a crack in the mirror and a bloodstain on the bed

by nickclose

Summary:

Svetlana sharing her room is enough to drive her to the point of distraction.

Notes:

• For sovietmayachine.
• Inspired by the ballad of krtek & cheburashka. by sovietmayachine

hii maya.. i literally love them so much i had to write something and then it got ummm. so out of hand 😭 it got away from me.. i hope you like it!!

Chapter 1: i.

Svetlana smells weird.

Specifically, her blood smells weird. It’s not like how Freddie’s smells sickly from a lack of nutrients, no, it’s something else. Something wrong.

Who is Florence to judge? She wouldn’t care, frankly, she probably wouldn’t even be able to tell, but they sleep in the same room. Svetlana is less than ten feet away from her all night, most nights, and it’s weird. When she first met her she almost recoiled just from how new and strange it was. It never really went away, either, it just faded into the background from how much time they spent in the same room.

No one else can tell, though. When Freddie met Svetlana, because he’s Florence’s best friend – of course he’d meet her roommate, she’d asked about it afterwards, and he said he hadn’t noticed a thing. It hadn’t taken a long time to connect the dots after that – Freddie could be unobservant, especially when he was focused on other things (like how Florence’s new roommate was a commie, which meant she must be there to spy on him and that something had to be done about it), but there was no way he wouldn’t notice this. He’s sensitive to stuff like that: bright lights, weird smells, bad textures. If he didn’t notice it, he couldn’t smell it. Florence knows why she can and he can’t, but she doesn’t like to think of it much.

---

Over the summer, she was walking back to the hotel room they were sharing, and someone attacked her. She doesn’t remember a lot of it, because she lost a lot of blood. All of it, actually. But she vividly remembers being taken down, pulled into an alley, and thinking that this was it. She was going to die, murdered by a random stranger because she stayed out too late and had the audacity to be a young Black woman walking home alone. The last thing she felt before losing consciousness was twin agonizing pinpricks in her neck and a feeling of fire in her veins.

She didn’t predict waking up a few hours later in that same alley, with blood on the ground all around her (her own, probably, she’d assumed), twin puncture wounds in her neck, and feeling so thirsty. Her mouth tasted like blood. When she’d felt at her neck, she had worried the holes were from needles, but the holes were too big. It was like what she imagined being bitten by a snake would be like, but obviously it wasn’t a snake. Why would someone use a snake to attack her when they’d already caught her by surprise and dragged her away? It didn’t make any sense.

Her throat was so dry. It didn’t make sense. She was so thirsty. She must have been drugged, because what else could it have been? Funny, though, she still had all her stuff, thank goodness, and it didn’t seem like she’d been otherwise harmed, aside from being sore from being knocked to the ground. She managed to drag herself to her feet, and felt sort of faint. She ached all over, and she had to brace herself on the wall of the alley to walk.

It took her a long time to get to the hotel room where she and Freddie were staying. She must have made quite a sight, in her professional skirt suit with her hair done absolutely dripping with her own blood. It was late enough that no one was really in the lobby to see her, but she saw the hotel staff staring at her, hands twitching towards the telephone on the front desk. She just got in the elevator, trying not to collapse. Once she got to their room, she tried to get her purse open, to get the room key, but her hands were too clumsy to get the door open, and she ended up just banging on the door until Freddie, irritated and exhausted looking, opened the door.

His expression changed immediately. “Oh, my god, Flo.”

She tried to throw herself into the room, but it felt like something stopped her, and she practically collapsed on the ground. “Can I… come in?”

“Jesus, yes, get in here. Did someone fucking drug you?”

He’d helped her into their room, and immediately bombarded her with questions while she got into the bathtub, still fully clothed. Freddie had wanted to know what happened (she wasn’t sure, she passed out), who did it (she didn’t see), whose blood it was (hers, obviously), and if she was followed back to the hotel (she didn’t know). It was hard to think, let alone answer all of his frantic questions. He figured that out eventually, and just sat on the tiled floor while she tried to rinse all the blood off of her.

It was hard, though, because she kept feeling like she was about to fall asleep, and the prospect of falling asleep and cracking her head open on the ceramic bathtub was not appealing at all. She’d been injured enough. She ended up humming a little song while she rinsed herself off, anything to stay awake. She didn’t know how much help it did, medically, but any port in a storm, right? Her pale purple blouse was ruined, her hair was sticky with blood, and she still felt so thirsty. It was so strange. She’d never felt that kind of thirst before, it felt like her whole body was absolutely parched.

Water didn’t help. It helped her raw throat, sure, but it didn’t help anything else. Once she got the blood off, or as much as she could, Freddie demanded to see her neck.

“There’s holes. Like snake fangs, or whatever. And there’s nothing anywhere else – it’s all from here? All the blood?”

She exhaled, trying to stay awake and alert as he poked at her neck gently. “I don’t really feel any cuts anywhere else that I noticed.”

“They must have got an artery… And you don’t think you got drugged or anything? Do you feel funny?”

“I don’t know… I feel kind of sick, but losing all that blood, it makes sense.”

“Shit, Flo, you should get someone to look at this.” He seriously did look concerned.

“No,” she snapped. “Not now. I just want to go to bed.”

“Let me just–” He disappeared into the hotel room, and returned with a blue band-aid. “You should put this on the cuts.”

Florence looked at him, and then at the band-aid, and then back at him, and then started giggling. It was so ridiculous. That little circle bandage, with blue polka dots, was supposed to help. Freddie started to laugh, too just because she was, and for a moment it was all so strange that it felt normal.

“I can put it on. It can’t make it any worse.” And she did, sticking it on over the wound.

Freddie nodded, seemingly satisfied by his role in this. She knew him well enough to know that he wanted to help but was completely out of his depth. So was she.

