"The tomorrow we dreamt so dear will come at the brink of the endless winter"

  Svetlana Saar’s clinic is filled with the persistent sound of coughing, wheezing, and the rustle of medical papers as she scribbles on her patients’ charts. The sharp, reeking smell of alcohol brushed cold against the back of her neck, but it wasn’t the alcohol that sent a chill through her—nor was it the winter creeping outside the windows.

  It was something far more insidious. A frost had begun to mark the glass, but it wasn’t the glass it was touching—it was her mind. Slowly, silently, it seeped into her thoughts, like a suffocating chill she couldn’t shake.

  The warmth of their breath, their fevers, their wounds—nothing seemed to matter as much as the strange frost gathering at the edges of her mind. And then, the smell. That faint scent of something burning—something burning out of time.

  She passed her patients—an old woman with brittle bones, a feverish child—and noticed it again. No matter how much she treated them, they all seemed to wither under her hands. The world outside had grown colder, but it wasn’t the winter that chilled her. It was something deeper, something inside her bones, and no one else seemed to notice.

  Svetlana carried the heavy weight of the chill throughout her entire shift. When the sun dipped below the horizon, she prepared to leave for home, but even with the thick wool scarf draped over her shoulders, an unsettling sense of dread began to settle in her chest.

  She was about to open the door to her car when her phone rang, the sound cutting through the quiet night, followed by the soft click of her remote. For a few seconds, the phone rang before falling silent just as she reached for it.

  With a frown, Svetlana pulled the phone from her pocket, unlocking the screen. The name that appeared made her stomach twist—Viktor Morozov.

  The dread inside her tightened. Her mind spun dark thoughts, images of betrayal, of him leaving her in the cold—worse, alone with nothing. But she pushed those thoughts aside, knowing they would only make things worse. Instead, she swung open the car door and slid into the driver’s seat, gripping the steering wheel tightly. She didn’t waste another second on her thoughts, her eyes fixed on the road ahead, the chill sinking deeper into her bones.

  She kept blinking away the tears that threatened to escape from her glossy eyes. Her mind was fixed on one thing—that Viktor might’ve done something wrong—but her conscience kept whispering that it was something else.

  The mere thought of it—this fleeting, nagging idea—seemed to drag her, twisting her along the rough road ahead. It wasn’t something to simply brush off; it felt like an idea that could pull her into another dimension, her heart pounding with a strange, restless energy.

  Svetlana muttered to herself that everything would be over soon. Tomorrow, she would wake up with a lighter heart.

  But no matter how many times she repeats it in the recesses of her mind, the creeping darkness of the night settling over the bustling city couldn’t hide the dread slowly taking over her mind, it spread quickly, twisting her thoughts into turmoil.

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  Even as the day closed, the thought of relief couldn’t calm her troubled heart.

  Her hands gripped the steering wheel tightly, as if she could hold her fraying world together with one unyielding touch. Her hair swayed gently in the wind, her lips pressed tightly together, refusing to let the sob she longed to release.

  The moment the car stopped along the rugged tracks of stepping stone rocks leading to the lush bushes that accompany the white walls of her house, Svetlana’s every step felt like a drag. Her heart beats to her every step, demanding for answers.

  As Svetlana stepped into her home, she was met with a suffocating silence, broken only by the faint crackle of incense burning in the living room. The fragrance was rich and heady, but it did nothing to soothe her growing unease. The house felt alive in its stillness, as though it were holding its breath, waiting for something to happen.

  She called Viktor’s name, her voice trembling. Only her echo answered back. She set her bag down carefully, her pulse quickening. Shadows flickered at the edge of her vision, and before she could turn, rough hands seized her arms.

  A gasp tore from her lips, but it was quickly muffled by a gag. She struggled as they forced her into a chair, ropes biting into her wrists. Her heart thundered in her chest as she took in the masked faces surrounding her, their dark eyes cold and unfeeling.

  The low rumble of an engine reached her ears, distant at first, but growing louder. Relief mingled with terror as she recognized the sound—it was Viktor’s car.

  The headlights cut through the darkness, and for a moment, she thought he would stop. But then the roar of the engine surged, and the car smashed through the front of the house in a cacophony of shattering glass and splintering wood. Dust and debris filled the air, and she barely had time to process what was happening before the men around her drew their weapons.

  Viktor emerged from the wreckage, his face a mask of fury. The sharp crack of gunfire shattered the silence, each shot reverberating through the room. Svetlana’s breath caught as she watched him, every movement calculated, every step bringing him closer.

  The chaos unfolded in slow motion. The acrid smell of gunpowder filled the air, mingling with the incense. Her ears rang from the noise, her heart pounding so hard she thought it might burst.

  When the last man fell, Viktor dropped his gun and rushed to her side. His hands trembled as he untied her, his voice low and soothing.

  “Everything’s going to be alright,” he murmured, his words a promise and a plea.

  But as Svetlana felt the ropes fall away, a chill crept over her.

  The relief she felt was fleeting, a fragile thing that shattered the moment she saw his face go pale.

  A deafening bang erupted, shattering the fragile silence. Pain seared through her chest, sharp and unrelenting. Svetlana’s breath caught as her trembling hands moved to her blouse, where crimson bloomed like a flower of despair.

  Her gaze snapped to her husband. He stood frozen, the gun still in his hand, his face a mask of horror. His lips moved, but no sound reached her over the roaring in her ears.

  Then she saw it—a shadow shifting behind her husband, a figure cloaked in darkness. The man’s hand rested on Viktor’s, guiding the trigger, forcing the act. Realization struck her like another bullet. Viktor hadn’t betrayed her; he had been a puppet.

  The world spun, her legs giving way as her strength bled out with her life. The last thing she saw was Viktor lunging at the shadowed figure, his scream drowned by another shot. His body crumpled beside hers, lifeless, the light in his eyes extinguished.

  Darkness swallowed her whole.

  When she awoke, there was no pain—only a hollow numbness. She floated in an endless expanse of nothingness, weightless and disoriented. The void was vast and cold, its silence pressing against her mind. Her emotions, her identity, her very essence—all of it had been stripped away.

  Her thoughts flickered weakly, like a dying flame. What had she done to deserve this? Why had her life been stolen so cruelly, her body and soul torn from her without warning?

  The void did not answer. It simply was, indifferent and eternal.

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  Hello! My name is Anne the Great Witch, and I'm here to tie up some loose ends! At the end of each chapter of this story, you will find a little cutesy header indicating a random or related lore dropped in this section! xoxo