Chapter 91: The Snow And The Devil
Midnight had fallen over Novostav. The cold wind howled between the narrow wooden houses, and the village slept under a blanket of snow. Inside a small cottage, lit only by the soft glow of a dying fireplace, Ivan sat at the edge of a creaky wooden bed. The room was simple—a table, a chair, a stack of folded blankets—but his heart was anything but.
He had tried to sleep. He had laid down, pulled the thick blanket over himself, closed his eyes, and counted the slow ticks of the clock on the wall. But nothing helped. His body was still. His mind was not. It kept running in circles, chasing memories he wished he could silence.
He remembered the way Lydia used to tuck her feet under his when she was cold, the way she whispered his name when she thought he was asleep.
Lydia. Her name stayed in his chest like a whisper he couldn’t get rid of. He missed her. Not just her smile, or her touch—he missed the feeling of being beside her. He missed the quiet moments, like when she would rest her head on his chest, or the way her eyelashes fluttered in her sleep.
He missed her laugh. How it was soft and sudden, the kind that made everything else feel far away. And he missed the way she looked at him like he was someone good. Like he was worth loving. Like he wasn’t a monster. Like she saw something in him that even he couldn’t find.
Even now, the memory of her eyes could stop his breath.
She always smelled like roses. That gentle, familiar scent was still with him somehow, lingering in his coat, in his dreams, in the silence of the room.
He sighed deeply, rubbed his face, and stood up. His boots hit the wooden floor softly. He picked up his coat from the back of the chair and put it on. Then, without a sound, he left the cottage.
The night outside was freezing. His breath formed white clouds in the air. Snow crunched under his boots as he walked aimlessly. The cold bit into his skin, but he didn’t stop. Maybe walking would make his body tired enough to sleep. Maybe the wind would freeze the ache in his heart.
He passed the well. The houses. A dark barn. Then he saw it.
A small, quiet house at the edge of the cliff. He stopped.
That was where Ruslan’s mother lived.