I think Ivan was somewhat sceptical about helping me get in contact. He believes I am likely to be a bad influence on you, but the doctors tell me that I'm stable now, and I've learnt my lesson anyway, no longer young and naïve enough to fall for a guy who would fuck my so-called best friend at my own birthday party – that's a story for another time, but I just want you to know that I get it, what happened to you.

I understand why you did it.

Anyway, my name is Alina Starkova and I'm twenty-two years old. I love to paint and I'm lucky enough that I'm able to make a career out of it with commissions and restoration work. I had a lot of time in solitude when I was younger to practice my skills and I'm thankful I had a hobby to keep me busy and distracted.

Hobbies are important, my therapist says.

I don't have many friends. Trust issues, my therapist tells me. You'll forgive me if I don't mention you to her, but she might not like me getting in contact with someone who has your history and I don't wish her to nag – I just want to talk with someone I can be truly honest with, who understands me and why I did what I did.

I hope that person might be you.

Best wishes,

Alina

"What is this?" Aleksander demands of his best friends when they next visit, brandishing Alina Starkova's letter, written in sparkly navy-blue pen on sunshine-yellow paper.

"Bunny boiler vibes, that one," Ivan grimaces, "she's trouble, Sasha."

"Alina is a perfectly lovely girl," Fedyor disagrees, "she just … doesn't take betrayal well."

"She nearly castrated her boyfriend and permanently blinded him in one eye when she was only fifteen, not to mention what she did to her friend's face."

Aleksander can't help but feel a little intrigued on hearing that particular tidbit.

Ivan and Fedyor have been wonderful, the only people to stick by him after what happened with Luda, but they cannot understand the pain of being deceived by the person you love most in the world. But Alina Starkova, he thinks, has experienced it herself.

She knows, as he does, the blind and passionate rage that a person can be incited to when surprised by a betrayal right in front of their eyes.

Ivan frowns, "don't do it, Sasha, don't respond."

"Weren't you the one who let her letter get through without checking, Vanya?"

"Because Fedya insisted, and I thought you'd be sensible enough to just ignore it."

"What did she do?" he asks, more to Fedyor than Ivan.

"Her record is sealed, but she let some things slip and she was open enough when I asked questions. I honestly think she quite likes to talk about it, but there aren't many people who want to hear that kind of story. I wouldn't want to break any confidences, though, so you'll have to ask her if you want more information."

"Look," Ivan sighs, clearly in a last-ditch attempt to talk Aleksander out of his increasing wish to respond, "you and Starkova both did something bad under great provocation – you're paying in prison and she did her time in juvie or hospital or wherever she was. The last thing either of you need is to be in a pen-pal relationship where you enable each other's worst tendencies and traits. I regret ever helping her send the letter and I wish you'd just focus on getting through your sentence without any problems."

Aleksander does feel bad. Ivan is his oldest friend and he hates when they disagree. In this case, though, he's going to have to ignore Ivan's advice.

"Tell her to come and visit me," he says.

"On your own fucking head be it," Ivan growls irritably.

She's a pretty little thing.

For a moment, when Aleksander first catches sight of her long, glossy black hair, he is briefly reminded of Luda. She'd always kept her hair long and he'd loved being able to gather it in his fist and pull it tight while they …

Well, Luda's not here anymore. Besides, Alina is more petite than Luda, and her golden skin is a contrast to his wife's porcelain complexion.

She is beautiful enough for him to feel a stirring in his loins, and for him to remember how long it's been since he had sex.

(nine years, four months, two weeks and six days – four nights before he'd arrived home early from work and found his wife in their bed with, cliché of all clichés, her personal trainer).

Alina's eyes light up when she catches sight of him.

Aleksander wonders if anyone has ever looked so excited to see him. Even Luda, in the happiest days of their marriage, tended towards more sedate shows of affection.

And since the trial, most women look away, as if simply meeting his eyes will put them in danger. There are his fans, of course, but they bore him, if he's honest, chasing the adrenaline rush of an infatuation with a criminal without having any understanding of why he did what he did.

Aleksander has always loved deeply and fiercely, and it isn't something that everyone can handle.

So many women sigh over the idea of a man who would kill for love. In the end, though, the reality scares them away.

Alina Starkova, however, is different. She looks straight at him, sees all of him, and smiles.

