Chapter 10

Chapter

Ten

"My life is a perfect graveyard of buried hopes."

- L.M. Montgomery

Sofiya

I've always despised fairy tales.

As a child, I couldn't stand princesses relying on others for their happiness and safety. In a world where everyone struggles to survive, the idea of Prince Charming saving the day felt outdated.

Ironically, my younger self would be disappointed in me now, as I've been praying for anyone to save me from this place.

I've been locked in this house for four days now, in my own luxurious Russian dungeon with a menacing visitor every night. Strangely, I welcomed any company to ease the loneliness creeping up on me. What chilled me the most wasn't his nightly visits, but his demeanor. He'd arrive silently, hand me a picture frame, then leave.

The first night, it was a photo of me as a child, happily eating ice cream on the porch of our old house.

The second night, he left another photo—me and my old Persian cat on our big beige sofa, its paw in my hands.

On the third night, I couldn't bear it anymore. I begged him to let me go, but he ignored me and left another picture on the bed. This one was from my 4th birthday, wearing a blue and white floral dress and holding a small white cake with "Happy Birthday!" written in blue frosting.

Birthdays never meant much to me, but that one was special. I got my first telescope and spent the night learning about the stars with Dasha.

After spending hours looking at Sirius and Polaris, she laid me down on my bed, pulled up my pink covers, and told me a story about Alexander and the Wolf.

According to the tale, a king's orange tree was being robbed every night by a sneaky bird. The king promised his kingdom to whoever caught the bird. All his older sons failed, so the king asked Alexander, his youngest, to succeed. Alexander stayed awake all night, and upon seeing the bird, attempted to grasp it by the tail but only managed to catch one feather.

The king, disappointed but true to his word, declared that whoever caught the bird would be his heir. The older brothers chose an idle life, but Alexander took the second path, and a gray wolf devoured his horse. Exhausted, Alexander accepted the wolf's offer to carry him. The wolf brought him to a field where the bird was and warned him not to touch its golden cage. Alexander caught the bird but tempted by the beautiful cage, set off alarms and was captured.

The king of that village agreed to free Alexander if he brought him the gray wolf's head. Distraught, Alexander confessed his disobedience to the wolf. The wolf, having befriended Alexander, forgave him. As they sat by the fire, Alexander expressed his desire to make his father proud. The wolf advised him that the only pride worth seeking was his own.

Under the stars, Alexander, overwhelmed with sorrow, woke up, approached the wolf, and with trembling hands, stabbed him in the stomach.

The wolf whimpered and whispered, "Whatever reward is given for betrayal; loneliness is the only true prize."

After completing both quests, Alexander became heir to his father's throne but lived a life full of regrets.

Eventually, with a heavy heart and a darkened soul, he took his own life.

Moved by this sad story, I asked questions and shed tears, but Dasha would kiss my forehead and remind me that loneliness is the hardest form of misery, and that people can be the roots of our bliss.

As beautiful as some of these memories were, I had to remember that the past was long gone. I needed to focus on the present and accept that Dasha had betrayed me and my mama. I had to find a way out of here, hopefully alive.

Dasha was only allowed to bring me food in the dining room. She couldn't stay or talk to me. Most of the time, she wouldn't even glance at me, but when she did, her eyes would soften and a corner of her lips would lift slightly, giving me hope.

However, I'd force myself to look away and finish my food before returning to my solitary confinement .

I had to remember that I couldn't trust her anymore.

She was a traitor. A backstabber.

She was part of the reason I was stuck in this lonely place. With her help, we could have escaped and gone back to San Francisco.

In her beloved fairytale, I was the Wolf, and she was the boy who would sacrifice anything to survive.

Feeling drained, I climbed into bed, pulled the covers to my chin, and closed my eyes in the hope of a restful sleep.

As I began to drift off, the sound of keys clacking, and the lock opening made my stomach drop. I got up just as the door opened, revealing a wary and frail Dasha.

Speaking of the devil.

Her attention was focused on me as she walked into the small room. Her mood was odd and unsettling, sending chills up my arms. I didn't know what to expect, so I stayed frozen and stared at her, tightening the thin black silk robe I had found two days ago on the bed.

"Follow me."