She ended up just in bed, trembling – from what, she didn't know – blood loss, probably, in her nightgown and with her Krtek plushie in hand. Freddie tried to stay up to watch her, but fell asleep before she did, somehow. She started drifting off soon after without any help, and there was that same sensation of burning in her veins as she felt when she was attacked for a moment. It terrified her completely. There was no way of her knowing what was happening to her – Freddie’s worrying about her having been drugged was getting to her. She doesn’t understand why someone would do that and just let her go without doing anything else to her or stealing her stuff. It didn’t mean it couldn’t happen, though. She didn’t feel like she’d been drugged, though. She was just really thirsty. And hungry.

Florence woke up again, about two hours later, at about four in the morning. She groaned, about to turn over and go back to sleep, before the excruciating pain in her gums hit her. It was like nothing she’d ever felt before, like knives were pushing out of her gums near her front teeth. Her canines, probably. She barely stopped herself from screaming and waking Freddie up, but scrambled out of bed and back into the bathroom, hunching over the sink. The pain just kept coming, and she didn’t know what to do to stop it. There wasn’t anything she could do. She eventually collapsed onto the floor, staring at the grout in between the tiles. It was turning brown from blood. Her blood. That was funny. The hotel would probably make them pay for that if it didn’t come out.

Eventually, after a while (she didn’t know how long – five minutes? an hour?), the pain faded. She went to run her tongue over her teeth, and it caught on something, something sharp. Florence shot up, holding onto the edge of the vanity.

She bared her teeth at the mirror, and nearly fainted. It was her in the mirror, of course. The same face, the same nightgown, the same eyes. But her teeth… her canines were longer, sharper-looking, too. It wouldn’t be super noticeable if they weren’t her teeth. She knew what they were supposed to look like, and this was not that. She tested one of them on her finger, and it hurt. It pierced the flesh of her finger, but no blood came out at all, even when she squeezed it. Strange.

In that moment, the thirst came back tenfold. She nearly screamed again, feeling like she was being ripped to pieces from the inside out. She was so thirsty.

She scrambled to turn the water on, cupping some in her hands and drinking it, and it just didn’t help. It felt like nothing. She groaned, and turned the water off, trudging back out of the bathroom and into their hotel room.

When she got back into the room, her eyes settled on Freddie. He was sound asleep, twisted up in blankets, breathing quietly. She could almost hear his heart beating, was that normal? Was it that quiet in the room? The sound of his heartbeat thrummed along with the hungry ache in her body. She tried to get back in her bed, but something about that heartbeat pulled her closer to him, until she was standing over him, looking down at him as he slept. This was weird. Florence knew it was weird.

She picked up his arm by the wrist, and stared at it. She could feel the blood humming through his veins, hot blood, living blood. She needed it. That thought terrified her, but before she could consider it, she raised his arm to her mouth and bit down.

Everything happened really fast at that moment. Freddie woke up and started yelling. His blood, aided by her newly-sharp teeth, flooded into her mouth. The thirst started to ebb away. That is, it did start to ebb away, but after swallowing a few mouthfuls of his blood, she spit it out and onto his shirt. It tasted bad, and thin, kind of like what she imagined spoiled skim milk would taste like. It should have tasted richer, and been thicker, probably.

“What the fuck? Why did you bite me?”

She heaved a breath, already feeling better, which was a crazy thought, but it was true. “Why does it taste so bad?”

“Because it’s my blood! Are you insane?”

“I– I don’t know. Oh, my god.”

He glared at her. “You have to explain this to me. Flo.”

“I don’t know why… I could smell your blood. And hear it. And I was so thirsty, and I couldn’t resist…”

Freddie dropped his head into his hands for a moment, shoulders heaving, and then looked up at her, and laughed, kind of hysterical. “So you’re a fucking vampire. That’s what this is. It’s vampire shit, I vant to suck your bloood. That.”

She giggled at his vampire impression, but it’s serious. “Vampires aren’t real.”

He raised an eyebrow at her, and brandished his arm. “Look at this. Look at your teeth!”

She bared her teeth again. He squinted at her before putting his glasses on. “Yeah, they’re weird. Oh, my god, the holes.”

Before she could reply, he got up, still kind of clutching his arm, and ripped off the band-aid on her neck. “Look!”

She felt at the holes, and he wasn’t wrong. It was similar to how vampire bites were shown in movies. But that was insane, that wasn’t real. No way she was a vampire.

But it made sense, in the back of her mind. The teeth, the hunger (which was only mildly sated by the small amount of blood she got from Freddie), the holes in her neck… What was she going to do? Drink people’s blood forever? She was vegetarian, sometimes vegan. That would be ridiculous. And Freddie’s blood tasted awful, so she had no idea where she would get it from. Would she make everyone she took blood from into vampires, too?

“Freddie. Do you feel… dry? Like it’s burning?”

“Uh, what?”

“Like there’s no blood left in you.”

“No? You only took some. Which the hotel is going to be really mad about, by the way.”

“Not like I chose to get attacked by a vampire.” She poked at her teeth again. Definitely sharper, and more pointy.

“You are a vampire.”

“Not by choice!”

“Can you go in the sun? Can you eat garlic?”

She glared at him. “How should I know? I have bigger worries than garlic, anyway.”

“You can’t drink my blood anymore.” It was like he read her mind. “That’s gross, and I don’t want you to turn me into a freaky vampire too.”

“I don’t want your blood, it tastes weird. We should get you some vitamins or something. But yes, I am worried about that.”

“Blood bank?”

She shuddered. “It would be all cold.”

“Well, what are you going to do?” Freddie laid back on his bed, taking his glasses off. “You can’t just attack people and drink them.”

“I don’t know. I’ll figure it out. I really want to sleep.” What Florence actually wanted was blood. She was thirsty, still, but she couldn’t go back out at this hour and Freddie’s blood was gross, so she’d have to figure it out later, in the morning.

If she could even go outside without burning up.

It turned out that she could. Garlic made her feel sick now, she needed to wear sunglasses when it was sunny, and crosses seemingly did nothing to repel her when Freddie got a little one to test it. She could still eat food, and drink water, but it didn’t really seem to do anything. The bite marks scarred, too, which she didn’t expect. They were small enough to hide pretty easily, though, so that was good. She also couldn’t see her reflection anymore, which was a pity, since her lips were never getting enough blood, so they were always pale and she had to wear lipstick. That, she had to rely on Freddie for. He’d tell her if it was applied correctly.

