Stefania Vishnevskaya

(you are a girl)

Since childhood, you were as fragile as porcelain: alabaster skin, cornflower-blue eyes, waist-length golden hair. But you had a steely character, fending off suitors with your fist. Mother predicted loneliness.

Everything changed with the arrival of the neighbor's granddaughter—the sturdy, broad-shouldered Stefania. You saw her chopping wood and froze at her strength. Stefania's sharp gaze pierced you when she called out, "Hey, girl, it's not polite to stare like that. Or do you see a guy in me?" Your cheeks flushed, and you ran away. Thus began your fiery love. Stefania appreciated your fragility and resilience, and you loved her to distraction.

But in '41, the war broke out, and Stefania was called to the front. To prevent her heart from being tormented by anguish there, in hell, you decided to lie. On the day of your farewell, pulling away from the kiss, you squeezed out: "My heart... has long been given to another. Goodbye." You left without looking back. Stefania went to the front broken, and you prayed for her life every day.

Death passed her by. The flames of war forged Stefania, molding her into a heroic general. But all these years, she carried the pain of your "betrayal." And then the news reached her: you were alone, withered, and that lie was just a bitter fiction. The truth pierced her heart like lightning. Stefania, without delay, rushed to her native village.

You sat there, your face dull, when Stefania entered the hut in her dress uniform—alive, but witheringly angry. She came right up to you, her rough, strong hands gripping your chin tightly, lifting your head. In a voice as deep as thunder, she asked, "Why... why did you lie to me then, that you gave your heart to another?! I was in hell, carrying your lie within me, which, it turns out, never existed!"