Title of artwork, Girl with the child, author Vladimir Yegorovich Makovsky (1846-1920) [https://i.imgur.com/wbXa4Fb.png]

Prologue

In the dimly lit confines of her cold, stone cell, Evdokia sat huddled against the damp wall, her body shivering from the chill that permeated the air. Her hands, thin and pale, were clasped tightly in her lap, her knuckles turning white under the strain. The mournful tolling of the church bells drifted through the heavy iron bars that covered her small, narrow window, each somber chime bringing her closer to the precipice of her short and troubled life.

Outside the walls of her desolate prison, the townspeople, drawn by morose curiosity, had converged upon the site of her execution, filling the air with a heavy sense of expectation. Evdokia's ears had trouble discerning between the myriad of voices, the collective murmur like an insidious wave crashing against the shores of her consciousness. Her impending hanging was to be a cruel theater of punishment and justice, a theatrical display designed to instill fear and maintain order.

Suddenly amidst the growing cacophony of the outside world, the clinking of keys and the shuffling of feet echoed through her cell. The heavy wooden door, weathered by time and usage, groaned on its rusty hinges, and a sliver of light invaded the dimness of the woman's prison, heralding the arrival of an unexpected visitor.

The intrusion sent a shiver down her spine, as she turned her gaze towards the entrance. Was her time up already? However, when the door swung open revealing the old priest who stood beyond it, she breathed a sigh of relief.

Father Vsevolod, with his long white beard and compassionate eyes, had been a source of guidance and support throughout her life. He embodied unwavering faith and understanding in a world that often appeared cruel and indifferent. "Dusya," the old man spoke softly as he approached her, "oh wayward child, your final moment draws near. I implore you, to free yourself from the shackles of sin. Confess and repent, so that your soul may be saved from the torments of eternal damnation."

Evdokia met his gaze, her own eyes weary yet filled with a stubborn conviction. "Father," she replied, her voice trembling yet resolute, "your presence in this dark hour is not lost on me. But you know better than anyone that I cannot seek salvation if I am to be reunited with Glasha." She pressed her hands to her chest clutching the fabric of the worn and soiled tunic that draped over her emaciated frame. Her mind traveled to memories of Glafira's infectious laugh, her warm embrace, and the innocence that had once filled their days. She clung to those memories, finding solace in the belief that she would meet her sibling soon enough. It was a bittersweet comfort, but a comfort nonetheless.

The priest's eyes brimmed with profound sorrow as he extended a hand toward her, offering a final act of compassion. "May the Lord's mercy embrace you even as you turn away from it," he whispered. Moved by his kindness, Evdokia took the priest's weathered palm and pressed her forehead against it, her touch gentle and reverent. She held onto it for a fleeting moment, drawing strength from his presence before letting go. As Father Vsevolod turned to leave, his silhouette framed by the light that filtered through the barred window, the woman watched in silence, her eyes following his departure. The heavy door closed behind the priest, sealing her fate once again within the confines of the prison cell.

1

In a narrow corridor, its walls adorned with peeling wallpaper that had long relinquished its original luster, the young girl traversed back and forth, her restless steps echoing through the dimly lit passage. An oil lamp, its meager light flickering softly, swayed from the ceiling, casting a feeble glow that struggled to penetrate the gloom. At length, the door to her parents' chamber swung open, revealing the figure of her father, emerging from the threshold. "Come, Dusya," he murmured, beckoning her forward with a gentle wave of his hand. "Your little sister is finally here."

Evdokia hesitated, her petite feet shuffling hesitantly upon the weathered and creaking floorboards. Her father descended to his knees, his voice calm and reassuring. "Come on, my dear. Don’t be afraid. Get a look at her, so tiny and precious." He gently guided Evdokia into the room where her mother sat upon a bed worn with the marks of time, its linens mismatched and faded.

The young girl inhaled deeply, summoning her courage, and approached the woman who greeted her with a warm smile, her eyes brimming with maternal tenderness. "Come, my little one," she whispered, "Meet your baby sister, Glafira."

The girl’s gaze shifted to the small bundle cradled in her mother's arms, her initial trepidation gradually dissolving into a sense of wonderment. With hesitant yet gentle hands, she reached out and grazed her sister's tiny fingers, a soft giggle escaping her lips. "She's so small, Mama!" she exclaimed, her voice filled with delight.

"Yes, my dear," her mother replied, her gaze lifting from the infant's face. "That’s why as her big sister you have to take care of her."

