Vasilisa’s mind slowly stirred. In the darkness of her half-consciousness she felt a strange sensation of floating, of weightlessness. The kind of feeling that she had often dreamed of, but which her mind could never chase down to recall in the waking world. Was this a dream, then?
Her eyes opened - and her heart stood still.
Her world was a black void peppered with a thousand gleaming lights. In the distance, somehow far and close at the same time, she saw beautiful shifting clouds of mauve and violet through which pale blue streaks flashed like lightning. In the blink of an eye intricate webs of light traced through the clouds before fading away. Then, in the wake of sheer beauty, came the realization of silence. Silence, total silence overwhelmed Vasilisa like a suffocating force - even the sound of her own ragged breathing did not reach her ears, and she felt the need to check whether she was still drawing breath, whether her chest still rose and fell in an affirmation of life.
Yes…life. Vasilisa breathed a silent sigh of relief. I still breathe, and I am still alive.
She looked down at her hands and gasped as she saw her fingers, her sleeves, seem to slowly drip and melt away into the black and violet void before reforming. Like dripping paint on a canvas being desperately corrected by an artist’s fine brush, her fingers, her kaftan, her long black tresses - all of it bled into the landscape while at the same time fighting to keep form. Charged with fear, her heart beat so strongly she could feel it through her shifting dress which now felt more liquid than cloth. She felt as though a single errant ripple in the void would destroy her, dispel her forever across the world - a mess of scattered colors damned to float forever in the astral sea.
Vasilisa’s breath quickened, and she felt her body freeze - if she moved too much, would she scatter herself? Would her bleeding, weeping form paint itself across the twinkling lights? Her half-awake mind spun uncontrollably as she tried to grasp the slowly-sinking reality that felt like a knife slowly twisting into her ribs. How did it come to this? Suddenly her worries of the last day - if it had been a day - seemed tiny, laughable. Marriage to a steppe khan paled in comparison to whatever had become of her now - wherever she was now. She had half a mind to utter a prayer, but what god could she invoke to save her? Perun, Lord of Lightning, Mokosh, Mother of the Earth, even Rod’ - whom the wise men of her father’s court said had breathed light and life into the world - all of the divine names that once felt charged with heavenly strength now felt powerless on her tongue in this strange, terrifying world.
Suddenly two of the gleaming dots of light across the void began to move. As the blackness of nothing began to take shape around the shining stars, Vasilisa saw the gleaming dots become pools of molten gold.
Do not be afraid. Chirlan’s soft voice echoed through her mind as his face materialized from nothingness. Parts of the ever-present void seemed to peel away and took shape into a long, formless robe speckled with winking lights. Vasilisa’s gaze drew upwards as she saw golden rays trace lines across the stars above her head, forming glowing constellations. The constellations and their stars slowly drew together, drew closer to Chirlan’s form, and then gradually faded away to reveal clawed, gold-tipped fingers from within their warm light. The sorcerer slowly drifted across the void towards Vasilisa, his speckled cloak silently fluttering behind him and leaving faint golden traces in his wake.
Where have you taken me? Vasilisa thought, pointing her mental query like a dagger at the approaching sorcerer. If he could truly read minds as he seemed to when she fell into his magical slumber, she made sure her every thought-out word was charged with malice at the man who took her from her family, took her from the world of the living into this astral nightmare. And perhaps the malice could conceal the terror that gnawed away at her insides.
The sorcerer did not respond, and continued to float towards her in silence, his face a mask of serene, determined calm. As he grew closer Chirlan drew forth one golden, clawed hand that glinted in the mauve and violet light of the distant clouds. Vasilisa jerked back instinctively, and found herself slowly floating backwards as if she were in water. But it was not fast enough to escape the rapidly-approaching sorcerer. Vasilisa closed her eyes as she prepared for the approaching claws to tear through her, and scatter her fleeting form across the dark canvas for good.
But no such killing strike came. Instead, she felt the cold touch of a golden hand gently clasping around her own. Vasilisa opened her eyes, and saw her form was no longer bleeding and reforming into the void - she was solid once more. Chirlan’s touch was gentle, affectionate in a way that filled Vasilisa with a sense of cautious curiosity, rather than the urge to shrink back and pull her hand away. Then all of a sudden she was being pulled through the void, and the fluttering feather trim of her kaftan left behind fading golden trails of her own through the dark nothing that surrounded her and Chirlan both as they flew.
