Crimson Winter

Prologue

                                                                                                    Maksim's P.O.V.

Maksim Agapov

Sometime during the 1700's

Somewhere in Russia

     The sun was setting on yet another day. I had long forgotten what its warmth felt like. Eighteen years ago, my father remarried a woman who went by the name of Anya Morozov. At first, I believed I could win her love as a son, but I soon would come to realize that would not happen. She would beat me and spit at me at every moment she could. I tried to tell my father of my mistreatment. He beat me until I stopped 'lying' and told me to be a man. 

     In the beginning, I begged for relief from the pain. I foolishly wished for the days when my mother was alive, and all was right with the world. I was a hopeless child then. As the years passed, Anya's hatred grew stronger. It got worse the moment her son was born. The beatings stopped because I got older, but the abuse of power never stopped. She would blame me for things going missing or people getting hurt. I would suffer beatings from multiple of my father's men and lashings every other month. By the time I turned 28, nothing fazed me. I steeled myself from the world I knew. No one could penetrate the steel fortress I created. That was until one fateful day.

     Her name was Natalya. Her hair was the color of amber honey. It curled around her oval face. Her eyes reminded me of the moss that grew in the caves during the summer months. Her lips were the perfect shape of a bow, and were painted a soft red that complemented her tan skin. Compared to me, she was small and beautiful and so very delicate. She was made perfect just for me. However, there was one catch. She wasn't for me. Natalia was betrothed to my younger brother, Ivan.

     The day Natalya and her father showed up at our castle was the day my fate was sealed. The moment our eyes met, I knew I was done for. I did everything in my power to stay away from her, to keep her at a distance. However, she refused to give up on her pursuit of me. Everywhere I turned, she was there, watching me. Ivan took after his mother. Every time he noticed her looking at me or whenever she mentioned my name, he would have his men torture me in the dungeons where no one could hear their taunts at me or my grunts of pain.

     Anya would come and watch during some of my punishments. Her cruel smile would widen as she watched my face contort with pain. There were some days that she would not come alone. She would bring other cloaked figures, and they would put candles in strategic places to begin rituals of unknown origins. I didn't know what she was doing at the time. All I knew was that it was nefarious.

     I began to notice subtle changes in me. I was sensitive to the light. Sleep would be slow or not come to me. My hunger would be insatiable; food was never enough. I wanted more, but I wasn't sure what it was I wanted. Every time the moon would rise high in the sky, I would become restless, and rage would consume me.

     The hunger continued to grow in me. By the third week of Natalya and her father's stay at the castle, there was talk of a wedding between her and Ivan. I went out of the castle in the snowy forest to take out my frustration with it all on a tree. That's when I realized something was wrong with me. As I punched the large tree, the bark splintered, and the tree began to fall. As I stepped away in amazement, I heard a gasp from behind. I turned around quickly to see a vision under the moonlight.

     Her hair was down around her face in loose curls, and her eyes were bright with curiosity. Natalya was as beautiful as always. A true vision under moonlight and snow.

     "How did you do that?"

     Her voice was a melody in my ears I wanted to keep hearing. I stayed silent, afraid of ruining the moment. My stomach felt like it was in knots as I watched her come closer. Her sweet scent enveloped me. I wanted her closer, to feel her skin against my own. She took her gloves off and grabbed my bare hand. I flinched at her soft and warm touch. She examined my hand in confusion as it had no scratches or blood.