The Bride Of The Devil

Ivan and Lydia lay quietly on the large bed in Ivan’s chambers. The sun outside was slowly sinking, casting golden light through the frosted windows. Snowflakes drifted past the glass, gentle and slow. The room was warm, but their silence held a heaviness neither of them wanted to break just yet.

Lydia lay in his arms, her head resting gently on his chest. Her fingers moved slowly across his back, patting softly in a steady rhythm. Ivan said nothing. His arms were wrapped around her tightly, as though letting go even for a second would make her disappear. His eyes weren’t crying anymore, but the pain hadn’t left. It was still there, sitting behind his gaze, quietly screaming.

The fire crackled faintly in the hearth, but even that sound felt distant. The weight between them pressed like snow on branches, silent and heavy.

Lydia looked up into his eyes, her hand moving to stroke his hair gently. She could feel how tense he was. Like he wanted to speak, to finally let the weight fall off his chest. But the words wouldn’t come. His lips trembled slightly, his breath shaky.

"You don’t have to tell me now," Lydia whispered. "If it hurts too much, you don’t have to." She held him closer, her voice calm and soothing.

But Ivan finally spoke. His voice was low, filled with pain. "All my life... all I used to think was that maybe I deserved it. Maybe I was born to be hated. I used to ask myself... what did I do wrong? I was never stubborn. Never troublesome. I tried to be quiet, to be good. But still... she hated me."

Lydia listened, her heart breaking with every word.

"It started one afternoon," he continued. "I was in the middle of a piano lesson. I remember the keys under my fingers. I didn’t even do anything. She just came in and dragged me by the arm. She locked me in that room... for hours. No light. No food. Nothing. I thought it was a mistake. But it kept happening."

He swallowed hard. "I tried to tell my father. He just looked at me. Said I must have done something. He didn’t care. None of them did. Everyone knew. Everyone saw. But no one said anything. Not even the maids. They looked away."

Lydia’s hand moved to his cheek. She could feel how cold his skin was, even now.

Ivan’s voice grew lower, more hollow. "To him, I was just a reminder. A mistake he didn’t want to see. He never raised a hand to me, never yelled... but he was never there either. And that’s worse. It’s like I didn’t exist. Like I was invisible. Or worse—something to be ashamed of."

He paused. "He only ever showed up when he had to. Events. Ceremonies. Then he’d disappear again. And I used to watch him leave like I didn’t matter."