Why speak, when I can show you? echoed Chirlan’s voice in her mind. Flying effortlessly across the void, her hand still held in the sorcerer’s soft golden fingers, she looked out at the magnificent clouds and distant stars and allowed herself to take a deep, calming breath as terror gave way to the same sense of majesty she had first felt. As she focused on the pinpricks of light that shone in the distance, she swore she could hear small, whispering voices that trailed off as Chirlan carried them further and further to some unknown end.
Those stars…I can hear them speaking, whispered Vasilisa in her mind. What is this place?
The stars are not speaking, replied Chirlan. They are dreaming. And soon, perhaps they will wake.
What will happen then? Vasilisa wondered. She tried to focus her hearing further, tried to catch hints of the myriad whispers that seemed to grow louder and louder as she became more aware of just how many twinkling lights were scattered across the sky. So many lights…so many dreams. But whose? Who are they?
They are all children, existing in this realm and ours, spoke Chirlan. Vasilisa could feel a tinge of sadness upon his thoughts - her mind felt as though it were merging with Chirlan’s own. Though they have not visited ours in an age.
The astral landscape began to change as Chirlan carried them further - the scattered mauve and violet colors suddenly consumed all that lay before Vasilisa as they plunged into one of the shifting clouds. Glittering sparkles from tiny crystals floating in the void danced across her vision, reflecting the intermittent glow of the flashing blue streaks that traced through the clouds like the strokes of a quill. She felt herself slow down, drifting lightly through the cloudy mass as Chirlan gently guided her downwards. She felt her feet touch something solid, yet saw nothing but the seemingly endless drifting clouds beneath her.
Like crystal-clear glass, she wondered. What is this place, truly?
She looked up to the towering sorcerer, who seemed to stand twice her height in his shifting liquid robe. His expression was suddenly grim, his youthful face set in a frown as his golden eyes glanced further ahead, focusing on something beyond the drifting colors. With a wave of his gauntleted hand the clouds began to swirl aside and Vasilisa brought up one hand to her eyes as a blinding pale light flooded the cloudy domain.
A bright, pale sun burned before her eyes, casting Chirlan into a pure black silhouette as his hand slowly let go of Vasilisa’s. As the sorcerer walked towards the burning sun, Vasilisa felt her eyes adjust to the light, and she squinted directly into the blinding rays.
Something floated around the sun. Her eyes followed a pointed, stony tip which grew into a long trail of segmented, smooth rocks hovering in a lazy circle around the sun. Her eyes continued to follow the trail until the sun’s zenith, where it ended at a strange, malformed rock. As she dared to open her eyes further, the realization of what she was looking at dawned upon her - a long, serpentine spine, ending at a great skull.
The massive stone skull looked burned, even melted in some places where sharp edges gave way to smooth, flowing curves cracked by heat. Two hollow, scarred pits stared at Vasilisa, and though the gargantuan eyes that once dwelled within the sockets had long since vanished, Vasilisa still felt as though she were being watched by a long-dead stare. She could make out what looked like an aquiline beak, forever locked open in a soundless cry, as well as dark imprints along the base of the skull that reminded her of feathers.
She felt a strange sensation in her head as she beheld the monstrous skeleton - as if something was scratching at the inside of her skull. She closed her eyes, rubbed her temples, but the feeling only seemed to worsen. Vasilisa lowered herself to one knee as the pain in her skull magnified by a thousand, and she cried out silently into the void. Chirlan turned to face her, but all she could see were the molten pools of gold framed in shadow. Shadows that began to inch and creep across the landscape and the burning sun until Vasilisa’s world fell into darkness once more - and all she saw were the two golden eyes pitilessly staring at her agony.
She screamed into the shadows as the scratching inside her skull ravaged her mind, carving with white-hot claws that caused her to fall to the ground and writhe in anguish. She screamed until her lungs burned and her throat felt as though it would rip, and dug her fingernails into her forehead. She imagined if she could burrow into her skull, she could tear out the scratching, thrashing monster - to die would be preferable to the scorching-hot pain that lanced through her body.