The main issue was how she would even get blood to survive, since she was absolutely certain she would die without it, and that got figured out eventually. Florence had to settle for blood bank blood, which wasn’t what she wanted at all, really, since it was cold and didn’t taste very fresh, but it was certainly better than starving or having to drink Freddie’s blood, although she imagined it might taste better now that he was taking vitamins more often. It worked out fine enough. It was enough to survive, and there was basically no security at the blood bank. She only felt a little bit bad about it — after all, it was for people who would die without it, but she would die without it, too, so she also had the right to take some.

It wasn’t like she was taking a whole person’s worth of it. The person who turned her into a vampire must have done it on purpose, she assumed, since she never got so thirsty that she wanted to drain an entire person. That was how someone got turned, she assumed, since that’s what happened to her. It was weird, but she couldn’t dwell on it too much. Florence had to worry about university, and chess, since she was Freddie’s chess second.

No one seemed to notice her teeth, which shocked her. Maybe the difference was smaller than she thought it was, or maybe people just didn’t look at her mouth all that often. Freddie had noticed pretty fast. The only person who did actually notice something had changed, her advisor, asked her if she had gotten braces over the summer. She hadn’t had braces ever, but she knew it didn’t work that fast. Maybe people were just seeing what they wanted to see. Florence didn’t know. It was all new to her, and with getting a new roommate for the year on top of that, it made her nervous.

---

Florence still hasn’t gotten used to how heightened her sense of smell has become. It’s been a major adjustment, especially since she lives in the college dorms. There are so many people around all the time, and it can get overwhelming very quickly. That, combined with Svetlana (quiet, scarred all over, Russian exchange student, disappears for several days at a time every month) sharing her room, is enough to drive her to the point of distraction.

When Svetlana first arrived, it was overpowering, but she didn’t seem to notice Florence’s reaction.

“I’m sorry to hear about your other roommate.” Her voice is quiet, relaxed, with an accent. Obviously. This is the international student floor, and Svetlana is Russian.

She’s also tall, and very fair, and strong-looking, and absolutely covered in scars. Florence tries not to stare, since it’s very rude to stare at someone’s scars, and succeeds, because she’s polite. She’s also distracted by her smell. It’s weird, like an animal or something. Maybe Svetlana had a cat or a dog back home in Russia.

“She was homesick.”

Svetlana nods. “That’s understandable. I hope she feels better once she’s home. It’s nice to meet you.”

“Yes, it’s nice to meet you too.”

Svetlana puts down her suitcase and busies herself getting her side of the room set up. Florence stares a little, because her back is turned and she’s curious. Svetlana’s back is even more scarred than her face. It’s like something attacked her.

All Svetlana has here is in that one suitcase, Florence realizes as she watches her put her sheets on her bed. It’s something they can bond over, maybe.

After Svetlana finishes setting up her side of the room, which she does quicker than Florence imagined was possible, she sits on her bed and looks over at Florence. “I’m here because I’m studying English. It’s better to learn in an immersive environment, I’ve heard. They told me you’re studying Russian.”

“Yes, I am.” Among other things.

“And you like it?” She’s switched to Russian now.

“I do.” Florence leaves it at that. Svetlana doesn’t seem to mind, but the silence gets awkward. She switches back to English. “My friend Freddie might be over kind of a lot. I can tell him to come when you’re not here if you’d prefer.”

She shakes her head. “I don’t mind.”

“Okay.” Florence smiles, and it’s genuine. That’s weird, too.

It doesn’t help that Svetlana looks the way that she does. She’s attractive, despite what Florence wants to convince herself of. She has shorter blonde hair, with dark brown eyes, and is pale enough that the freckles on her face stand out, as do her scars. Florence doesn’t know what could have happened to her where she has so many, and they’re all so deep… it looks like claws took whole chunks out of her flesh, and nowhere that Florence has seen was spared. Her face, even, is marred by clawed scars on her cheek and chin. She must have been attacked by some sort of animal. That’s the only explanation. Despite how intense they are, and in some places they’re very intense – it looks like they were gouged into her back, she doesn’t seem very ashamed of the scars. Florence admires that. It must take a lot of confidence for her to not hide them all the time. She certainly attracts looks existing in the world the way she does.

Florence likes to think she’s heterosexual, but it’s university. That’s the time to experiment. She has experimented. It’s different when it’s a crush, though. That means she’s the one who wants it.

Svetlana doesn’t seem particularly inclined either way. She’s obviously a lesbian, Florence could tell that from the moment she met her. She can’t tell if she’s interested in her, though. Sometimes she catches her looking at her, but she looks away if Florence catches her. It’s awkward, since they live together.

Svetlana is a good roommate, though. She’s quiet, and doesn’t seem to mind that Florence has Freddie around a lot. (She doesn’t seem to like Freddie much, however, and the feeling is apparently very mutual.) She has nightmares, and Florence isn’t surprised, considering where she’s from and that she’s an orphan. Doesn’t everyone have nightmares, anyway? Florence has her own, which the attack is now sometimes incorporated into. Lucky her.

There’s also the issue of the disappearances. Svetlana, every month or so, disappears for about three days.

Florence hasn’t asked about it. It’s not her business, after all, and Svetlana clearly doesn’t want to talk about it. She comes back after those days looking exhausted, but otherwise she seems fine, so it’s not like she’s going anywhere dangerous. Probably. It’s not something Florence should be worrying about, and yet…

Freddie doesn’t trust her, though.

“It’s weird! Why does she go away?” He sits on Florence’s bed, next to her.

Svetlana has been gone for about a day and a half. Florence doesn’t expect her back for at least a day, maybe more. It’s been several months of this, it’s December now. She’s used to it by now. Freddie, on the other hand, is always suspicious of anything Svetlana does.

“I don’t know. Maybe she has family or something.”

“Or maybe she’s reporting to her KGB overlords.”