"Sasha," she offers her hand as she takes a seat in front of him.

He takes it, brushing his thumb across the inside of her wrist, cataloguing the slight hitch in her breath and dilation of her pupils, "Alina."

"Thank you for letting me visit."

"Well, Ivan tried very hard to talk me out of it."

She grins, "He doesn't like me very much. I heard him tell Fedyor that I was nothing but trouble."

"He's my oldest friend. A little protective. He worries that I might end up doing something to lengthen my sentence."

"He really thinks I could have that much impact?" she asks, sounding positively delighted by the thought.

"Ivan can be a little paranoid. He needn't be concerned, I'm quite the model prisoner."

"So," he continues, "you wrote that you're an artist. You enjoy it?"

Alina nods enthusiastically, "I love it. Honestly, it kept me sane when I was in juvie. I was alone quite a lot, they all thought I'd be a threat to the others but, like, I'm not just a randomly violent person and I don't … I don't attack people out of the blue."

It seems important to her that he knows this, that she isn't one of those offenders who simply lash out at everyone. She always has her reasons.

Aleksander understands that. He's never been the sort to start bar fights or brawls. No, the violent side of him only truly emerged when he was confronted by a betrayal that still pains him like a knife to the heart, even almost a decade later.

"What mediums do you prefer?"

"Painting and pencil sketching mostly, although I've been known to dabble. Do … do you want to see?"

She's suddenly strangely shy, almost bashful.

Aleksander nods without hesitation. He only met her a few minutes ago and yet he finds himself wanting to know everything about her.

She pulls out a sketchbook to show him, pointing out her favourite pieces and going off on funny little tangents as she explains the background behind some of the sketches.

The guards hover closer now, eyeing the sketchbook suspiciously. Aleksander makes a point not to touch it, even though visitors are allowed to bring such things in for prisoners to look at, because he doesn't want to draw attention to them or give anyone an excuse to take Alina's sketchbook away.

She's talented, he can tell that from the first picture. She seems to prefer drawing people to landscapes, and has a skill for capturing the minute details of their expressions and movements.

They get so distracted, going through the sketchbook and talking about their favourite paintings, that they scarcely notice the time passing.

When the guards call out a five-minute warning, the two of them are jolted back to reality.

Alina looks stricken, "I'm sorry, I've taken up all our time."

He shakes his head, "don't worry," he murmurs, "I enjoyed it."

And he truly did. Ivan and Fedyor tend to fill him in on recent news during their monthly visits, so it's been rather nice to speak about something as innocuous as art.

"I'd like to come again, if you'd let me," she says, "I know you must have other visitors so you might not –"

"Next month," he insists, "Ivan and Fedyor come on the second Saturday of each month, but I can have visitors on the last Saturday of each month as well."

"There's no one else you'd rather have?"

"No one else," he confirms.

She doesn't look sympathetic or sad, the way Ivan and Fedyor sometimes do when he confirms that no, he has no other visitors but them and, no, they don't need to come twice each month, he knows they're busy.

No, Alina Starkova just looks delighted, truly pleased that he wants to see her again.

It fills him with a self-satisfied warmth.

"Next month," she agrees.

When she stands to leave and offers him her hand again, he places a brief kiss to her palm, his lips lingering against her skin until the guard coughs in warning.

"Goodbye, Alina."

"Goodbye, Sasha."

A week and a half after her visit, Aleksander receives a letter and package from Alina.

Dear Sasha,

I've been smiling all week, so much that Genya – my liaison with Os Alta Art Gallery, where I do some restoration work – thinks I must have a new boyfriend.

I'm afraid I didn't tell her the truth. It's not that I'm ashamed of visiting you, but people always seem to get so nervous whenever I start talking about the prison system. Besides, I don't want to jeopardise this job – my records are sealed, and it's not like they relate to anything like theft or forgery, but you can never be too careful.

People are very unforgiving sometimes, unwilling to hear the other side of a story.

I hope you realise how grateful and happy I am to have you to talk to. Before we met, I was hopeful that you would understand me and, after our meeting, I felt sure I was right. We didn't actually talk about our own respective experiences, but I could just tell that you are a kindred spirit.

Fedyor tells me that Medovik is your favourite cake. I'm not the best baker but I've been practicing and it honestly doesn't taste too bad.

