Rasputina and the Witch's Tsar

Chapter Forty-Four

The prince told me to "look at the crucifix and say your prayers".

They are going to kill me.

"Say your prayers, woman."

So, I did.

I prayed that Prince Yusupov and Duke Dmitri and all those men upstairs would have nightmares that plagued them like bleeding clockwork every night. That they'd dream of bullets piercing their skin and an endless, painful cold. I prayed that their children's children and those children's offspring would know what horrors these men did, that their very names would live on in hellish infamy. I prayed that the world of metal and gunpowder and hate would come crashing down upon them. That they'd cry out my name in their sleep and see my face. See my eyes and fear the witch's horrid curse.

I prayed that they'd find a god, any would do. That they'd bathe in the guilt of their sins like swine, feel it sticking like dried blood. Flaking off crusted skin and knowing that their peace was torn to shatters. That they tore a wife from her husband. A mother from her children. A lover from her true heart's desire.

I prayed on my knees on that floor with the ridiculous luxuries dripping in that rotted fruit-scented cellar that everything and everyone would come to know my name. I prayed that, even if I died, my name would go on. That my name would live forever beneath the wagging tongues of rich and poor alike. I prayed that my name would be as infinite as the stars, as common a tale as any from myth and legend.

I prayed for a new age where everything was wiped clean. Where gold would rise from ashes and hope from despair.

And I prayed, most of all, not to die.

I believed, right up until the moment that the bullet tore through my chest, that maybe my prayers had been answered. Right up until the moment the prince lowered his revolver and aimed it at my heart. As my eyes took in the scene wildly, flitting from cross to betrayer to the poisoned feast I saw before me. I believed that, miracle of miracles, I might walk out of here on my own two feet.

I beg of you, almighty, let me walk free. Let me see my children again. Let me hold Alexei's hand and see the tsar and bow my head, damp with tears, over the tsarina's fingers. Let me walk the sands of the Holy Land and bathe in the waters of Greece until my sins are gone.

I won't touch drink. I'll be perfect. A mother to all who wander.

I will clear my name. Use my powers for good, or not at all, should you wish it.

Just let me...

Revolvers take forever to finish what they started.

And also, not long enough.