I scoffed. "Why? So you can take me into the woods and murder me with your kitchen knives?"

Her gaze narrowed, and she planted a hand on her hip, clearly annoyed. "Sofiya, if I wanted to kill you, I would've put cinnamon in your draniki this morning."

"Did you?" I asked, still wary.

She rolled her eyes and turned away, heading out. "Are you coming?" she called over her shoulder.

I quickly followed her barefoot, shutting the door behind me.

"Where are we going?" I demanded, trying to keep up.

Despite her petite frame, Dasha was fast, and I had to practically run to stay close.

Finally, we stopped in front of a black door with a golden handle. She unlocked it with a vintage key and pushed it open, gesturing for me to enter.

"You first," I whispered.

She smiled softly and stepped inside, gesturing for me to follow. "He said you're now allowed to use this room, as long as you don't destroy anything."

To be honest, I barely heard what she said. I was blown away by the beauty of this room. The high ceiling and the windowed wall showcasing the magnificent forest and distant mountains made it feel enchanting and unreal—a vision of pure peace, a perfect symbiosis between nature and this place.

The other walls were painted dark charcoal, contrasting with the light of the sunset streaming through the windows.

To the left stood a long, impressive library filled with hundreds of hardcover books, with a dark ladder placed to the side.

To the right, a gigantic velvety dark corner sofa faced a lit fireplace, with a huge plasma screen mounted a meter above it. Facing the windowed wall was a desk with a dark burgundy armchair, adding to the room's ravishing dark atmosphere. It felt like Dracula might appear any moment to drain me of my blood. I shivered at the thought.

"Be careful with the fireplace. I don't want you to burn yourself."

Jumping back to reality, I almost forgot that Dasha was still there. I swallowed and tried to hide my excitement. Staying in my bedroom was depressing, and I welcomed any safe distractions. I walked toward the sofa and laid down on it. To say it was comfortable is an understatement; it must be what clouds feel like. Its softness enveloped me, and I absently rubbed my cheek on it .

"Are you sure you want me to stay here? You do know I'm a pyromaniac."

She raised an eyebrow and crossed her arms.

I feigned innocence, glancing at my nails. "And who exactly is the lunatic who kidnapped me?" I asked, locking onto her stormy gaze. "Why does he have a stash of my childhood photos? Is it for his own sick pleasure?"

"Volk," Dasha's calm voice lingered in the air. "His name is Volk. And let me warn you, my love," she said, approaching me. "He is anything but charitable. When he gives you small gestures of decency, take them."

"What do you mean?"

Volk? Wolf, really? What an odd name.

I edged toward the fireplace, holding my breath as she reached for a piece of loose hair that had fallen from my ponytail and tucked it behind my ear, softly caressing my cheek.

"He isn't nice. When he gives you something nice, take it and don't question it." Her eyes watered, her face pale as snow.

I stayed silent, the sound of a storm echoing in the room.

I looked out the window, amazed by the sudden downpour.

"Did he hurt you, Dasha?"

The rain ticking against the windows, the creak of wood burning in the fireplace, and Dasha's shaky breaths were the only sounds keeping me from falling into the abyss of sleep.

She looked down. " Nyet . Not him," she choked out a sob.

I got up and pulled her roughly into my arms. "Gosh, Dasha," I breathed.

Dasha buried her face in my shoulder, her tears flowing freely. Her soft sobs broke the silence, each one a stab to my heart. Despite my anger, I couldn't bear to see someone crying, especially someone who had been part of my life for so long. We stayed like that for what felt like hours, my arms around her as I whispered comforting words, until the crashing sound of the storm tore us apart in fear.

My heart pounded, making my chest ache, and I struggled to catch my breath. I've always hated storms, and this room made me feel like I was outside, being drawn into the heart of the cyclone.

"Promise me, Sofiya. Promise me you'll listen," she asked, her expression pained as she gently ran a hand through my hair.

She didn't have to say whom, but I knew she meant him .

I stiffened.

I had never seen her so scared of anyone before, and now I was scared too.

"I promise." I cleared my throat, trying to ignore the chilling sensation creeping up my back. I've always tried to keep my promises, but some promises are too sinful to be followed.