I'm sorry I can't send you any, but maybe one day …

Well, we'll see.

Anyway, I enclose some sketches I've done recently for you.

Landscapes and buildings aren't my forte, but I went to a few of the places that Fedyor said you used to visit – Os Alta Museum, The Little Palace and The Starless Saint fountain – and drew them so you'd be able to see something familiar. I wondered afterwards whether I should have just taken photographs, which would be much better, but I like the idea of you having something I made for you.

There's a picture of you too. I couldn't help myself, I'm afraid. I've got a dozen pages covered in pairs of dark eyes now and they're all yours. I wouldn't say you have any bad features, Sasha, but I must admit that your eyes are … entrancing.

I'll see you at the end of the month.

Alina x

With the letter are half a dozen sketches and he pours over each one for a long time, marvelling at the level of detail and accuracy.

As for her sketch of him, Aleksander looks at that one the most, with a reverence that he hasn't felt for anything in years.

He and Luda never really did personalised gifts. She had very specific taste in jewellery, which he never deviated from lest she turn frosty and irritated, while she always chose handsome but impersonal presents for him like a leather wallet or expensive cufflinks.

To receive this from Alina, sketches that must have taken her hours and hours to complete, is …

Well, it's almost overwhelming.

What a heady thing it is, to have a young woman put so much thought and effort into a gift for him.

Only one meeting and she already knows the perfect thing to send him.

"Alina," he whispers her name under his breath, "my Alina."

Dear Alina,

It was the highlight of my week to receive your letter and sketches. No one has ever gone to so much trouble to arrange a gift for me and I want you to know how much I appreciate it. Photographs would have been nice but these sketches are extraordinary and wonderful.

I hope anyone else who receives such gifts from you knows how lucky they are and shows their appreciation too. Having the sketches, with such exquisite detail that I confess I have spent a great deal of time admiring them, has been a great comfort to me and I would be appalled if anyone else who had similar sketches did not show you the level of gratitude that they deserve.

I knew you were talented from looking at your sketchbook, but these sketches you sent confirm to me that you have a rare and wonderful gift, Alina. That you chose to use it for my benefit is a delightful thing.

You say that you feel we are kindred spirits and I know this to be true.

I sensed it the moment I saw you.

We are the same. I feel, Alina, as if there is no one else in the world quite like us.

I have no talent for drawing, so I will not subject you to any attempt of mine to capture your likeness, for none would do you any sort of justice.

There is little I can do for you from this place, but please know that if you find yourself needing anything, Fedyor or Ivan can direct you to my accountant and lawyer, who have been instructed to allow you access to funds.

You are clearly thriving, but I want to offer you something, even if it is just the money to allow you to buy yourself something you wouldn't normally.

I also enclose my mother's recipe for Medovik, which differs slightly to the recipes you might find online. I've never found a better version of the cake and I hope you enjoy it.

Yours,

Sasha

"It was the day after my fifteenth birthday," Alina sighs dreamily ten minutes into their second in-person meeting, "and my best friend Zoya's parents were out of town. She insisted on hosting my birthday party, and even got her cousin to buy us some drinks. It was absolutely packed – Zoya was popular, you see, and therefore I was popular by association. I was so happy that night."

"And then you saw them?" he guesses.

Alina nods grimly, her eyes unfocused, thoughts clearly far away, "and then I saw them."

Her boyfriend and her best friend. Aleksander shakes his head, a betrayal indeed.

"They tried to tell me it was my fault," Alina laughs loudly enough to attract attention, but the sound is full of bitterness rather than mirth, "that if I'd just put out like a proper girlfriend, then Mal wouldn't have had to get his needs met elsewhere."

A few tears drip down her cheeks, and while Aleksander believes she is fully capable of weaponising crocodile tears for her own gain, he senses these are genuine.

"I loved him so much," she whispers, "we'd only been officially together for nine months, but we were close friends for over a decade before that. He was a year older, and an impatient teenage boy, but I thought he understood that I wanted to wait a while."

She scowls, "he didn't love me the way I loved him, though. I could have accepted that, maybe, if he'd had the guts to tell me, but he was a coward who decided to fuck my best friend instead. They both betrayed me and they got what they deserved."

In a lot of movies, this would be the part where Aleksander – as the older of the two of them, and the one currently in prison – imparts some kind of sage wisdom to Alina, telling her that she shouldn't let her rage consume her and that there are better ways of dealing with the shock of betrayal than to react with violence.