“God, Freddie, are you taking your pills?”

He glares at her. “I am being rational. She’s a Russian, she won’t tell you anything about where she’s from or why she’s here, and on top of that, she completely disappears for multiple days at a time every month! Maybe she’s telling them about the… you know. The thing.”

She looks at him blankly. “The thing.”

Freddie gestures at her neck. “Yeah, the thing. The vampire thing.”

Ohh. “How would she even know about that?”

“I don’t know. Do you ever come home with blood on your fangs?” He grins.

Florence whacks him lightly. She’s stronger now that she’s a vampire, so she has to do it extra-lightly so she doesn’t hurt him. “You know I’m not a messy eater. Seriously, she doesn’t know.”

“She might, and if she tells the KGB, which she would ‘cause she works for them, then they’ll try to take you and study you or whatever.”

“That’s not going to happen, because she isn’t KGB, she’s just Russian. And, she doesn’t know! No one does, except you!” Her outburst feels good for about a second before she looks at him again.

He frowns. “I just want to protect you, Flo.”

“I know. Look, I have homework to do. Please take your pills if you haven’t, and get some rest, okay? Chess will be there in the morning.”

Freddie cracks a small smile. “Oh, but what if it disappears…”

Florence rolls her eyes, and he laughs as he leaves, and then she’s alone in her room. She really would love to know where Svetlana goes, but she doesn’t think she’ll find out. Svetlana is a very private person. The idea of her sharing that information with Florence, who is merely her roommate, is silly. It wouldn’t happen.

---

Winter break comes and goes. Svetlana goes home for the break, which Florence didn’t think would happen, since she said she had no family. Part of her had been looking forward to Svetlana being there over the break, but that was selfish of her. Of course she had some people to see back home in Russia. Extended family, that was what she said. Freddie is certainly happy she’s not there. It annoys her, but she can’t do anything about it. She can’t go to bat for her roommate over her best friend. All it would do is cause problems.

Svetlana returns, though, even though part of Florence was worried she wouldn’t. She comes back with her hair cut even shorter, like a man, and it suits her even more than the harsh bob did. Florence thinks she sees bruises on her back that weren’t there before, but Svetlana doesn’t wear tank tops as often in the winter, so she doesn’t get the chance to see. She’s so handsome now, though, even more than she was before, which Florence hadn’t thought was possible.

They go on a hiking trip with other international students together. It’s at a national park, which is nice, and they share a room. Svetlana brought vodka, and they split the bottle. Florence needs a lot more alcohol to get drunk now than she did before she became a vampire. Blood from someone drunk would probably do the job better, but even when she was human (how weird!), her tolerance was insanely high. Svetlana doesn’t seem to be drunk, either. Maybe tipsy, but she handles her alcohol very well.

It’s just them in that cabin, with only one little window over the door. Florence can see the moon — waxing, close to full — in the window, and the stars. There’s so many more stars in nature. In this moment, it feels like it’s just the two of them, two girls alone in a room, alone in the world. It makes Florence feel very human, sitting and talking with Svetlana. Svetlana has a nice voice, too, it’s smooth and low and accented. Florence likes to hear her talk. That’s surprising.

One thing leads to another, and then they’re kissing. Florence has to be so careful, because she has her fangs right there in Svetlana’s face, and she wouldn’t forgive herself if she hurt her. Svetlana doesn’t seem to have those reservations, but she’s so gentle. She’s just gentle in general, it seems. It’s interesting, she’s so strong, and yet…

Svetlana is so warm. It’s strange. She helps Florence out of her nightgown, Florence takes her tank top off for her, and… matters progress. Florence can still smell her blood, she can smell it even better, actually, and it still smells wrong. She’s distracted, though. Svetlana is very distracting.

After, they drift outside together, into the cool night air. The moon is huge, nearly full, and beautiful. Svetlana stares at it, but doesn’t say anything. Florence doesn’t, either. It’s just nice to enjoy the moment. It’s even nicer when Svetlana puts an arm around her.

What isn’t anywhere nearly as nice is Svetlana disappearing for four days when they get back to university. Florence is certain it’s just one of her normal disappearances, but it feels like she did something wrong – like she drove her away, somehow. Freddie is, of course, pissed at Svetlana for making her upset, but Florence knows it isn’t Svetlana’s fault. How could it be? Still, he doesn’t believe it.

“I know she’s hiding something.”

“Everyone is hiding something, Freddie.”

“Yeah, but especially her! Why is she sleeping with you and then mysteriously disappearing? You have to admit it’s awfully convenient. Maybe this was her plan all along.”

She glares at him. “Her plan to do what?”

“I don’t know, but it’s something. I don’t trust her at all. Why is she just getting here as a junior?”

“She’s an exchange student. Have you taken your pills?”

“Yes, I have,” he snaps. “I hate when you do this.”

“I hate when you make up paranoid things about Svetlana just because she’s Russian.”

He glares. “The disappearances are a little too convenient for my liking.”

Florence laughs. “Christ, Freddie. Can’t you be normal?”

He’s about to retort with something nasty, she’s sure, when the door to the room swings open, and in comes Svetlana. She’s limping, slightly, and her shirt collar has a hole in it. She seems surprised to see the both of them, and she looks utterly exhausted.

“Oh. Hello.”

“What the hell happened to you?” Freddie blurts out. Florence takes a deep breath and wishes she were anywhere else in the world.

“I was visiting people, and I fell onto a rock when I got off the bus.” This is an extremely obvious lie. It’s clear she had been banking on them not being there when she arrived home.

Florence can smell her blood.

“Do the people you were seeing have a dog?” She can’t help but ask.

Svetlana freezes for a millisecond. “Yes, they do. Two of them.”

“Likely story,” Freddie mutters.

“If you don’t mind, I’m very tired, and I would like to go to bed. You don’t have to leave on my account, but…” She trails off. Her implication is clear: stop asking questions.

He glares at her. “No, I’ll go. Bye, Flo. See you.”

“Goodbye,” Florence replies faintly.