Something cold slipped between her ribs, and suddenly the pain stopped, replaced by an icy feeling that spread from her heart through her chest like flowing water. Vasilisa gave a rasping breath and her eyes flew open, matching Chirlan’s own golden eyes. The sorcerer was kneeling over her, so close she could almost feel his tense heartbeat in the suffocating silence of the void. She looked down at her chest to see the source of the cold that radiated through her body, and saw one of Chirlan’s clawed hands buried up to the wrist inside her chest - just next to her left breast, clasping her heart.
But strangely, she felt no pain - only a calming sense of cold and drowsiness. Whatever solid floor held her firm in the clouds seemed to disappear, and once more Vasilisa felt herself floating gently through the black abyss. She focused on the sorcerer’s copper-toned visage, traced the faint lines on his face with her eyes as Chirlan’s dark, flowing form closed in around her, and the sorcerer’s other golden-clawed hand held her tight. She tried to grasp at the golden-clad wrist, wrench the hand free from her heart, but her fingers felt leaden, unresponsive. As her grasp slowly slipped from Chirlan’s wrist and the drowsy cold spread through her soul, she saw the sorcerer’s lips part.
A soft, whispered phrase cut through the silence of the darkness before Vasilisa’s eyes slid shut.
“Gods of mine: fire, earth, and stars above. Accept my blood, my spirit, and my love.”
***
Cool waves lapped against Vasilisa’s body, pasting her silken clothes to her skin as they washed over her and receded. A cold breeze blew across her form, sending a violent shiver through Vasilisa as she awakened.
Her mind still burned with the vision of the blinding star, and the hollow pits of the skull that leered at her with its dreadful gaze. She kept her eyes closed, not daring to open them for fear of finding herself in another astral prison. It was only when she heard the echoing cadence of falling water droplets impacting stone, the sound of the lapping waves and their affirmation of reality, that she dared to open her eyes to her surroundings.
Staring down at her, his face framed in darkness, was Chirlan - his eyes no longer golden, but hazel-brown. Her breath caught in her throat as Vasilisa realized her head lay in the sorcerer’s cloaked lap, and her mind’s eye flashed with the image of the sorcerer’s clawed hand plunged into her chest - grasping her heart. A moment passed, but the sorcerer made no move to speak, to touch her, or even blink. Then Vasilisa noticed the strange pallor of the sorcerer’s face, the way his kneeling form lay almost completely still.
She scrambled upright, splashing in the cold, knee-high waters she lay in as she stepped away from Chirlan’s kneeling corpse. Casting her gaze rapidly about the room she found herself in, she realized she was standing in the middle of a large, clear shallow pool of water in a cavern. A single ray of morning light penetrated into the room through a hole in the domed ceiling, shining directly onto the sorcerer’s body as it slowly leaned back without Vasilisa’s unconscious form to anchor it. The morning light shone onto Chirlan’s bare chest, revealing five deep, weeping wounds that formed a lazy circle around a gaping hole where the sorcerer’s heart once lay. She recalled the vision of his claws grasping her heart, and felt at her own chest to see if perhaps her own heart was missing.
Vasilisa ran her hand along her wet dress, then felt a sudden, sharp pain as her fingers ran over her left breast. She jerked her hand away and saw a small, clean cut running along the side of her index finger. Her legs felt weak from the sudden rise, and she lowered herself to one knee in the cool water as she removed her half-soaked kaftan and pulled down the front of her dress as far as it allowed, squinting in the dim light of the cavern.
Six crystals lay before her as Vasilisa’s eyes glanced over her heart. They rose and fell in time with her breathing - little pitch-black teeth of night which sucked away at the morning light, leaving only a vision of the hollow, bleak void she had seen in her dream. Vasilisa gave a ragged breath - one that sounded more and more like a death rattle as she tenderly snaked one hand across her chest to feel at the crystals that bit deep into her flesh.
Five of them were small - the width of her smallest finger - but the sixth one was giant in comparison - a little larger than the size of her fist. It was the largest one that sat just where her heart would normally lie. Though she felt her chest rise and fall with her now-panicked breathing, she felt no lively thrum of a beating heart beneath her skin. Only the cold sharpness of the crystal. Her mind still whirling from the visions of the astral sea, Vasilisa felt the urge to scream, but her voice failed her - the chords of her throat felt sore. Did she scream in the waking world as in the dream? Was it even a dream?