But Aleksander isn't a motivational speaker, nor does he wish to be a cautionary tale. Despite his outward show of apologetic and horrified sorrow in the courtroom, his agreement to anger management classes, and his exemplary behaviour in prison (which has him headed for consideration for early release), he's not exactly sure he regrets what he did.

He loved Luda, and it hurts every day to remember that she's gone. However, it hurts even more that she chose to cheapen their vows and poison their life together by cheating on him. At least this way, he isn't taunted by the knowledge that she's letting that slimy personal trainer put his hands all over her.

Aleksander is silent for a few moments as he watches Alina.

Takes in the way she fiddles with her jewellery, a sign of nerves she's clearly trying to hide.

He imagines that she has told this story before, to social workers and law enforcement and therapists. They all probably shook their heads and disapproved and made her think there was something wrong with her.

But Aleksander knows there is nothing wrong with Alina. She only loves deeply and fiercely, and why should that be a crime?

Is asking for faithfulness really too much? When you place a fragile heart into someone else's safekeeping, should you not be able to trust that they will keep it safe? And if they break such sacred promises, why shouldn't they suffer for it?

"They did," Aleksander murmurs, quietly but decisively.

She looks up from her hands, "they did?"

"They did get what they deserve."

A smile blooms on her face, bright and beautiful.

He winks at her, "but don't tell anyone I said that. I'm a reformed soul, you know."

Alina's smile widens, "our little secret."

Sasha,

Thank you for what you said.

I keep thinking about it, playing the words over and over in my head.

For so long, people have told me that there's something fundamentally wrong with me. But you don't want me to change or reform or pretend to be a person that I'm not.

I'm more grateful for that than you'll ever know.

I enclose a few more sketches. I had to go to Balakirev for work and Fedyor told me it was a favourite city of yours.

It was the Festival of Sankt Juris and there was a wonderful carnival and a theatre group who did a show about Juris' defeat of the dragon.

Is it strange that whenever I'm out these days, I so often wonder 'what would Sasha think of this?'

Maybe it's because I don't have many friends. Some acquaintances and colleagues, but no one that I let too close. My therapist thinks I need to work on it, like Mal and Zoya's betrayal is something I can just decide to get over. Every time I meet a new person, I'm suspicious, unsure about whether to trust them. But with you, I don't need to hide – I can just be myself.

And I want to know you, Sasha, every single part of you. I don't want there to be any secrets between us.

I'll see you soon,

Alina x

The sketches she's sent with this letter are all from Balakirev. He recognises the town's courthouse, town hall and bell tower, as well as scenes from the carnival that the town hosts each year around Sankt Juris' Day.

The best one, though, is at the bottom of the pile, almost like an afterthought.

A self-portrait, a little roughly done but still lovely.

Aleksander's fingers gently trace the lines of Alina's face.

He cannot forget anything about her, the image of her face seared onto his brain, but it's nice to have it here on paper.

He can't believe how lucky he is to have been able to meet her.

Fate certainly gave him a gift when it put her into the path of his best friends.

My Alina,

I have seen you, all of you, and I will never turn away.

I promise.

Besides, it is I who should be thankful. I've been waiting for you a long time, Alina, and I'm so glad we've found each other.

The sketches are beautiful and I hope you enjoyed Balakirev and the carnival – the town always puts on a spectacular show to celebrate Sankt Juris.

I hope you don't mind my presumption, but I do not think that you've been able to see much of Ravka. I remember you told me you've not really had a proper holiday, what with it never being a priority for the country's always-stretched foster care system budget and then your time spent confined after the incident with Mal and Zoya.

I happen to have a cottage just outside Os Kervo that doesn't get nearly as many visits as it should. You are very welcome to use it whenever you want – Ivan and Fedyor have the keys and details and they know you have my permission.

You deserve a holiday, Alina.

Yours,

Sasha

Alina is rosy-cheeked and glowing when he next sees her.

"I've just come back from Os Kervo," she says a little shyly, like she still isn't quite sure he meant what he wrote in his letter.

Aleksander, though, isn't in the habit of going back on his word.

"You deserve it, solnyshko."

She blushes a little at the nickname, but he thinks it suits her perfectly. She's been sunshine in his life from the moment he met her.