Now it’s just her and Svetlana. She wants to ask, she wants to know why Svetlana left and where she went and if it was because of her, but Svetlana is undoing her bed, businesslike, and studiously ignoring her.

“Sveta?”

“Yes?” She looks up.

“When you left… it wasn’t because of what happened. Right?”

Svetlana pauses, clearly caught off guard. Florence tries not to cry. The last time she cried a lot, some of it was blood.

“No. No, it wasn’t. I’m sorry if I…” She gestures vaguely. “It wasn’t because of you. I liked it a lot. I like you a lot.”

“Oh,” Florence replies. She doesn’t know what else to say.

“Can we have a do-over?” Svetlana looks so vulnerable. How could she say no? She wants that, too.

“Of course, Sveta.”

She crosses the distance between them and kisses Florence. “I’ve been wanting to do this for a while.”

“So have I.” Florence smiles, and pulls her back in. It’s odd – with Svetlana she feels so normal.

---

Svetlana has not felt safe very often in her life.

Maybe, when she was little, she did. Before her parents died, before the orphanage, before Sasha, but now, she never does. Almost never.

With Florence, that’s completely different. She finds herself actually liking her, despite the reason she’s her roommate in the first place. The reason she’s even in America, pretending to be an English student, pretending to like normal things like hiking and music and American novels. But, despite herself, this “mission” to figure out what’s going on with Florence – why she’s in CIA files – she finds herself actually meaning some of the things she does and says. That’s bad practice, as Sasha would say. Bringing real emotions into her job is not a good idea.

So she tries to refrain.

But Florence is so earnest, and so perceptive, it’s hard to hide things from her. There’s also something distinctly off about her. Svetlana can’t say what, but it’s different. She can’t hear her heartbeat. She’s the only person whose heart she can’t hear beating. In a way, it’s a comfort. Svetlana has very good hearing, and that amount of noise can get very overwhelming, at times. Sasha had to teach her how to deal with it, as he had to teach her how to deal with so many other things. This silence, though, not being able to listen to Florence’s heart at night, it unsettles her. Something is wrong.

---

Every full moon since Svetlana was sixteen has seen her transformed.

It’s hard for her to remember exactly what happened. She went on hunting trips with Sasha often after her birthday, since he thought she needed to get used to killing. She was getting better at not vomiting afterwards, but it was hard. She hated seeing animals bleed out.

That night, the moon was so big in the sky, and it was so clear. She was walking in front of him, and he was walking behind her. He had both of their guns. It was freezing outside, of course it was – it was winter, and her jacket wasn’t doing enough to keep the cold from cutting straight through her. She’d put on some muscle since she left the orphanage, but not enough yet to be warm. He’d directed her to just keep walking until she saw something, and he’d be right behind her. And how could she doubt him? He never lied to her, or if he did it was because he needed to. She trusted him implicitly.

His footsteps stopped. She could hear the snow stop crunching, but he didn’t tell her to stop, so she kept walking. She walked, and walked, it must have been for at least twenty minutes. She felt very alone, all of a sudden. Alone, and afraid, and she wanted to turn around and run back to him. But Svetlana was not a child, so she kept walking. The woods she was in seemed to take on a scary, dark appearance, like a nightmare she’d have had as a child. She wanted with everything in her to turn around, but every time she imagined Sasha’s disapproving face and the inevitable pain of whatever punishment he’d inflict, she kept walking.

When she stopped, finally, because she didn’t know what else to do, she heard a growling noise. It was coming from behind her, and she froze. It could be a wolf, or a bear, or anything. She couldn’t help herself, though. She turned around. She wished she had her gun, but what would that really do against a bear, if that was what it was?

It wasn’t. Not at all. She wasn’t sure what it was, actually. A lot of it was still obscured by the dark of the woods, but it looked to her like a wolf, but a lot bigger. Probably bigger than a person. Bigger than Sasha, for sure. It prowled towards her, and she backed up, slowly, until her back hit a tree. In that moment, she was absolutely certain she was going to die.

The thing in front of her pounced on her, and she noticed its claws as it moved through the air towards her. It didn’t look like normal wolf paws. These were more articulate, like human hands. That was the last coherent thought she formed for a while.

It tore into her with its claws, ripping her clothes and then her flesh. She wasn’t sure when she stopped screaming. It must have been when her throat gave out, because the thing tearing at her didn’t seem to care at all if she was screaming. It took out whole hunks of her back, and her legs, and her arms, and clawed at her face, ripping so far into her cheek its claws got into her mouth and scraped her tongue. It almost clawed one of her eyes out, it would have if she hadn’t ducked her head so it hit her scalp instead. She could see the bone of her thigh, and that was almost enough to make her pass out. Almost. She didn’t seem to be able to, not while that thing was ripping her apart. She wanted more than anything to pass out, or to die, anything to stop it from hurting. The cold snow stung at her as the creature bit into her arm, and then was biting her all over, even taking out chunks of flesh as it did. She was aware for all of it, even though she didn’t want to be. She wished it would just kill her and put her out of her misery instead of this slow death it was inflicting. Everything hurt. She could hardly breathe, that was how much it hurt, and she knew she would die soon.

The thing bit her one last time, on the inside of her elbow, and blood absolutely gushed out onto the snow as it let her go. She was surrounded by her own blood, she realized. It was so much. She felt like all of her blood was there, soaking into the snow, and she had nothing left in her. That couldn’t be the case, but it felt that way. The thing got up, and ran away back from where it came in the woods. She watched it go until it was gone, shivering and trying not to cry. When the pain fully hit, she started screaming again, so loudly she knew Sasha would hear. He must. He’d come and get her and save her, wrap her all up in bandages until she was clean again.

Time passed. He didn’t come. Svetlana started to feel like there was acid in her veins. Maybe it was something in the creature’s saliva, like how mosquitos make you itch. She couldn’t tell, didn’t know, all she knew is that it was excruciating. She didn’t have any tears left and she couldn’t scream. Her throat was too raw for that. All she could do was whimper and try to stay warm even though her coat was absolutely destroyed. She felt destroyed. It was sickening, she felt like she was going to throw up, and as soon as she thought that, she started vomiting into the snow next to her. She threw up until there was absolutely nothing left, she felt hollowed out and empty.

