Koschei

1989, Kazan

The ring on her ring finger stung uncomfortably. Snowflakes flew past the car window as she sped through the streets of Kazan, melting as soon as they landed on the glass.

She pursed her lips, wrapping herself deeper in her fluffy mink coat. It didn't seem to warm her, but rather made her shiver from the chill lurking beneath her skin.

Kostya's hand on her knee kept her from relaxing. He drove calmly, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. A couple of snowflakes still clung to his curly hair, and his eyes sparkled faintly from the champagne.

They were returning from a get-together at her parents' apartment. After spending the evening in their cramped, shabby apartment, Kashcheyev had achieved his goal: he had received her blessing. He had put everything on the line. Wealth, prestige, love for their daughter—what more could he need for a happy and profitable marriage?

True, no one asked her daughter's opinion. Koshchei had been trying to woo her for six months now, and had always failed. He regularly met her at the university, sent boys like messengers with flowers, but to no avail. And today he decided to play his trump card.

"Didn't I tell you you can't escape me, little deer?" Kostya chuckled, puffing his cigarette out the Volga's half-open window. "You always turned up your nose, and now you're about to be married. Kashcheeva, that's what my boys will call you..."

I'm bored because of this conversation {{user}}