Alina has a whole new sketchbook filled from her five-day trip and is eager to show it to him as she tells him all about her holiday.

"I wanted to bring you a gift back," she says, "but there's not much the prison will let in. I've got some sketches for you, though, of the beach and the harbour and the cottage. And some books as well, which the guards have, although you don't have to take them if you don't –"

"Of course I'd like them, solnyshko," he says, because he'll never turn down a gift from her.

She graces him with one of her blinding smiles and he feels a desperate urge to reach out across the table and touch her. That, unfortunately, will just get him in trouble with the guards and he doesn't want anything to jeopardise his application for early release, not now there's Alina waiting on the outside for him.

When she has to leave, though, he takes full advantage of his ability to give her a proper goodbye with a lingering kiss on her cheek and a brief interlacing of their hands.

He is a man practiced in self-control, but Alina plays havoc with that. He's never been so distracted by his urges before.

Soon, he thinks as he watches her leave.

His lawyer is hopeful that his application will be considered relatively quickly. He might well be out of this place in under six months, if he's lucky.

And Aleksander is doing everything possible to ensure he is very lucky indeed.

Dear Sasha,

Last night I had a dream that you and I were immortal lovers, perfectly balanced soulmates – you with control over shadows and me with control over light.

Perhaps this was because I'd been reading a fantasy novel before bed, but I like to think it's a sign that the two of us were destined to meet.

How delightful it would be, to have a love that endured throughout eternity like that!

I enclose a sketch of the two of us from my dream. A shadow summoner and a sun summoner.

With love,

Alina x

The sketch depicts the two of them wearing odd outfits, richly-embroidered coats of some sort – Aleksander's is black with gold embroidery, while Alina's is gold with black embroidery.

The two of them stand in a throne room, hands entwined. Tendrils of shadows and light surround them.

Aleksander smiles at the symbolism of it all, and at the idea of being eternally bound to the person who is his destined other half.

Luda had preferred for them to be two independent units who happened to be sharing a house. Totally separate bank accounts, exactly equal shares of the mortgage, friends she never wanted him to meet, a workplace he only visited twice.

It always irritated him, the separation she enforced, as if he was just one of many compartmentalised parts of her life rather than the core of it. It never fit with Aleksander's idea of what a true marriage should be.

He'd loved Luda, but he's always been aware that she never let him love her the way he really wanted to.

Alina, on the other hand, seems to be of a similar mind to him. She speaks of the two of them as one, dreams of them linked for eternity.

He gets the sense that she would hold on as tightly as he always wants to, would think it a comfort and not a constraint.

To find someone so like-minded, especially after everything that happened with Luda, is a gift indeed.

My Alina,

I have put the sketch you sent me on the wall by my bed, so that I can see it every night and morning.

Such eternal devotion is indeed a worthy thing to be celebrated and admired.

My lawyer has visited to say that the possibility of my early release will be decided in three months.

I am making an effort to be as helpful and productive as possible when assigned various work duties, and I keep to myself as much as possible to avoid any potential confrontations that might affect the ruling.

It has always been my desire to seek early release. It is not as if I am poised to go on some kind of rampage, after all. What happened with Luda and her personal trainer was a … a blip, of sorts. And, between you and me, it would not have happened at all if she had not broken her vows in such an appalling way.

Having met you, my Alina, I am even more eager to be released as soon as possible. Your visits are a bright, shining light in a life that is currently muted shades of grey, but I long for the time when we will not be constrained by prison rules.

If I could stay by your side always then I would be a happy man indeed.

Yours,

Sasha

"How did it happen?" Alina asks him, "I read the court transcripts, but they were so dull and dry. I want to hear it from you."

"The classic story, really," Aleksander sighs, "I came home from work to find her in our bed with her personal trainer – an idiot whose brain must have been the size of a pea."

He wrinkles his nose, "I don't even think they were fully undressed. He was hammering into her with absolutely no finesse and I doubt she'd have been able to come just from that."

Both he and Alina let out identical shudders. Aleksander still can't quite fully understand what Luda had been seeking from her personal trainer – there was no intimate connection, no skin-to-skin, no true closeness, and he wonders why she'd chosen to degrade herself with such a fleeting, impersonal liaison. But perhaps that's what she wanted, considering she'd often shied away from his more emotional declarations and his desire to keep her close.

