Everyone dies. That's just the way the world works. But Elena Morvic grew up believing in her own immortality. She understood what it meant to die, had been to more than her fair share of funerals, but still knew that death would evade her. It was f...
Ekaterina Kashkov. Hard to know and even harder to love. She knew that, and used it to her advantage. Like the nightingale, she went by many names. That's where the similarity ended, though. She didn't lie to those she loved. She didn't look her wife in the eye and pretend to be someone she was not. Still, she didn't judge him. She did not know what turned him into who he was, and she wasn't going to ask. As long as she was safe, as long as her family was safe, she could pretend to not have seen a lot of things.
I think she was on the precipice of turning eleven when her parents died. She neither knew nor loved them well enough to be devastated, but the cold Russian winters are colder still when you have no family. She was sent to an orphanage, far away from her hometown, with nothing but the clothes on her back. When she got there, she realised she could be whoever she wanted. She stole her name from a signboard she'd seen on the drive down, and her personality from the other kids, little by little.
Every night after the lights went out, she'd remind herself of all the little parts of her new self. The girl at the orphanage was called Hanna. She was timid but fiery, smart, kept to herself. This was in contrast to Ekaterina, who was filled with charisma and loved attention. Hanna was the way she was because that's what new families preferred. Who would adopt a child as loud as Ekaterina was?
Hanna may have been lovely and kind, but no one adopted children over ten, especially when they could have adorable babies and toddlers. If they were lucky, sometimes six and seven year olds were adopted too. But never a teenager. She was beautiful, but always too old and too tall. When she turned fifteen, another girl ended up at their doorstep. This was the girl who turned Hanna back into Ekaterina, the girl who stopped caring about being adopted. She'd made her first friend. They'd have to leave when they turned eighteen, but they had three years left together.
This friend, her name was Medrina. She called her Kat. That was the first time someone decided she was worth a nickname. No one had ever called on her often enough to warrant the need for one. They would sneak out to the shed behind the orphanage every night, and fall asleep together. It was one such night that Ekaterina realised she was in love with her best friend.
They were lying together on a pile of straw, Medrina's hands playing with her friend's hair. Although perhaps friend wasn't really the right word. Ekaterina felt that it wasn't nice enough for what Medrina meant to her. What did you call the woman who made you feel like the most important woman in the world? What did you call the woman at whose feet you would lay down your heart? What did you call the woman for whom you'd burn the world down?
"Kat," Medrina mumbled, burying her face in the other woman's neck, "What will we do when we leave, when they kick us out?"
Ekaterina wrapped her arms around her and whispered, "We could go to Moscow. There are so many stories about it. We could get a small house."
Medrina hummed slightly, but didn't reply.
They did eventually find their way to Moscow. That's the only part that went according to plan, of course. Things changed when they met Solov. They were whisked off to London, where they could only meet under the veil of darkness. Ekaterina Kashkov changed her name one more time, this time to Michelle Jamieson. Journalist. She'd always hated journalists. Well, journalists and soldiers. Now she was both.
I think she was on the precipice of turning eleven when her parents died. She neither knew nor loved them well enough to be devastated, but the cold Russian winters are colder still when you have no family. She was sent to an orphanage, far away from her hometown, with nothing but the clothes on her back. When she got there, she realised she could be whoever she wanted. She stole her name from a signboard she'd seen on the drive down, and her personality from the other kids, little by little.
Every night after the lights went out, she'd remind herself of all the little parts of her new self. The girl at the orphanage was called Hanna. She was timid but fiery, smart, kept to herself. This was in contrast to Ekaterina, who was filled with charisma and loved attention. Hanna was the way she was because that's what new families preferred. Who would adopt a child as loud as Ekaterina was?
Hanna may have been lovely and kind, but no one adopted children over ten, especially when they could have adorable babies and toddlers. If they were lucky, sometimes six and seven year olds were adopted too. But never a teenager. She was beautiful, but always too old and too tall. When she turned fifteen, another girl ended up at their doorstep. This was the girl who turned Hanna back into Ekaterina, the girl who stopped caring about being adopted. She'd made her first friend. They'd have to leave when they turned eighteen, but they had three years left together.
This friend, her name was Medrina. She called her Kat. That was the first time someone decided she was worth a nickname. No one had ever called on her often enough to warrant the need for one. They would sneak out to the shed behind the orphanage every night, and fall asleep together. It was one such night that Ekaterina realised she was in love with her best friend.
They were lying together on a pile of straw, Medrina's hands playing with her friend's hair. Although perhaps friend wasn't really the right word. Ekaterina felt that it wasn't nice enough for what Medrina meant to her. What did you call the woman who made you feel like the most important woman in the world? What did you call the woman at whose feet you would lay down your heart? What did you call the woman for whom you'd burn the world down?
"Kat," Medrina mumbled, burying her face in the other woman's neck, "What will we do when we leave, when they kick us out?"
Ekaterina wrapped her arms around her and whispered, "We could go to Moscow. There are so many stories about it. We could get a small house."
Medrina hummed slightly, but didn't reply.
They did eventually find their way to Moscow. That's the only part that went according to plan, of course. Things changed when they met Solov. They were whisked off to London, where they could only meet under the veil of darkness. Ekaterina Kashkov changed her name one more time, this time to Michelle Jamieson. Journalist. She'd always hated journalists. Well, journalists and soldiers. Now she was both.
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I'm sorry this chapter was short, but I wanted to give Solov and Kat a background before moving on with the story.
Please vote and comment :)
Note: I had begun writing this story before the war between Russia and Ukraine. My thoughts and prayers are with the people of both countries who have been caught in the crossfires of a political war.
