The Portrait of Baba Yaga


“Bad idea,” The Knight whispers in my helmet. I can’t help but agree. All the babushkas have turned. Slowly, L does as well. She smiles. My ears go cold.


“Hi,” I stutter, awkwardly.

“It’s okay,” she says. I’m not sure if she is talking to me or the babushkas, who look murderous. I back toward the wall either way.

“Are you okay?” I ask.

She laughs. It is cold and sharp. I can feel it in my own throat. It hurts.

“I am perfectly fine. You look a bit,” she raises and eyebrow, “warm.”

The Knight’s voice whispers in my ear “run.”

“No. I have to save her.”

“Doesn’t look like she wants to be saved,” The Knight informs me. He is right, she doesn’t.

“Silly boy,” L says. I have to remind myself that I am older than her, though I don’t feel it at the moment. I…

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