[P] an evening stroll (on a knife's edge)

[Avdotya]

Ah, if only she could hear the thoughts that seeped through Anatoly’s mind. She might have gripped her spear a little tighter, ready to drive it through his heart as he so eagerly thirsted for her blood upon his tongue. And yet it would not have been his desire to kill her that would have stoked Avdotya’s unyielding fires, but rather the folly in his justification for her death that would have driven the mare mad with white-hot fury. The Davke were her purpose, forever and always; their revival now was her repentance for every single soul they lost to Zolin in their attempt to rescue her years ago. She knew the loss of their tribe came on the heels of her failure as a child - she knew it and she’d be damned if she ever forgot it. Indeed, even Avdotya the fierce, Avdotya the wicked, Avdotya the unfeeling bore the heavy weight of guilt upon her tired shoulders. But she was a monster, a girl painted as something little more than a savage beast in the eyes of the world around her - so in the end, that was what she became, and monsters did not feel. That was, at least, when there were others around to witness it. How fortunate, then, that Avdotya was no mind-reader. Instead, she stood before a man with false manners and a forgettable face, one that grated her mind for an answer she still could not find. Who was he. Educated enough to address her as Khan, it seemed. Her gaze narrowed... was it the Davke that made him so familiar? Whether or not that was it, she presumed the answer would eventually find its way to the surface. For now, she let her focus rest elsewhere.”I am never in the mood for conversation.” She stated flatly in return, her eyes watching his own without falter. Prim and proper as he was with his words, Avdotya felt no need to dance so sweetly with her own. ”Yours is a face I haven’t yet seen in the palace. What is your purpose? Your name?” Lie to me, the viper yearned silently. Her days were in need of some excitement. @anatoly image © pacificdash