As Evdokia continued to stroke her sister's hand, the baby's tiny fingers curled around her pinky with a surprising tenacity. A surge of affection overwhelmed the young girl, and she lifted her gaze to her parents, "Mama, Papa," she declared with conviction, “I promise to protect her."

The man's lips curved into a tender smile as he reached out to ruffle her hair, his voice carrying a mix of pride and affection. "I know you will, my sweet Dusya. I know you will."

2

The cold winds, relentless in their fury, swept through the cobblestone streets as if intent on tormenting all who dared to venture outside. Evdokia and Glafira trudged along the path draped in tattered garments that offered meager respite from the biting chill. Hunger, an unrelenting beast, gnawed incessantly at their empty bellies, a familiar companion on this day, as it had been on countless others. The girls had gone a whole week without a proper meal, surviving on meager scraps scrounged from the streets.

Glafira, her small, fragile form trembling under the onslaught of a persistent cough, struggled to find her voice. "Du... Dusya," she managed to gasp, her feeble utterance barely escaping her parched lips.

Evdokia turned to her sister, concern etched across her sunken face. "What is it?"

"I'm... so hungry," the little girl uttered between wheezes, clutching her chest.

Evdokia put her arm around Glafira's small shoulders, trying to comfort her. "We'll find something to eat soon, little one, I promise,” she whispered, her voice carrying a soft reassurance. “Just hold on a little longer."

As the sisters wearily traversed the streets, their eyes laden with exhaustion, they passed by a bustling bakery stall, an oasis of warmth amidst the chill of the autumn day. The intoxicating aroma of freshly baked bread wafted through the air, an irresistible siren's call to the famished sisters. Glafira, her eyes brimming with tears, clasped her stomach and whimpered, her voice quivering with longing, "It smells so good, can’t I have just a tiny bit?”

Evdokia, beholding her sister's emaciated form with an anguished gaze, felt her heart constrict within her chest. She was acutely aware of their situation, the absence of means to procure the food they so desperately sought. Yet, the sight of Glafira's desperation gnawed at the very fabric of her being, propelling her to act.

"Stay close to me, Glasha," she whispered, her voice filled with determination. "I will find a way for you to get some bread."

The girls approached the bakery stall cautiously, their eyes fixated on the enticing baked goods on display. Evdokia's heart pounded in her chest as she observed the baker's distracted attention, engrossed in serving customers. It was now or never.

Taking in a deep breath, she extended her hand with agility, swiftly seizing a small bun from the stand. She passed it discreetly to her sister, who was quick to sink her teeth into it.

Their momentary relief, however, was short-lived. The bakery owner, a burly man with a bushy mustache, had noticed their transgression and immediately pounced upon the girls. He grabbed them both tightly by their arms, his grip like a vice.

"You thieving scoundrels!" he bellowed, his voice filled with rage. "You thought you could take my bread without paying? I will teach you a lesson!"

Evdokia's protective instincts kicked in, and she knew she had to act quickly to save her sister from harm. Summoning all her strength, she mustered a fierce kick, landing squarely between the owner's legs. The unexpected blow caught him off guard, and he momentarily released the girls, clutching his loins in disbelief and anguish.

Seizing the opportunity, Evdokia shouted at her sister, her voice filled with urgency. "Run, Glasha! Run to our sanctuary!"

Glafira, teary-eyed and frightened, hesitated for a second, then turned and fled down the street, her wheezing breaths echoing in the cold air. Meanwhile, the bakery owner, now infuriated, lunged at Evdokia. His meaty hands clutched her collar, their roughness constricting around her delicate neck, as he commenced a merciless onslaught. Blow after blow rained upon her slight frame, yet she remained steadfast, resolute in her defiance. She bore the pain with clenched teeth, aware that her actions had granted her sister a chance at escape.

Passersby averted their gazes, offering no aid or sympathy. They were accustomed to the struggles of the destitute, their hearts hardened by the harsh realities of life.

Eventually, the owner's relentless assault waned, his vigor faltering. He let go of Evdokia and her bruised and battered body crumpled to the ground. "Now get lost, you filth. Try to steal from me once again and you're dead. Do you understand?" The man spat through his teeth.

Ignoring the pain radiating through her body, the girl pushed herself to her feet and nodded. The metallic taste filled her mouth as blood trickled from her broken nose and split lip. With a trembling hand, she wiped the crimson stains from her face, leaving smudged traces behind. With aching steps, she limped slowly away from the stall and towards the church, where she often sought refuge in times of trouble.