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She looked at the unmoving Chirlan, his head bowed low. His gaping wounds matched the crystals in her chest. Did someone carve them from his body, force them into hers? Did he carve them out himself, planting them into her chest with his dying breath? She wanted to shake the sorcerer who haunted her dream, wanted to slap him across the face for answers, but knew that she would only be trying to raise answers from cold, dead flesh. Her world spun as she looked down at the crystals for the second time, and her hand curled into a fist over her crystal-embedded chest as she felt herself fighting back panicked tears. What would she do? How did she still draw breath? Where would she go?
Anywhere but here, she thought to herself. She shakily stood to her feet, rising from the lapping waters and turning to glance backwards. In the dim light of the cave she could just barely make out how the sharp hewn walls seemed to curve into a narrow, sloping passage leading deeper down into pitch-black shadows. She redid her dress, and stepped out of the pool of crystal-clear water. Thoughts of survival and escape took over the looming, crushing thoughts of the dark crystals in her chest - the abominable sight that threatened to overwhelm her if she did not push it to the back of her mind to focus on the task at hand. She recalled Chirlan’s guards - the cloaked figures with silvered masks and sabers. Her fingers searched her belt for her pouches, and she breathed a small sigh of relief to find they were still attached. She undid the one that contained the crystal her mother had passed to her an eternity ago, and carefully held the light-swallowing fragment in her hand. A fragment of the same kind that now pierced her chest, and silenced her heart.
No. I am still alive. I still draw breath. Vasilisa slowed her breathing and tightly grasped the terrifying crystal in one hand like a little dagger. The sharp edges bit into her hand and caused the crystal to instantly grow slick with blood and sweat, but its sharpened tip whispered menacingly - not long enough to fully puncture a man’s lung or gut, but long and sharp enough to slice through sinew and flesh with ease. The thought of dueling one of Chirlan’s guards with such a tiny crystal seemed laughable in her mind, but it was better than nothing.
She hesitantly took one step forwards into the passage. Then another. But no alarm sounded - no masked guards emerged from the shadows to drag her away into the darkness. Total silence hung over the hallway, broken only by the light sound of her dripping-wet clothes and her slow, scared breathing which rose deafeningly in her ears. She shuffled as quietly as she could down the hallway, until eventually the morning light drew into the distance and she plunged fully into darkness. Vasilisa kept the crystal clenched tightly in her right hand as she slowly inched her left hand forwards along one of the weathered stone walls, bracing herself in case she were to fall. In the darkness, she became acutely aware of the ever-downwards slope of the hallway, and wondered if she was coming down from a mountain, or plunging deep into the bowels of the earth. No more wind blew in through the hall to guide her to the outside, and she began to wonder if she would wander the dark halls forever when she suddenly saw a flickering light up ahead.
A single small flame flickered at the end of a stubby incense stick, filling the room with a light, sweet smell that reminded Vasilisa of springtime flowers as she stepped inside. The fading light of the incense stick illuminated a small altar upon which the incense sat in a golden bowl, joined by several dozen of its burnt-out comrades. The room was circular, and around the altar Vasilisa was able to make out the shades of other archways not unlike the one from which she emerged, each of which seemed to lead to nowhere. Her spirit sank as she beheld each of the passageways - none of them bore any sort of sign, any glyph, any marking to suggest where they might lead. The crushing feeling of being totally lost began to creep into her mind once more when it was cut by a small voice.
“You most certainly do not belong here.”
Vasilisa startled at the sound of the soft voice - it came from somewhere in front and below her, as if someone had crawled up to her on all fours. She imagined Chirlan’s leering face creeping up beneath her from the shadows of the stone floor, and pointed her crystal dagger downwards as she took a step back.
As her eyes adjusted to the darkness she saw no sign of any human lying on the ground. A tiny serpent squiggled along the ground - no thicker than her index finger, and no longer than half a foot. The serpent twisted itself into a small coil, and fixed its gleaming black eyes onto Vasilisa as she realized it was the source of the voice.
“Human,” the serpent regarded her, its voice flat and inoffensive, as if it were a normal thing for a serpent to address a human. “You seem lost.”
Vasilisa’s head pounded as she considered what to say - as she considered the insanity of speaking to a serpent - before responding.
“I am. A man brought me here. His name is, was, Chirlan,” she whispered, grimacing as she heard every syllable lightly bounce down the shadowed walls of the cavern and carry into the hallways. “I need to get out of here. Do you know the way, little serpent?”
