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.
Flashbacks are in italics. They won't all be in chronological order.
My knowledge of court procedure and psychology is almost non-existent so please do not look too closely.
"Is it my fault?"
"Is what your fault, Alina?"
"What Mal did with Ruby? Did I do something wrong? He wants … he wants to have sex, but I don't feel ready yet. Is that why he fucked her, because I wouldn't sleep with him?"
Dr Kirigan mumbles something about Mal in Old Ravkan under his breath. She can't understand it all, but she's fairly sure that it's derogatory.
"What have we been working on recently, Alina?" he asks a few moments later.
"Correctly assigning blame," she mumbles.
"And so, in this case, who is at fault?"
"… Mal, I guess."
"There is no guessing about it, Alina," he tells her sternly, "Mr Oretsev chose to break your trust, betray you and refuse to accept your boundaries and desire to move at a slower pace when it comes to your physical relationship."
"I mean, we have been going out for eight months now. It might be –"
Dr Kirigan reaches out to put a finger to her lips, "don't try and make excuses for him, Alina. You have every right to choose not to take that step with Mr Oretsev and he should not react in such a childish, cruel fashion."
"But what if he's right. What if I'm just being silly and making a fuss about nothing?"
"Alina, you are allowing Mr Oretsev to make you feel guilty. He is clearly trying to turn his own inadequacies around onto you. You are the innocent party, but he wants you worried and apologizing like it's your fault."
"Zoya says he only cheated because he's horny and I should just meet him in the middle and give him a blowjob."
"Saints save me from the relationship advice of teenage girls. You should never do anything with Mr Oretsev that you don't want to, Alina. If he chooses to break up with you or to cheat because you set down boundaries that he doesn't like or respect, then he isn't worth your time."
"But he –"
"You know, in some cultures, adulterers were stoned to death."
Alina gapes at her therapist's sudden and harsh statement.
Dr Kirigan sighs and gently pats her knee.
"You should trust your instincts, Alina. There's probably a reason you haven't felt comfortable going any further in your relationship with Mr Oretsev. You should think carefully about whether he is the sort of boy you want to date."
"He … he promised it wouldn't happen again," she whispers, looking down at her hands.
Maybe she wants Dr Kirigan to nod and say that things can still work out for her and Mal. Perhaps if he says it then it will stop the nagging voice in the back of her mind that says Mal isn't going to change.
"Alina," he coaxes, "look at me."
She glances up and meets his mesmerising, inky-black eyes.
Suddenly, all the chaotic thoughts in her mind vanish and she feels a sense of calm wash over her.
She is relaxed. She is serene. She is not plagued by petty worries about her frustrating boyfriend.
She is relaxed. She is serene. Mal's behaviour is not her fault.
She is relaxed. She is serene. She should not allow Mal to treat her badly without consequences.
A shrill alarm shatters her peace.
"I guess our time is up."
Alina shakes her head, a little dazed. She could have sworn they were only half-way through her one-hour session.
"Are you alright, Alina?" Dr Kirigan asks gently, brushing his fingers over her cheek, swiping away tears she didn't realise had been falling.
"I … I don't …"
"It's alright if you feel a bit raw right now, Alina. We've talked about some heavy topics today. Have an early night, hmm."
"Please state your full name and date of birth for the record."
"Alina Keyen Starkova. 21st June 2005."
"Your current address is 26 Stag Lane, Keramzin, where you live with your foster mother Ana Kuya?"
"Yes."
"You have recently completed your final year at The Little Palace Academy?"
"Yes."
"Tell me, Miss Starkova, in your own words, what happened on the night of Malyen Oretsev's death?"
It's a typical Lantsov party. Cheap beer and vodka sat alongside bottles of expensive wine that hardly anyone touches. Music loud enough that there would have certainly been a noise complaint if the family had any nearby neighbours. Sweaty bodies, teenage hormones, and couples in dark corners.
"Do you know where Mal is?"
Genya shakes her head, "sorry, Lina, I only get here ten minutes ago and I've not seen him."
Alina tries not to think the worst of her boyfriend.
It's true that she'd found him in bed with Ruby Volkova at a party five months ago, but he'd apologised for that and they're trying to move past it.