It was weird, though. She wasn’t actually that cold. That was something she didn’t register until later on, but with her clothes torn and lying in the snow, she wasn’t that cold. She was cool, but not freezing. Her insides felt very warm, actually, which seemed to go against what blood loss would dictate. The acidity in her veins didn’t die down at all, though. If anything, it intensified. All she could do was hope she’d die soon or Sasha would find her. The former seemed more likely, at that point.

She never should have doubted him. Sasha was there hours later. When she was bleeding and crying and clutching at her wounds, he was suddenly there, emerging from the dark woods, and she cried out weakly. He, the picture of responsibility, sprinted over to her, removing his own coat as he did.

“Svetka, what has happened to you? Where did you go?” He wrapped the coat, much too big for her, around her, helping her to sit up slightly. “Didn’t you hear me calling you?”

She tried to reply, but her throat failed her and all she could do was make a strangled wailing sound. He looked around her, at the blood and the torn fabric and the vomit on the snow, and then back at her. “Oh, Svetka. Let me get you out of here. These cuts… My God.”

She’d never heard him say anything religious-sounding before. It was a strange thing to latch onto, but it was what she thought about as he lifted her into his arms like it was nothing. He carried her out of the woods, occasionally looking down at her, face scrunching up like he was the one in pain, not her. It was funny, though. The pain had dulled when he got there. Maybe it was because she had something else to focus on.

He put her in the backseat of the car he’d used to drive them there, and drove them, not to a hospital, but to a safehouse. She’d been there before, but never for real reasons. It was usually to show her what they had there or where it was. Now she was finally getting use out of it, she thought to herself deliriously.

“What has happened to you?” Sasha repeated, tilting her face up so he could look at the massive gash in her cheek. “What did this? A bear?”

“A big wolf,” she replied. Oh, so she could speak now.

“A big wolf, huh?” He shook his head. “I will help you clean it up and stitch them. I don’t understand why you left your gun.”

“You had my gun,” she replied, and immediately realized it was the wrong thing to say.

“No, I didn’t, you silly thing. You dropped it. Don’t you remember? Please don’t speak. It will make this harder for me to clean.”

Sasha wiped the blood off of her, taking great care to keep the water warm, and then sterilized a needle and began to sew her wounds closed.

“Please don’t move around.” That was all he had to say as he sewed the gashes up. There were more than she expected, and it took all she had in her to not scream the whole time. It hurt almost worse than receiving the wounds did, and she was gripping the gauze she had in her hands so tightly it started to rip.

He looked over his handiwork once he’d finished sewing her wounds. “It’s going to scar. All of it.”

“Oh.”

“You’re not vain, though, are you?” He raised an eyebrow.

She shook her head.

“Good. I have to cut your hair.”

“Why?” was all she was able to get out.

He got up and came back with a mirror. “Look at it.”

She did. Her lovely blonde hair that had framed her face so nicely was jaggedly cut and had bits chunked out below her jawline. She also caught a glimpse of her face in the mirror, and she nearly fainted. There were stitched wounds all over it, with the one particularly deep one on her cheek. She’d never particularly cared for having long hair, she honestly found it to be difficult to maintain, but for some reason the idea of having to cut it off because of this made her start crying again.

“Oh, don’t cry. Please.” Sasha looked slightly annoyed at her, which made her cry harder. She was heaving sobs, and buried her face in her hands.

He went to put a reassuring hand on her back, but then seemingly reconsidered and pulled away. “Let me get you some new clothes and you can sleep. When you wake up, we’ll be revisiting this.”

He brought her pajamas, which were much too large for her, but she was grateful anyway. She was so tired. The adrenaline had worn off and now all she wanted was to sleep. There wasn’t a bed, but there was a thin mattress in the corner, which Sasha insisted she take. He took the couch.

Her dreams didn’t give her much of a respite. She dreamed of being ripped apart again, but this time from the inside out. It hurt like nothing else hurt before in her life, even being attacked. It was like she was being turned inside out and torn apart in the process, and then put back together in a grotesquely wrong way. She couldn’t see her body, but she could feel the bristles of hair covering her all over, even her face, as she grasped at it, screaming. It was excruciating to feel the bones in her face shift under her skin, reorganizing themselves in a way that made her feel sick. Her teeth forced themselves farther out of her gums, curving and cutting at her mouth and tongue.

When she looked down at her hands, they were the same as the claws that attacked her.

She woke up screaming. Apparently, she’d been thrashing around in her sleep, because Sasha was getting up groggily when she turned to look at him. She looked at her hands frantically, but they looked normal. There were stitches, and pale freckles, and her nails are normal. No fur or claws at all. She felt at her teeth, but those were normal, too.

“Svetka…” Sasha was standing next to her mattress with a glass of water.

She realized she was hyperventilating when she tried to thank him and couldn’t get words out. She braced her hands on her legs and tried to take deep breaths until she could speak. “Thank you. I’m sorry.”

“Just have your water. We’ll have to be going soon.”

She sat drinking her water while he started to clean up, watching him organize everything away into drawers and a garbage bag. She hoped one day to be as good at her job as he was, but she knew she’d never achieve that. He was perfect and she was flawed.

“You can’t go back with your hair like that.” Svetlana looked up from her empty glass and saw him with the scissors again.

“Okay.” She wasn’t as hysterical as last night. She’d be calm. It was fine.

“Frankly, a bob might suit you, but I wouldn’t know. If you need, you can get it fixed when we get back.”

She let him cut off her long blonde locks, and it was so odd to have her head feel so light. She didn’t hate it, but it was weird, certainly. When he’s done, he showed her in the little mirror and she stared at herself, with a severe bob at her chin and stitches all over her face. She felt like she was a completely different person now.

No one asked about the scars. They knew better than to bother her by that point.