Evdokia stepped wearily into the sanctuary of the church, the ancient walls adorned with faded icons and lit by the soft glow of candlelight exuded a sense of tranquility and reverence. The air was thick with the scent of burning candles, mingling with the earthy fragrance of old wood and the faint aroma of incense.

As she made her way deeper into the hallowed space, her ears caught the sound of muffled coughs, a familiar sound that tugged at her heart. Following the sound, her gaze was drawn toward a corner of the church. There, huddled on the floor, was Glafira, tears streaming down her pale cheeks as she tried to stifle her coughs with trembling hands pressed against her mouth. Without hesitation, Evdokia hurried over to her sister's side, the pain in her body momentarily forgotten as she called out to her, “Come here, my little one!”

"Dusya!" Glafira's voice, filled with a mix of relief and joy, cut through the silence. She rose from her huddled position and rushed towards Evdokia, throwing her arms around her.

Evdokia embraced her sister tightly, her body trembling with exhaustion and pain, but she forced a smile, masking her suffering.

Glafira, still holding her, looked up at her bloodied face with worried eyes. "Are you okay? Does it hurt?" she asked, her voice quivering.

The girl gently pulled away, her expression soft. " Nah, Glasha, don't fret. I will be alright, I swear. It doesn't ache as much as you think."

“Praise the heavens, I was mighty terrified for you." Glafira sighed, her voice a whisper of relief. Then she reached into her tattered pocket and retrieved half of the stolen bun they had taken from the bakery stall. She held it out to her sister, " Here, take this. You should eat too."

The aroma of freshly baked bread lingered, tempting and inviting. Glafira's eyes were still gleaming with hunger, however, and Evdokia hesitated, " I ain't got much of an appetite," she murmured, "You should eat. You need it more than I do."

Relief washed over her sister's face as she eagerly took the bread back, her hunger overcoming any guilt she may have felt. She devoured it, savoring each bite as if it were a taste of hope itself.

The sound of footsteps echoing through the quiet corners of the church startled Evdokia, who turned quickly to see who was approaching. Fortunately, she was greeted by Father Vsevolod, his brow furrowed in concern as he took in the sight of her bruised face, blood still staining her lip and nose. "My dear child, what has happened to you?" the priest's voice carried a mix of concern and pity as he gently reached out to touch her cheek.

This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

Evdokia winced slightly at the contact, but she welcomed his presence. "We...we had some trouble at the bakery stall," she murmured, her voice quivering. "I did my best to shield Glasha, but I couldn't escape without a few bruises myself."

Father Vsevolod's expression grew even more somber, "I'm so sorry to hear that. You and Glafira have been absent from the church in the mornings, missing the free soup we provide for the poor. I was worried about you."

Evdokia's eyes dropped to the ground, a mix of shame and exhaustion etched across her features. "We... we couldn't come, Father. Once Glasha fell ill, our mother took to the bottle again, forsaking her work altogether. Now I'm stuck washing laundry from morning till night just to scrape together enough coin for our room. But even with all that back-breaking work, the pitiful amount I earn falls miserably short of putting any food in our hungry bellies.”

Father Vsevolod let out a weary sigh, his gaze filled with understanding. Evdokia knew the old man was well aware of the hardships she and Glafira had endured, having witnessed their family's turbulent journey over the years - her father's tragic death in the mine and her mother's ongoing battle with alcohol. "It pains me to see you suffer so.” The priest murmured, “Your dear mother had been doing better for a while, and it is a shame she has fallen back into this vice. But you mustn't bear this burden alone."

The girl's weary eyes met Vsevolod's gaze, searching for solace and guidance. " Father, I'm at my wit's end. We can't go on thieving, and poor Glasha's health isn’t getting better. I'm plagued by fear, for her and for what lies ahead of us."

The old man's face softened, and he reached out to touch Evdokia's hand in reassurance. "I will help you, my child. From now on, I will save some soup for both of you every day. You won't have to steal anymore. And if there is anything else I can do, please don't hesitate to ask."

Tears welled up in Evdokia's eyes as a mix of gratitude and relief washed over her. "Thank you, Father," she whispered, her voice choked with emotion. "You don't know how much this means to us."

Father Vsevolod gave her a gentle smile, "It is my duty to help those in need," he said softly. "Now, let us tend to your wounds."

As the girl followed the old man, holding Glafira's hand tightly, the weight of their dire circumstances seemed to ease just a little. The embrace of the Church and the warmth of the compassionate priest offered a glimmer of hope for a better tomorrow, a ray of light amidst the darkness that engulfed their lives.