It was just a mistake. Mal has promised it won't happen again.
Nina shoves a cup into her hand as she checks the kitchen for Mal, and Alina drinks it without even asking what's in it.
The alcohol burns, the drink heavy on the vodka, but she downs it all anyway.
"Damn, Lina, are you alright?" Nina asks.
"Just looking for Mal."
Her friend frowns, "Lina, you should –"
Alina waves her away and hurries out of the room. Nina means well, but Alina doesn't need another lecture about how she shouldn't have forgiven her boyfriend for his mistake.
When she can't find Mal inside the house, she goes outside in search of him.
The gardens of the Lantsov home are extensive and she wanders for almost ten minutes until she stumbles across a half-dressed couple on one of the benches, mostly hidden by trees.
"Sor–" she begins to apologise, only to freeze when she recognises Mal, his eyes glassy with desire and his lips stained with Ruby's favourite scarlet lipstick.
"It's not what it looks like," Mal shoves Ruby off him and starts buttoning his jeans back up.
"Saints, Mal," she hisses, "do you really think I'm that stupid?"
"Lina, don't be like that, babe."
"Go to hell, Mal," she slaps his cheek and storms off, eyes blurring with tears.
"So, having found Mr Oretsev with Miss Volkova, you must have been angry?"
"Of course I was angry," Alina glares.
Botkin has warned her not to behave with hostility when questioned, but it's so stupid to ask if finding her boyfriend cheating on her had made her angry – of course it had.
"Furious enough to kill him?"
"No! Absolutely not."
"Miss Starkova, you cannot account for your whereabouts from the time you left Mr Oretsev and Miss Volkova until the moment you were found with Mr Oretsev's body. You had just suffered a deeply hurtful betrayal. Surely, you must understand what that looks like."
"I didn't kill him. I'm not a murderer."
"And yet you refuse to explain the missing fifteen minutes before you were found with Mr Oretsev's bloody body."
"I … I don't … I was …"
"Miss Starkova, I would like to remind you that you are under oath."
"I went back inside the house. I found an empty room and I cried. I don't … I don't know how I even found Mal. It's like … like I blinked and he was on the floor and there was blood everywhere. But it wasn't me, I swear, it wasn't me."
Overwrought, Alina bursts into noisy, ugly sobs. The world blurs through her tears and she refuses to answer any other questions, retreating to a world inside her head, one when this whole ordeal is just a nightmare that she'll soon wake up from.
Everything is blood red.
Mal's face and shirt. Alina's hands and dress. The knife in her hand.
She drops it like it's burning her.
Her head aches, a pounding pain that won't go away.
Mal is so pale and cold and still.
Covered in blood.
So much blood.
Alina screams.
"The prosecution calls Dr Aleksander Morozov to the stand."
As the witness takes his seat, Alina stands abruptly, eyes wide, "Dr Kirigan?"
"Sit down, Miss Starkova," the judge frowns.
"But he –"
"Mr Botkin, please control your client."
"Sit down, Alina," Botkin whispers.
"But, he's –"
"We'll talk in the recess, Alina. But for now, you have to sit down or they'll charge you with contempt of court."
Shaken, she takes her seat again, unable to stop staring at the man in the witness box.
"Dr Morozov, you are a behavioural psychologist with a focus on female patients between the ages of fifteen and nineteen, correct?"
"Yes."
"And you confirm that the first time you met Alina Starkova was during your assessment with her three weeks ago."
"Yes."
Botkin places a restraining hand on Alina's arm as she moves to stand again. She settles back into her seat, fists clenched so tight that her nails leave grooves in the palms of her hands.
Something is wrong here. Very, very wrong.
"From your own assessment, and having reviewed Dr Kirigan's notes, what is your assessment of Miss Starkova."
"Miss Starkova's background – orphaned in a traumatic car accident, shuffled between crowded foster homes in three different cities – put her in a vulnerable position. While she has always performed well academically, with particular artistic talent, the notes Dr Kirigan made over six months reveal a lonely young woman searching for a permanent home and a person who will never abandon her."
"And you think she fixated on Mr Oretsev?"