The next month, right around the full moon, Sasha took her hunting again, promising he’d stay with her the entire time.

She’d been craving raw meat since the experience. It was strange. Sasha said it was from trauma, but she didn’t think so. They got to a clearing, and the snow was bright under the light of the moon, full and massive in the sky. Sasha stayed by the edge, but gestured for her to enter after taking her jacket from her. She wasn’t one to disobey. She went, and stood in the middle of the clearing.

Nothing happened for a moment. She could hardly feel the cold, which was funny. She never used to be this warm.

It was as she thought that that she felt an excruciating pain in her chest. It was like her ribs were twisting and elongating inside her, all of her bones were. It was like her dream, but this was real. She knew it was real. As her bones grew, her skin stretched to accommodate it, all the while fur started to sprout from her skin all over. Her body twisted and distorted and she tried to turn to look at Sasha, because why wasn’t he doing anything? But as she did she fell down, unable to control her unfamiliar limbs as she grew and burst through her clothes. Her blood felt hot, so hot it hurt. Everything hurt. She couldn’t feel the wounds that were beginning to scar because everything else hurt so much that it drowned it out.

Once the pain ebbed away, she had to stop writhing in the snow to breathe. As she did, she noticed her hands were like claws, and covered in fur, just like in the dream. She screamed, or tried to, because all she could get out was a howl. She scrambled to her feet, staring at Sasha, who was watching her coolly from the edge of the clearing. He didn’t seem at all concerned with her state, which made her feel worse. It was hard to process her emotions when she was like this, apparently. Hard to think.

She ran towards him (on four legs!) and he held up a hand, stopping her in her tracks before she could hurt him, accidentally or otherwise. (She’d never hurt him. Never.) She stared at him as he studied her, looking over her new, transformed form. He circled her, looking over her wolflike (because that was all it could be) form, and once he got back to facing her, took one of her hands in his. He closely studied it, her claws, the fur, the pads. Svetlana had a sickening feeling that this was exactly what he wanted, but that couldn’t be possible. He’d never want her to be harmed, unless it was for her own good.

He eventually let go of her hand, and began turning away and walking casually in the other direction. She wanted to protest, but she couldn’t form words. All she could do was whine or howl. She watched him go.

Sasha didn’t return for two days. He’d left her coat and new clothes, but aside from that, it was just her, alone, in the woods. She was so hungry, and ended up chasing down rabbits and eating them whole. It was terrifying, but she couldn’t do anything about it. She ended up burrowing into the snow and hoping that he’d come back. Soon, soon, soon…

Once he returned, she’d been human again for half an hour, and had managed to get herself into her new clothes and the coat. There was a big, long, cut down her back, she could feel it bleeding. It must have been from when she transformed. Sasha, seeing her, gathered her into his arms before helping her walk back to the car. He didn’t have to explain what was going on. She knew.

The same thing happened every month after that. She felt lucky that Sasha was able to take her somewhere remote every time, because if the other students saw her, she didn’t know what would happen. She was a monster, she was sure of that. Even when she wasn’t transformed, she was always aware of it. It would never leave her, no matter what she did. She was certain – she was forever changed, ruined, and nothing could change that. She’d never be fully human again.

---

She supposes it has come with some advantages, like her hearing and sense of smell. She’s also much, much stronger now, and doesn’t get cold as easily. But if not for the fact that this is what Sasha wanted, she’d wish every day to be normal again.

It doesn’t help that Florence’s friend seems to be on to her. He looks at her funny, and she can hear his heartbeat speed up when she’s around. And the fact that he actually had the gall to ask where she’d been… it scares her. What if he finds out? Freddie doesn’t seem like the type of guy to keep it to himself, and if he told Florence, which Svetlana is sure he would, her whole mission here would be for naught.

It’s very strange, though. If Svetlana didn’t see Florence walking and talking every day, she’d have thought she was dead. She can’t hear her breathing or her heartbeat. Now that she’s romantically involved with her, it’s even more obvious. Something is wrong with her. Svetlana has hinted about her seeing the doctor, but Florence always immediately shuts that down. It really makes her think…

Her job, of course, is to collect information on Florence. She’s gotten good at fucking information out of people, but with Florence it is harder. She’s too guarded to divulge information like the kind that Svetlana wants after sleeping together once or twice. So, despite her mission, she’s found herself in a pseudo-romantic relationship with her.

Despite herself, she’s developing feelings for her. How could she not? They spend so much time together, and Florence is wonderful. She’s so interesting, and smart, and beautiful. She doesn’t seem to be disgusted by Svetlana’s scars. Actually, she’s very sweet about them. She runs her fingers across them, kisses them, and Svetlana feels loved. That’s when she knows she’s failing at her mission. She doesn’t need love, not from Florence. She doesn’t deserve it. She can’t help but enjoy it, though.

---

Freddie knows. She knows he knows, and he knows she knows he knows.

It’s near the end of the term. Svetlana is dreading going back home for the summer, away from Florence, but it’s the longest time she’s ever gone without seeing Sasha since she was fourteen and she misses him. She’s afraid of coming home with no new information, but she can’t do anything about it. If she didn’t know Florence was involved in CIA activities from the files Sasha showed her, she’d have never guessed it. She’s doubting it even now, and hates herself for doubting it.

Something was worked out with her instructors at the beginning of the semester so she’d be able to leave for three or four days a month. She didn’t do it, one of their contacts in the States did, but she’s grateful for it. Her transformation will not be stopped by being on a different continent. If anything, it’s worse. So, once a month she takes the bus up to the same national park that she and Flo went to together and lets herself run free in the woods. She's gotten better at controlling herself over the years, and she’s better at preparing for it (bringing new clothes with, a cooler of raw meat, things like that), but the transformation is as agonizing as it was the first time. The perpetual cut down her spine barely starts to heal before being split open again every time she transforms. It has, somehow, become routine.

Once she’s in the park, alone, she does what she usually does: she sits, waiting for the moon to come out. Through it all, the moon is always there. And, once it does, she scrambles to get out of her clothes so she doesn’t ruin them. It’s only a second after she gets them neatly folded and into her bag that she feels herself starting to change.

