Rot ━ Mal Oretsev ✓

𝟬𝟬𝟱 mad woman's tragedy

When you enlist in the Second Army, you are taught a multitude of lessons.

First and foremost, you are told that in the Second Army, there is no room for mistakes. You cannot afford to slip up and be taken out by the enemy. You, as Grisha, have an advantage. Use it. Allowing them to catch you off guard is like giving them expressed permission to attack your country.

Secondly, you are a soldier before you are a human. When you are out in the field, you must be prepared for anything. You will not back down from a fight. If your friend is killed, you ignore it and you keep fighting. If you watch someone be blown to smithereens, you dust your Kefta off and you keep fighting.

Perhaps that's where Thalia first failed. It had happened during one of her first trips with the Second Army, led by the infamous Pip Vargova. She had been warned against volunteering for this particular outing by Alice because she was not fully trained, but Thalia had simply shook her off and insisted she could handle it.

It very soon became evident that Thalia could not, in fact, handle it.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

   "Grisha, take cover!"

Fifteen years old and Thalia is on the battlefield. Fifteen years old, four years into her training and a thousand miles away from home. This was not supposed to end in a fight. The Second Army volunteers were only supposed to travel the borders of Ravka to retrieve casualties from a mission gone awry. But they had crossed Fjerdan battle lines, and they were now fighting for their lives.

   "Vassilieva, watch out!"

Thalia barely had time to throw herself down to the snow coated ground, narrowly avoiding an axe being hurled in her direction. She huffed, muttering to herself as she dusted her Kefta off and got up from the ground. A quick glance around told her that

She came face to face with the very Drüskelle who had attempted to behead her, poising her hands with a pointed frown, "That was uncalled for." The man hisses something in Fjerdan in response, and Thalia does not need to know the language to understand what he said. Witch. She frowns at him, shaking her head, "Now that, that was downright nasty. Really, did your mother not teach you proper etiquette?"

Before he can respond, Thalia channels her magic into his body and squeezes the air from his lungs. He lets out a choked sound, clawing at his throat as his legs give way to the floor. He splutters blood onto the snow while he attempts to hook his hand around Thalia's ankle, but she simply traps his hand beneath the shine of her new black boots. The Drüskelle lets out a howl of pain when she puts pressure onto it.

"If I were you, I'd use my manners from on."

She slows his heart enough to knock him out before tearing a piece of fabric from his worn down undershirt and using it to secure his hands behind his back, then using the remaining fabric as a make do gag and shoves him into the small corner behind a boulder near them. She's not quite at the point where she can kill someone yet, but if he happens to die out here from frostbite, well. . . that's none of Thalia's business, is it?

But as she turns to join the battle once more, Thalia finds herself frozen. The snow beneath her feet is stained with blood. The red mirrors her Kefta, and Thalia feels her heart in her throat as her eyes dart between the pool of blood and the knocked out Drüskelle.

   You did this.

She can't move from her spot, eyes glued to the pool of blood. The battle has not ceased, but Thalia cannot join when she feels as though the floor is swallowing her like quicksand. As if in a moment she will be submerged beneath ground and meet her fate.