"Mr Oretsev was her first serious boyfriend. He represented the idea of future stability, a typical home that she was sadly only able to experience for a short time with her parents. It seems likely that she dreamed extensively about their future life together."
"Do you believe that discovering Mr Oretsev with Miss Volkova could have angered Miss Starkova enough to attack Mr Oretsev?"
"In my professional opinion, the situation was a stressor for Miss Starkova, bringing underlying issues to the surface. However, her lack of memory of the attack suggests she was not entirely aware of any violence committed against Mr Oretsev. Certainly, it was not pre-meditated in any sense, nor do I think it could have necessarily been predicted."
"During your assessment, Dr Morozov, did Miss Starkova show sorrow in relation to Mr Oretsev's death."
"Yes. She was greatly distressed at Mr Oretsev's death. In fact, I was originally meant to interview her three days before, but she was still so upset that she had to be sedated."
"You did note, however, that she showed no signs of remorse, only of grief."
"Miss Starkova does not appear to have realised that she is, as far as the evidence can tell, responsible for Mr Oretsev's death, which accounts for the lack of remorse. Her grief, however, was extremely obvious and certainly genuine."
"You are sure the grief was not feigned?"
"I have seen a great many people fake grief. I can assure you that Alina Starkova is not one of them."
"They won't listen to me when I tell them that I didn't do it," Alina whispers, tears dripping down her face.
"I'm afraid the evidence is against you, Alina."
"You believe me, though, don't you?"
"I'm sure you didn't mean to hurt Mr Oretsev. You were only agitated by what you had seen."
"I didn't … I'm sure I couldn't have … why can't I remember?"
"Traumatic events often leave blank spots in our memory, Alina. Don't distress yourself by trying to remember."
"I'm scared," she admits.
"None of that, Alina," Dr Kirigan chides, "what have I always told you?"
"There's nothing we can't face together."
"That's right, Alina. You know I'll always protect you. I promise that I'm on your side."
"Now, look at me," he says, "there's a good girl."
She swipes the tears away and looks up.
His obsidian eyes are captivating as always, like the depths of the unknown ocean.
"You're confused. You don't remember what happened when Mr Oretsev was stabbed."
"I'm confused. I don't remember what happened when Mal was stabbed."
"You don't recall what you spoke about during your therapy sessions. It's a blur."
"I don't recall what I spoke about during my therapy sessions. It's a blur."
"Smile for me, Alina."
She does, mouth curving into a picture-perfect grin.
"Good girl," he chucks her under the chin affectionately.
When he stands to leave a little while later, Alina catches a glimpse of his visitor badge.
She only sees it for a second or two, so she can't be sure, but she would swear it has the wrong name on it.
"He is Dr Kirigan," Alina insists as soon as they are alone in the room they've been given to use during breaks.
"Who?"
"Dr Aleksander Morozov. That's not his name. He's my therapist Dr Kirigan."
"Alina –"
"I swear, Botkin. I saw him for months."
"You must be confused, Alina. Dr Morozov did your assessment for the court, but he's not a therapist."
"I'm not crazy!" she shrieks, banging one of her hands down onto the table.
Immediately, the door opens and a guard comes in, "everything alright in here?"
"Fine," Botkin says, "just knocked my leg against the table."
"Hmm," the guard looks over at Alina with suspicion and she hates it, the way everyone stares at her like she's some kind of lunatic or criminal.
"Why don't you believe me?" she asks as soon as the guard leaves and the door closes.
Botkin flips through one of his files and then passes a photograph over to Alina. It shows a slightly-balding man in his fifties, with unremarkable features. She doesn't recognise him.
"This is Dr Leonid Kirigan, Alina. He was your therapist."
"No," Alina shakes her head, "that's not Dr Kirigan."
"I know everything has been very muddled and stressful recently, Alina. It's alright if things get a bit jumbled up in your head."
"I've never seen that man in my life," she points at the photograph.
"Alina, Dr Kirigan has testified under oath that the notes from your therapy sessions are his."
"Well then he's lying," she hisses.
She doesn't have a clue what is going on, but she knows Dr Kirigan and Dr Morozov are one and the same.
"Take a breath," Botkin tells her, "and think about it carefully."
Alina rolls her eyes, but she does what he asks.