She absolutely screams, and her body shifts and contorts. While it is routine, it is still extremely painful.

The three days that follow blur together. Most of the time is spent running and chasing animals, and some of it is spent sleeping in a hole she dug with her claws. She’s grateful no one is there to see it.

This time, though, her new clothes and coat disappear at some point. She’s forced to, once she turns back into herself, put on her old clothes, which are stained from the blood of the raw meat she ate. The tank top does nothing to hide the fresh wound splitting her back open. All that’s left to do is hike back to the bus stop and hope she doesn’t see anyone she knows.

She’s not that lucky. Freddie is there at the bus stop, apparently waiting for a different bus, but when he sees her, his eyes narrow.

“Is that blood?”

She just smiles. She knows he knows, but Florence will never believe him, and both of them know that.

“What the fuck happened to your back?” This, she did not anticipate. She damns herself for somehow losing her coat.

Her voice is rough from disuse. “Nothing.”

“It’s cut up. What the hell?”

She shakes her head, and says nothing. He glares. “I know your secret, okay? I know that you’re some sort of KGB monster.”

It’s funny how he knows the truth and no one believes him, so she laughs. Her throat is raw.

She leaves him there to wait for whatever bus he’s going to take, knowing he can’t do anything about it. Florence will never believe him.

---

The less said about her summer, the better.

Most of it is spent training. She doesn’t see Sasha until the end, right before she’s slated to go back to America for her final year.

He’s disappointed in her. How could he not be? She hasn’t collected any of the information she needed to. Part of her was getting used to being a college student. She felt normal with Florence.

She should have known better. Sasha reminds her of that with lashes to the back. She didn’t even have to tell him about her thoughts, he just seemed to know.

He leans down over her prone body to whisper in your ear: “I know you can do better. You must do better.”

After, he leaves her alone on the floor to recover. This is what she deserves.

The other Svetlana, her least favorite one, Svetochka, says something to her she has a hard time hearing over the sound of her and her own heartbeat, and presses a syringe into her hand. An antidote, she says. Svetlana can make that much out. She doesn’t have to be told twice. She’ll keep it with her.

It is a pity that the full moon is right before her flight. The flight to America is uncomfortable, since she has a gash down her back on top of the ones given to her by Sasha. She can’t sleep at all.

Florence looks absolutely sick when she sees her. The gash in her back reopened on the plane, soaking through her white coat, and she’s so tired that she nearly collapses when she gets to the terminal. Florence is holding flowers, lots of them, beautiful white roses and daisies, and she had been smiling before she saw Svetlana. She isn’t smiling anymore. She looks like she might faint, but she stays standing.

Svetlana tries to smile back at her. She can’t. It hurts too much.

---

For Svetlana, most of their first semester passes in a blur. She knows Florence wants more from her, but she’s afraid to give it to her. She’s afraid of becoming too dependent on her and straying from her mission.

Svetlana gets lazy. She knows when the full moons are, but she isn’t focused enough on tracking them that she misses the fact that there’s a blue moon in November. She’d been so confident that the first one was the only one, and then…

It’s fall break. Florence stayed behind instead of accompanying Freddie abroad for chess. She spends a lot of time studying for finals in the library, which makes Svetlana feel guilty. She wishes she was more for Florence. She really should be. Every time she sees Florence try to reach out and come back disappointed when she pulls away, it’s like being stabbed. But she can’t keep doing this. She needs the information from her, not romance.

It’s late. Florence is in the library, or at least that’s what she told her she was doing. Svetlana is alone in their room, and the thermostat is acting up, so she can’t turn down the heat.

She goes to open the window, and her heart nearly stops.

A big, full moon is looking down at her from the sky. Her breath catches in her throat.

She’s not ready for it, but it still happens. She starts to shift and contort, clothes ripping off and back hunching. This is the worst possible scenario. She won’t be able to turn the doorknob. Once she’s fully changed, she’ll be stuck there. Florence will see her.

Her claws rip into the carpet as she’s gripping it, and she quickly pulls her hands away. There’s nothing she can do, nothing at all. The blood from her back has stained her white bedsheets.

She doesn’t have food here, let alone meat. She can’t get out. The window isn’t open, and the door would be nearly-impossible to open without human thumbs, especially since her claws are so long. She thrashes on the ground, and accidentally bites her own tongue with her longer, sharper, curved teeth. Her mouth fills with blood, her own blood, and she chokes, and it runs down her muzzle. She’s as uncoordinated as she was the first time she transformed.

She can hear footsteps in the hall. Florence’s footsteps. She can tell, she can recognize her gait. That’s one good thing about having that good of hearing.

Svetlana is absolutely terrified. There isn’t anywhere for her to hide herself, and even if there was, it’s impossible for her to hide the blood staining her sheets and the rips in the carpet. She can hear Florence fumbling for her keys. Something smells funny, like blood. She tries to force herself into a corner, but she knows she’ll still be immediately visible.

“Svetka?” Oh, no.

She can’t reply. Her throat won’t let her.

“Are you there?”

After a pause, she hears the keys turning in the lock, and the door opens.

Florence stands in the doorway. She immediately goes to wipe her face, but Svetlana sees it. There’s blood dripping down her chin, from her mouth. Her mouth, which has teeth covered in blood, and she’d never noticed before but Florence’s canines are sharper than any Svetlana has seen before.

Florence stares at her, open mouthed, in shock. Svetlana stares back.

---

Florence looks down at the thing cowering in the corner of her room. It looks like a wolf, but bigger, and more human-like. She can see its eyes go to her chin, and she instinctively wipes at it. Her hand comes back with blood. She’ll need to find a way to explain it away, she has to… Svetlana’s sheets are stained and bloody. The carpet is ripped, presumably by the claws of the wolf.

That’s not what stops her in her tracks, though.

The wolf’s eyes.

They’re Svetlana’s.

Everything has changed. She just doesn’t know how yet. Neither of them do.