Siberian Cold (Undergoing dramatic editing)

Siberian Cold

Author’s Note:

This is based on characters from my story The White Rosebush, but it isn’t a sequel. It’s independent, though you might understand some of it better if you’ve read some of The White Rosebush. The White Rosebush centers around the love triangle of Amy, Andreas, and Ivan, but this is completely about Ivan’s life before meeting Amy. I’ve had numerous requests for more background information on Ivan’s past, so here it is. For those of you that haven’t read The White Rosebush, here’s the basic information you need to know: Ivan is very mysterious, complex, protective, prone to depression and random mood swings, violent, certifiably insane, and one of the sweetest people on earth. This is the tragic tale of how he got to be the way he is. If you enjoy this, check out The White Rosebush. I’ll put the link in the description :3

Prologue:

“You poor child,” she whispered gently, compassionately, as she carried me to the couch, which I was never allowed on, and rested my head against a pillow. She disappeared for a minute or so, but I didn’t really pay any attention. I continued to cry, not only from pain now, but from sadness as well... Papa had been a drinker, but he’d never had done this... Mama wouldn’t have sat around and let someone do this to me; she would have defended and not just healed... Pavla returned with a damp warm cloth, which she pressed against my head after removing some glass, picking me up tenderly.

“You need to stop crying before he gets back,” she ordered gently, running the cloth back and forth over my head. Or what? He’d hit me?

“It hurts,” I whined.

“I’ll stop the bleeding. You’ll be fine; don’t worry...” I whimpered again as she ripped another piece of glass out of my head, wiping the area with the cloth again. I didn’t even want to know what my head looked like. I was trying to be silent though the procedure, but every nerve in my body was screaming in anguished protest. Suddenly, I was having trouble keeping my eyes opened.

“I’m tired...” I muttered sleepily.

“Nyet,” she said firmly, “you can’t sleep right after getting a head injury. Stay awake.” I gasped in pain as the cloth hit another piece of glass. “Oh,” she moaned pityingly, “this is deep... Hold still.” I cried out that time, jerking my head forward. God, how badly it hurt...