When she tries to picture Dr Kirigan, though, her head aches and the face she recalls is blurred.
"I …"
That one brief moment of hesitation is enough for Botkin to dismiss her concerns.
Alina isn't stupid, she knows what they all see. Some lunatic girl who got so crazed over her boyfriend's cheating that she blacked out and stabbed him.
There's more to it, though, even if Alina can't seem to figure out the full story.
"Let me talk to him," she begs.
"Absolutely not," Botkin shakes his head vehemently.
"He's lying! That … that's perjury. Don't you have to investigate that?"
"Alina, you can't just make unfounded accusations."
"He's –"
"Enough, Alina. We only have half an hour more of this break and we need to discuss the other witnesses the prosecution is going to call."
"And how is Mr Oretsev?"
"Oh, he's ok, I guess. We're fine."
"Just fine?"
"We've been fighting a lot recently."
"I'm sorry to hear that, Alina."
Truthfully, he doesn't sound very sorry, but Alina appreciates his effort despite knowing he doesn't really approve of Mal.
"Tell me about the fights, Alina."
She does, in great detail, and she feels warm inside when he pays close attention and sympathises with her.
That's one of the things she likes about Dr Kirigan. Obviously, he's her therapist and he's paid to listen, but she always feels like he goes the extra mile to help her sort out her feelings and problems.
And he isn't stuffy like the therapist she had a few years ago. He doesn't drone on about propriety and appearances when she's feeling low and she asks for a hug (Mal thinks cuddling is sappy and Ana Kuya isn't the most maternal of women and sometimes Alina just wants somebody to touch her with affection).
"Tell me, Alina," Dr Kirigan says when they've finished discussing her recent arguments with Mal, "why do you stay with Mr Oretsev? Surely, you know you would be happier with someone else, or even just without a partner for a while."
"Mal is …"
Mal is Mal. She's known him forever and he's comfortable and she's always just expected they'll end up together.
She just can't seem to quit him.
When she tries to put this into words, Alina fails. Nevertheless, Dr Kirigan seems to know what she means.
"Oh, Alina," he leans forward to brush some of her hair off her face, and she looks at him, getting lost in his hypnotic gaze, "for such a clever girl, you are ridiculously hung up on this boy."
"Hmm," she nods vaguely, distracted by the way his eyes are like a swirling, glittering darkness.
"Well, if you're going to insist on continuing on with your relationship with Mr Oretsev, let's discuss self-defence."
"Oh, I do classes with Nina and Genya twice a week after school."
"It's a different kind of self-defence that I'm talking about, Alina. Now, tell me, have you ever used a knife or gone hunting?"
Alina floats through the remainder of her own trial in a haze.
People talk and talk and talk and she scarcely listens.
She cannot focus on anything except KiriganMorozovKiriganMorozov and the way his dark eyes follow her around the room.
Botkin does not put her back on the stand, clearly fearing what she might say about the man who has sent her into freefall.
She demands to be given a chance to speak again, but Botkin is adamant.
"You'll only hurt your own case, Alina. You're … confused, and being on the stand again will make it worse."
In their small town, this trial is a sensation.
Alina's face is in all the local newspapers and plenty of national ones, the papers she sees people reading as she's taken back and forth between the court and the prison, the flashing lights and loud questions of the press leaving her dazed.
She scarcely notices. Doesn't pay attention to Mal's sobbing, angry adoptive parents, or to the so-called friends who haven't visited her once, or to the jury and judge who will decide her fate, or even to Botkin. All Alina can see clearly in the courtroom is him.
One man, playing pretend and manipulating everyone until they think Alina is mad.
She manages to tune back into the trial when he is on the stand once more.
"… and while I would need further time to determine an exact diagnosis, my current recommendation is that the charges against Miss Starkova be reduced from murder to manslaughter on the grounds of diminished responsibility. She should then be released into the care of a psychiatric facility who will be able to properly care for her."
Alina drifts again as both Botkin and the prosecution ask him questions. They're using terms she doesn't understand and, besides, she's distracted by the way the doctor keeps surreptitiously watching her, even as he gives the impression of focusing all his attention on whoever is questioning him.
There are closing statements after, and then Alina is hustled away to await a decision from the jury.