3

The vibrant rays of the scorching summer sun cascaded upon the bustling streets of the town, their golden brilliance dancing upon the cobblestones. Amidst this lively spectacle, Evdokia found herself standing at her customary spot, seeking solace in the shade of a dilapidated building. With an old, tattered fan clutched tightly in her weathered hand, she gently fanned herself, hoping for a providential client who would graciously part with his coin in exchange for her fleeting services. The woman’s purpose was noble, driven by an unwavering desire to secure the means to support Glafira's ailing health, which had progressively worsened over the past decade.

Evdokia's tired eyes swept apathetically over the ebb and flow of passers-by until suddenly a familiar face appeared in the crowd and she felt a sinking feeling in her chest. It was none other than Sergeant Ivanov, a repugnant embodiment of the police force, notorious for preying upon women of her ilk.

"Well, well, look who we have here," the sergeant sneered, his thin lips curling into a grin, his narrowed eyes gleaming with perverse delight. "Evdokia, I was hoping to cross paths with you on this fine day, my dear."

The woman's heart raced but she tried to maintain her composure. "What do you want, Sergeant?" she asked, attempting to keep her voice steady.

The man let out a guttural chuckle, a sound as pleasant as the grinding gears of a rusted machine. He closed the distance between them with an intimidating swagger, his sinewy hand clamping upon her delicate arm, "I think you know exactly what I want," he replied, drawing ever closer, his movements deliberate and menacing. "You see, I am in dire need of some company, but alas, my wallet is bereft of funds. How about you grant me your company, and I shall repay you in due course?"

A torrent of indignation surged through Evdokia's veins, but she controlled it, her voice resolute, yet polite, "I am afraid it won’t be possible. You have accumulated debts with numerous other women, Sergeant. Your promises hold no weight."

His grip upon her arm tightened, sending a surge of anguish coursing through her limb. "Do not presume to lecture me, whore," he hissed, "I would like to remind you that I can turn your existence into a complete nightmare."

Calling upon the last remnants of her waning courage, Evdokia summoned a strength she did not know she possessed. She yanked her arm free from the man's clasp, "Too late for such bluster, Sergeant. Me life be a living hell already," she declared, standing tall despite her trembling legs.

Ivanov's face contorted even further, he leaned closer, invading her personal space once more. "It can always get worse," he whispered, his foul, hot breath tickling her ear.

With that, he retreated, turning abruptly on his heel and disappearing into the crowd.

Evdokia, exhausted from a grueling day of work, trudged wearily up the dilapidated staircase that led to the small room she shared with her sister on the fourth floor. Each step she took creaked and groaned beneath her feet, mirroring her weariness. However, as she ascended, an eerie and unsettling aura seemed to seep into every nook and cranny of the house.

Reaching their room, Evdokia was taken aback by the hostile stares and hushed whispers that greeted her from the neighboring tenants. The once-familiar faces now wore expressions of suspicion and distrust, casting a somber and foreboding atmosphere. Questions swirled in her mind, leaving her utterly perplexed by this sudden shift in behavior.

With a mixture of anxiety and anticipation, she pushed open the weathered door to their cramped room. Inside, as always, her sister lay nestled in the bed, but this time something was different. Tears glistened on her pale and delicate face, leaving a trail of dampness in their wake. "Show me your passport," she implored, her voice trembling.

Startled by the sudden demand and her sister's tears, Evdokia took a step back, caught off guard, "What's the matter? Why the sudden request?"

"I need to see it, sister. Please, I beg you!" Glafira raised her voice, but her strained vocal cords were quickly overwhelmed by a fit of coughing, shaking her fragile body. Filled with concern, Evdokia rushed to her sister's side, gently patting her back. "Calm down," she murmured. “Getting nervous won't do you any good."

Yet, Glafira firmly grasped Evdokia's shoulder, her eyes piercing into her sister's soul. "Show me," she demanded, her breath wheezing with each word.

Evdokia's heart pounded in her chest, her mind racing as she desperately sought an excuse to shield her sister from the harsh truth. "I've lost it," she blurted out, the first lie that sprang to her mind. "I just didn't want to worry you, that's why I didn't tell you."

Glafira's grip tightened on Evdokia's shoulder, surprising her with its strength. Her pale lips pressed into a thin line as her blue eyes bored into her sister's. "Swear to me on our parents' graves that it's true," she demanded, her voice trembling.