The serpent shook its tail as it seemed to consider her proposition, its tongue flicking in and out as it tasted the air. In the brief moment that passed Vasilisa caught herself from marveling at the strange, scintillating scales that the serpent bore - every scale seemed to shine a different color in the dim orange light of the incense stick. At last, the serpent slowly uncoiled and spoke.
“I do know the way. But it is so very far, and we serpents move slowly.”
“I can carry you.” Vasilisa interjected.
“Then the matter is settled,” replied the serpent. Vasilisa carefully kneeled down in the darkness as she offered her left hand for the serpent to slither into. The scales felt sleek and glossy on her skin as the serpent slowly coiled around her pointing finger, then turned to face her once more. “A pact - your gentle hand for my endless wisdom.”
“Seems a fair trade,” Vasilisa smirked. Already she felt the terror of the dark recede ever so slightly - just talking to someone, even if said someone was a snake, filled her with a sense of life. She could still quip, still smile, still breathe and live. And if she could breathe and live, then she could fight, could escape from this dark earthen pit.
She felt the serpent point itself in the direction of the middle archway, acting as an extension of her hand. Keeping her left hand pointed forwards, she slowly advanced into the hallway ahead, keeping her right hand primed at her hip to thrust and cut with her sharp crystal. Without a hand to place along the stone walls for guidance her steps felt clumsy and uncertain, and Vasilisa felt herself nearly smack into a wall as the hallway turned a corner.
A low breeze blew down the hallway as she continued to walk, sending another shiver through her as the wind pricked a dozen needles of cold through her damp clothes. But the wind carried with it another promise - the promise of escape, of sunlight and warmth and open skies. She fought the urge to hasten her pace, to throw herself into a desperate sprint, and instead whispered to the serpent a question that had lingered in her mind since she first allowed the serpent to coil around her hand.
“Why are you helping me? Did your masters treat you poorly?”
“Most certainly not,” replied the serpent, coiling to the left as the hallway took another turn. “And they are not my masters. You simply do not belong here - I want to guide you to where you should be.”
“And that would be?”
“Outside. Free to roam, and sing, and write, and think all manner of things you humans do. Not rot here in this stone coffin, grim and dim.”
The serpent’s reply only bred more questions on Vasilisa’s tongue, but they all fell away into the darkness as she suddenly heard the muffled sound of cloth footsteps, and the ringing sound of metal playing on metal.
“Someone comes. To your left!” the serpent hissed, and Vasilisa groped blindly about in the darkness until she felt the stone walls to her left give way to a small nook.
She lurched aside as she saw three gleaming lights enter the hallway, carried atop a candle-holder. Peering around the corner, her breath stilled as she saw the lights of the burning candles illuminate the glinting silver mask of one of Chirlan’s guards. From behind the helmet’s demonic visage, twisted into an even more grotesque form by the dancing shadows, she saw a pair of glowing golden eyes staring coldly ahead through a pair of thin silver slits. The rings of the saber’s silver-decorated sheath rang rhythmically as the guard marched down the hall, each step giving a soft clink and bringing the orange-yellow lights of the candles closer and closer to the alcove.
He will see me once he crosses, surely. Vasilisa whispered in her mind, and she felt her breath rattle with fear as she drank in the details of all that surrounded her - the hard stone walls, the whistling breeze, the sharpness of the crystal in her hand. She squeezed the crystal even tighter, and then breathed out, emptying her mind of all thoughts as the clinking rhythmic footsteps drew nearer.
My daughter will fight. The words of her mother came to her mind, became a low mantra as Vasilisa felt her bloodied hand continue to weep droplets of blood onto the stone floor. My daughter will fight.
The footsteps grew closer - soon they would be right on top of her. The flickering orange glare of the candles seemed blinding as their light crept around the corner of the tight alcove.
My daughter will fight.
I will fight.
Vasilisa of Belnopyl sprang out from the alcove as she saw the glint of the silver mask flash before her, colliding painfully with the cloaked guard as she slammed him with all her might into the stone wall adjacent to him.
She heard a muffled grunt come from the guard, a curse in a hissing foreign tongue, and slipped the crystal just underneath the rim of the silver helmet. She punched her curled fist bearing the crystal into the guard’s throat, burying the sharpened shard of darkness as deep as she could through silk and soft flesh. The decorated candle-holder gave a loud clang as it fell to the ground, and a guttural, anguished cry sounded from behind the twisted silver mask. Vasilisa ripped the crystal free, and felt hot blood rush out from the guard’s throat, soaking her hand.