They deliberate for two days and when Alina returns to the court to hear the verdict, she finds herself entirely unsurprised to discover that the recommendation of Dr Morozov (Dr Kirigan, her mind still whispers) has been followed.
"On one count of manslaughter on the grounds of diminished responsibility, we find the defendant guilty."
He's handsome, this therapist.
About twenty years older than she is, but his face seems like it was carved from marble by one of the great sculptors.
He wears the signs of age well. Faint laugh lines, his dark hair and beard shot through with silver, comfortable in his own skin in a way few people are.
His eyes are his best feature, she thinks. Dark and alluring, sparkling with a hidden knowledge.
"Hello, Alina, it's nice to meet you."
She likes the way he says her name. Like he actually cares and is invested in helping her.
Alina's last therapist always seemed half-way out of the door, barely paying attention.
"Hello, Dr Kirigan," she blushes and smiles at him.
"Now," he leans forward and takes hold of her hands, "I know therapy can be difficult, but I want us to go on a journey together, Alina, to make sure that you get exactly where you need to be."
"I … I'd like that."
"Good, that's good," he cups her cheek in one hand and brushes his thumb across her skin.
He's probably not supposed to do that, she thinks idly, but it feels nice.
Comforting.
"Why don't you come over here," Dr Kirigan pats the space on the couch next to him, "and tell me a bit about yourself, Alina."
She does as he says and tries not to blush again when he settles his arm over the back of the couch, right behind her.
"What … what do you want to know?"
"Well, I have the facts. Name, age, school, foster mother. Why don't you tell me about your friends, and what hobbies you have."
"Right. I guess I love art the most, especially drawing and painting. Ana Kuya tells me I need to pick something more sensible to study at university, but my art teacher thinks I could get some good scholarships. I don't really have many friends, probably just Genya and Nina. But I do have a boyfriend. His name is Mal."
"Hmm, tell me more about Mal."
Much later, when sentencing is complete, and the newspapers have found someone new to vilify and exclaim over, and Alina has been poked and prodded and psychoanalysed by far too many doctors, she arrives at what seems at first to be a charming mansion, but which on closer inspection has a ten-foot gate surrounding the property and armed guards everywhere she looks.
A grumpy man called Ivan processes her arrival without saying a single word to her.
A more cheerful man in red scrubs rubs ointment on her wrists where the handcuffs have rubbed a little, and then takes her to her room.
He's getting her settled when a familiar face appears in the doorway, "that'll be all, Fedyor, I'll finish here."
Alina wishes she had the energy to lash out at him, to shout and scream that she knows this is all his fault, even if she can't focus long enough to figure out exactly how he did it.
The drugs they've given her for whatever condition they've decided she has tend to make her lethargic, and so Alina does little more than glare when he takes a seat beside her.
"Like an angry little kitten," he murmurs with a condescending smile when he tilts her chin up so she has to look directly at him and she weakly attempts to bat his hand away.
"I know you're responsible for this," she growls.
"Perhaps I am, but it's all for the best, Alina. You'll do far better here, under my care, than in the harsh and unforgiving prison system."
"Mal wouldn't be dead if it wasn't for you."
She's still not sure what happened, hasn't been able to remember anything about the missing time when Mal died, but she knows the man in front of her is responsible.
Knows that, somehow, he wormed his way into her head and planted dark, terrible things there, seeds that have sprouted poisonous plants that she can't control.
He just shrugs, apparently unconcerned by her accusations. After all, with the diagnosis she's been given, it's not like anyone is going to believe what she says.
Already half-resigned to this – it's true that it is better than prison – Alina huffs.
"I don't even know what to call you," she mutters bitterly.
"Ah, that little bit of deception. I am sorry I confused you, my Alina, but I'm afraid it was quite necessary. You may call me Sasha – after all, we're going to be spending a great deal of time together."
He touches her cheek, the way he used to during therapy sessions.
She doesn't know what it says about her that it still brings her the same comfort now that it did then.
"No need to worry, Alina," his mouth curves into a smile that sends a shiver down her spine as he takes her hands in his, "I promise I'll take the very best care of you."
Thanks for reading. Hope you enjoyed it.