"I honestly did just see red," he tells Alina, "can't really recall exactly what happened. It wasn't a conscious thought to kill them, but my heart demanded satisfaction for Luda's betrayal. They tell me I hit her first, with a hideous heavy bookend a great-aunt of hers had given us at our wedding – I never did like that thing, but she insisted on keeping it in the bedroom – and that her lover fled the room, but tripped and fell down the stairs."

"He died of a broken neck," Alina says, clearly well acquainted with the facts of the case, "but that was ruled an accident."

"His family tried very hard to have me charged, but there were no obstacles in his way and the idiot apparently tripped over his own feet."

"I had that," Alina says, "the red mist descending. Zoya's parents were chemists, and they had a lab set up at home. It was always kept locked, especially when other people were over, but Zoya had the key. That's where I found her and Mal – they'd chosen that spot, thinking no one would disturb them. Their lawyer tried to argue premeditation, even though I never knew they'd been hooking up until that night, but the judge said it was clearly a crime of passion using whatever was to hand. It's just too bad for them that what was to hand was sharp scalpels and sulfuric acid."

"You were provoked."

Alina nods, "when I came back to myself, all I could hear was so much screaming. It hurt my ears."

She giggles girlishly then, eyes sparkling, "they were always so vain, the pair of them, but they weren't so pretty once I was done with them. I was appropriately horrified and sorry when the police spoke to me, but to be honest I thought it rather fitting – a permanent reminder of the cost of betrayal."

A moment later, though, her smile turns into a frown, "why do people do that? Say they love you and then turn around and take advantage of your trust, throw away everything you have just for a few minutes of pleasure."

"I don't know," Aleksander admits quietly.

It baffles him, how careless people can be with the things that should matter the most. And it makes him angry too, especially on Alina's behalf.

"At least we found each other," he reminds her of the good thing that has come out of their respective messes.

Almost a decade in prison, but Aleksander thinks it's more than worth it to have connected with Alina. He's never met anyone who understands him the way that she does.

"Like calls to like," Alina whispers, eyes shining with a devotion that he is sure is mirrored in his own face.

And he knows with a bone-deep certainty that there is no one else in the world as perfect for him as Alina Starkova.

Dearest Sasha,

I wish I could live inside you, to be with you always.

I wish I was small enough to curl up in your pocket and go everywhere with you.

I wish to lie tangled up with you in bed every night.

I wish to carry your name and live in your home and wear your ring and bear your children.

I wish I had the chance to bleed for you, to show you my undying loyalty.

I wish we never had to be parted.

I cannot check, but I am sure that our hearts beat in unison.

All my love,

Alina x

My Alina,

All the trials we have faced in the past, all the years locked away, all the people who have let us down or turned away, all the unexpected betrayals.

All of that is worth it, solnyshko, because it brought us together.

Yours,

Sasha

3 months later

Ivan and Fedyor had offered to pick him up, but he'd told them Alina was coming to get him.

He knows Ivan is concerned by how close they are, that he thinks Aleksander and Alina are unhealthily attached considering the short time they've known each other.

Ivan, though, despite how good a friend he is, and however grateful Aleksander is to him and Fedyor for standing by him after what happened with Luda, just doesn't understand him the way Alina does.

They are two halves of a whole, both craving a deep and permanent love, both burnt by people they trusted.

This isn't going to end badly, like Ivan fears it will, because Alina isn't Luda and Aleksander isn't Mal. They don't take love for granted, don't cheapen a vow for fleeting pleasure, don't turn their back on the person they swore they loved.

Alina is waiting right outside the gate, practically vibrating with unconcealed excitement.

She's running towards him as soon as he is out of the gate and he drops his duffle bag in anticipation of her leaping into his arms.

It is heaven to have her so close, to be able to embrace her for as long as the two of them wish, without regulations and rules and prison guards.

"My Alina," he murmurs, fingers brushing her silky-smooth cheek, "moya lyubov."

"SashaSashaSasha," she chants.

And then she crashes her lips against his. It's messy and fierce and brimming with emotion.

When he feels a sharp sting, her teeth biting his lip before her tongue darts out to lick the droplets of blood, Aleksander only smiles.

Blood binds, after all.

It is the perfect beginning to their forever.

Thanks for reading. Hope you enjoyed it.