𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐅𝐄𝐂𝐓 𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐌
❝ Great. I just became
the thing I hate the most. ❞
the time when a maximoff
survives sokovia with a
'gift' similar to her older cousin's
❪ started: feb. 4th...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
- ˏˋ ✎ ˊˎ -
1999, NOVI GRAD, SOKOVIA
━━ JAROSLAV AND MALIA GRABBED cutlery from the kitchen, setting them on the table. Anca stirred a pot of zhurek, which was a Polish soup that Anca's mother made for Anca when she was sick as a child.
Jaroslav and Malia had just finished setting the table where Anca brought the soup out and placed it on the freshly-made table. "Пахнет потрясающе, дорогая." (It smells amazing, love.) The brunette man placed a kiss on the forehead of his wife.
"Хватит комплиментов. Иди, кушай." (Enough with the compliments. Come, eat.) Anca sat beside her only daughter, who ate a spoonful of the warm soup. "Малия, тебе нравится?" (Malia, do you enjoy it?)
"Ты добавила много соли, мама." (You added a lot of salt, Mama.) The seven-year-old girl told her honestly.
"Вы будете в порядке." (You'll be ok.) Anca dismissed. "Я отличный повар. Что плохого в небольшом количестве соли?" (I'm a great cook. What's wrong with a bit of salt?)
"Кажется будто я лизнул океан." (It feels like I licked an ocean.) Malia explained while continuing to eat.
"Ты накормила нашу дочь океаном, Анка." (You fed our daughter the ocean, Anca.) Jaroslav joked, nudging his wife's shoulder jokingly.
"В любом случае, ты что-нибудь слышал об Олеге в последнее время?" (Anyways, have you heard from Oleg recently?) Anca changed the subject.
Before Jaroslav could take a breath to answer, a large explosion hit the entire family. A loud ringing noise took over Malia's ears. Dust and flames swirled around their small apartment complex, a sooty taste coating the inside of her mouth.
When the girl opened her eyes, she had been sprawled across the burnt floor. After slowly sitting up, her eyes spanned her former home before seeing her father on the now-destroyed couch.
Running over to him with tears in her eyes, she shook his shoulder. "Папа! Папа, ты должен проснуться, пожалуйста!" (Papa! Papa, you gotta get up, please!) She begged, screaming at the top of her little lungs.
Jaroslav stirred, taking in his new environment piece by piece. Looking down to his daughter, he pulled her into a tight hug. "Папа, у тебя стол в ноге!" (Dad, the table's in your leg!) Malia pointed to the wooden leg of the table that impaled her father's thigh.