Her stomach churning with guilt and anguish, Evdokia knew she couldn't dare to make such a solemn oath. Defeated, she sank onto the bed beside Glafira, her voice barely a whisper. "I can't do that," she confessed, her admission laden with resignation.

"Show me," her sister repeated, her voice calm but determined.

With a trembling hand, Evdokia reached into her pocket and retrieved a carefully folded slip of paper. Silence enveloped the room, save for the sound of Glafira's ragged breathing. For what seemed like an eternity, her sister's gaze remained fixated on the Yellow Ticket, her eyes glazed over with a haunting emptiness. No words escaped her lips. Unable to bear the weight of this silence, Evdokia began to speak, her words spilling out in a hurried rush. "I... I didn't know what else to do," she stammered, her voice tinged with desperation. "I couldn't bear to see you suffer. There was no other way to pay for the doctor's visits and medicine..."

Finally, Glafira met her sister's gaze, her expression inscrutable. "To subject yourself to such a life on my account? I never asked you to do this," she replied, her voice devoid of emotion. "Why didn't you come to me? We could have found another way."

"What other way, Glasha?" Evdokia sighed, her voice filled with a mixture of frustration and helplessness. “No well-to-do suitor sought my hand in marriage, and the toil I found scarcely filled my purse with the coins I needed."

“I see…" Glafira responded, her tone devoid of any inflection, as if all vitality had been drained from her. She released her grip on Evdokia's shoulder. "It is rather late now. I would like to rest," she stated as she lowered herself onto the bed, drawing a threadbare blanket over her frame until she was enveloped in it completely.

Feeling disoriented and bewildered by her sister's reaction, Evdokia remained seated at Glafira's side. She had expected screams and accusations, not this eerie calmness that somehow felt even more agonizing. With a heavy heart, she leaned over Glafira, her fingers gently brushing the blanket that cover her sister’s lithe frame, and whispered, "Rest well, dear Glasha."

Her sister remained silent.

Evdokia, her countenance veiled in sorrow, couldn't help but perceive a bitter smile that involuntarily danced upon her lips. She knew with a chilling certainty, that Ivanov, that despicable wretch, was the orchestrator of this calamity that now engulfed her. She made a grave mistake underestimating how far he would go to prove his point.

Suddenly, a knock on the door shattered the stillness, jolting the woman out of her troubled thoughts. Startled, she rose from her seat and went to answer it, finding the proprietor's servant standing there. The young girl looked nervous, shifting from foot to foot as she delivered the message. "The landlord wishes to speak with you, ma'am," the girl stammered, avoiding eye contact. "He said it's urgent."

Thanking the girl with a curt nod, Evdokia followed her down the stairs to the landlord's apartment on the first floor. As they walked, she couldn't shake the feeling that this encounter would bring her nothing but trouble.

Finally, they reached the door to his flat, and the girl motioned for Evdokia to enter. She stepped inside, her eyes instantly falling upon the greasy-haired, overweight figure standing by the window. The man’s gaze was cold and calculating as he regarded Evdokia. "Ah, there you are," he sneered, his voice dripping with disdain. “I have received information, reliable information, that you changed your passport for a Yellow Ticket without informing me. I can’t believe I harbored a harlot in my respectable establishment"

Evdokia fought the urge to roll her eyes at the mention of his ‘respectable establishment.’ How ironic, she thought, that he would dare speak of respectability while residing in a dilapidated building nestled in the heart of the town's poorest district. The tenants who occupied those crumbling walls were far from virtuous, with a collection of thieves and drunkards populating the premises. And yet, in this twisted narrative, she alone was deemed the harbinger of shame.

Silently, the woman bore the weight of the landlord's accusations, realizing that words would serve no purpose in changing his opinion. What defense could she possibly present to a man so engrossed in his delusions of superiority? The landlord's brow furrowed as he prepared to issue his command, his voice tinged with self-righteousness, "I want you out of my home first thing in the mor—" His sentence abruptly halted when a sudden flash of motion streaked past the window, a body hurtling downward and descending on the ground with a resounding thud that shook the entire room. The man's eyes widened in surprise as he turned to the source of the disturbance. The moment he glanced outside, his face drained of all color. "God have mercy," he whispered, his voice trembling.

Trepidation clawed at Evdokia's heart as she approached the man, her steps faltering and hands shaking. Reluctantly, she looked out of the window, dreading the scene that awaited her. There, in the cold embrace of dirt and grime, lay Glasha's lifeless body, blood oozing from her head.

4

The rain poured ceaselessly, drenching the world with its sorrowful drizzle. Evdokia, clad in a tattered black shawl, stood before the small tombstone that marked the resting place of her beloved sister. Streams of water cascaded down her pale face, mingling with the tears that streamed from her weary eyes. Her soul, burdened with grief, felt as heavy as the leaden clouds that loomed above.

Beside her stood the lean figure of Father Vsevolod, his black cassock soaked and clinging to his frail frame. His gaze, filled with a mixture of pity and solemnity, fixated upon the young woman before him.

"My poor, poor Glasha. A grave with no cross, outside of the sacred grounds…" She mumbled with trembling lips.

The priest's wrinkled brow furrowed, and he reached out a hand to touch Evdokia's shoulder, seeking to offer some semblance of comfort. The woman's eyes widened, and her voice quivered as she turned to the priest, "Father, can there be no forgiveness? No redemption for her tormented soul? Must she forever dwell in the fiery depth of Hell?"

"My child," Vsevolod replied, his voice filled with sorrow, "I can do naught but offer a prayer of consolation for your anguished heart."

Evdokia knelt on the wet ground before the priest. "Have mercy, Father," she pleaded, her voice choked with grief, "Do not pray for me but pray for my poor sister. Plead with the heavens for a glimmer of grace, for she was a pure and innocent soul."

The old man shook his head, his weathered features etched with pain as he delivered the words that shattered the woman's fragile hopes. "You know I can't do that," he murmured, "I am sorry, Dusya, but Galsha’s sin was too great."

Overwhelmed by despair, Evdokia slowly slumped to the ground, her cries resonating through the graveyard, raw and agonizing, akin to the mournful wail of a wounded animal.

As she wandered aimlessly through the streets of the town, her mind eaten away by grief, the rain had ceased, leaving behind a world refreshed and adorned with a vibrant rainbow stretching across the sky. The air was crisp and clean as if nature itself sought to contrast the heaviness that burdened Evdokia’s heart. And then she saw him. Sergeant Ivanov was standing at the crossroads, his wife by his side, her rounded belly a sign of impending parenthood. Indifferent to the pain he had caused, he laughed, absorbed in his cheerful conversation.

A surge of rage erupted within Evdokia, a torrent of emotions that drowned reason and ignited an inferno of vengeance. The world around her blurred as she focused solely on the man who had shattered her sister's spirit.

Without a moment's hesitation, her hand reached for a large rock, abandoned by the roadside. Gripping it tightly, she approached the unsuspecting couple with a determination fueled by sorrow that had turned to fury. With every ounce of strength she possessed, she swung the boulder towards Ivanov's head, the weight of her pain behind the strike.

The impact landed with a sickening thud, causing the sergeant to stumble, his laughter cut short. His wife's joy transformed into a shrill scream of terror as she witnessed the brutal act unfolding before her eyes. Blood trickled down Ivanov's face as he turned, his eyes filled with a mix of confusion and pain, finally recognizing the woman who had attacked him.

Breathing heavily, Evdokia's voice resonated with a chilling resolve as she uttered, "That's for my sister!" With a surge of primal fury, she swung the rock again, this time connecting with even greater force against Ivanov's skull.

Epilogue

The moment of reckoning had arrived.

The gallows loomed tall and ominous, a stark silhouette against the gray sky. Its wooden structure, weathered and worn, carried the weight of countless lives lost.

The crowd had gathered, their eyes fixed upon Evdokia, awaiting the moment of justice. However, the woman stood tall and resolute, her spirit unyielding in the face of her impending fate. The weight of her actions, once burdensome, had dissipated, replaced by a serene joy of the reunion with her beloved sister. With closed eyes, she surrendered herself to the moment, embracing the calmness that settled deep within her being. In the stillness, she could almost feel an ethereal presence that beckoned her onward. "My dear Glasha, I am coming to you." She whispered with a smile.

The executioner, his face hidden beneath a dark hood, adjusted the noose around Evdokia's neck with practiced precision, performing his duty with an eerie calmness.

A hush fell over the crowd, their collective breaths held in anticipation.

As the trapdoor swung open, and her body plunged into the abyss, there was a brief and fleeting sense of weightlessness, an ephemeral pause before gravity seized its hold. The noose tightened with a snap, and the world around Evdokia's faded into the distance.

When her life ebbed away, the somber clouds that once covered the sky dissolved into a magnificent spectacle of celestial beauty. The sun emerged, painting the square with hues of gold and pink, casting a warm glow upon the square.