A sharp elbow flew out from the mess of silk robes and Vasilisa felt the wind leave her lungs as the guard lashed out at her. Her lungs burned as she coughed and sputtered, bent over double from the strike to her chest. A wet gurgling noise came from the guard as she saw his silhouette stagger in anguish, one hand clutching at his bleeding neck while the other scrambled to draw the saber that dangled wildly from his hip.
Still wheezing from the guard’s strike, Vasilisa began to lurch forward to deal another strike when she suddenly heard the hissing of steel on steel, and saw the flash of the saber leaving its sheath. The guard pointed the tip of the saber at Vasilisa, and advanced slowly upon her, his legs wobbling as his life essence slowly dripped out from between his clutching fingers and formed small black pools on the floor. Her mind whirled in desperate fear as her eyes darted about, searching for someplace to run, something to grab or throw, and then her gaze settled on her left hand.
“I’m sorry, little serpent!”
Vasilisa threw her hand out, launching her hissing, scaled guide through the short space between herself and the advancing guard. The serpent landed on the guard’s chest, and the moment he jerked back on instinct to glance down at the serpent as it fell from his chest to the ground was all the time she needed as she sped forwards.
A shriek rattled from behind the guard’s mask as Vasilisa slipped the point of the crystal through the eye-slits of the helm, while her free hand caught the saber that fell from the guard’s grasp. The guard stumbled away from her, hands fruitlessly scrambling at his ruined eye, and Vasilisa swung the heavy saber down. The steel edge of the blade ripped through silk and flesh as it traveled down and opened the blinded guard from shoulder to hip. A final croak came from the guard as he spun to the ground in a heap, and then no more.
Vasilisa’s breath came ragged and tinged with the metallic scent of blood as she loosened her grip on the saber. The sword was a far cry from the balanced, light straight swords her mother and Ilya had taught her to wield for a time - this was a heavy, unbalanced blade meant to cleave men in two from atop a charging steed. In her other hand the searing pain of the crystal could be ignored no longer, and she placed the crimson-stained needle of darkness back into its pouch before wiping her blood-soaked hand clean on her drying dress, wincing as the cuts on her right hand brushed against wet silk.
Just in front of the guard’s bloody corpse the serpent uncoiled itself from a tight ball and glanced up at Vasilisa with its impassionate, animal stare.
“Are you hurt?” Vasilisa whispered as she knelt down to look over the serpent. “I’m sorry for throwing you at him.”
“But the choice was between throwing me, or your survival,” mused the serpent, its tongue flicking in and out as it tasted the metallic air. “I bear you no ill will - had I been the one with legs and you without, I’m sure I would have done the same.”
“You don’t hate me for what I just did?” asked Vasilisa. She thought about the absurdity of her circumstance - a princess of the Klyazmite lands asking a serpent whether it hated her - and felt a small, stupid smile creep to her lips despite her ridiculous concern.
“Of course not. Your survival matters far more than the survival of a lowly serpent - wouldn’t you agree?” said the serpent as it coiled itself once more around Vasilisa’s offered hand. “They say we serpents are ill creatures - the servants of deceit and ruin. But come now, your freedom is almost at hand.”
Vasilisa snatched up the fallen candle-holder from the ground, allowing the serpent to curl around her wrist. In her other hand, she held the heavy saber and stepped down the hall in the direction the guard had appeared from. The hallway rounded another corner, and she nearly tripped as the ground dropped suddenly into a short flight of stairs.
The flickering lights of the candles illuminated a large, circular chamber supported by a dozen pillars as she stepped inside. At the far end opposite her entrance, Vasilisa saw a pair of tall stone doors, and through the thin gap between them a blinding ray of sunlight struck her directly across the eyes.
A light breeze blew in through the doors, and Vasilisa’s world darkened as the candles perished to the wind. She let the candle-holder slip from her grasp as she hurried towards the stone doors and began to desperately pull on one of the doors to her salvation. Her tired muscles ached in protest as she dug her heels in and heaved with all her might, and the door ground loudly against the stone floor as she pulled it further and further open, flooding the room with more and more sunlight. And then with a final crash, it was over - the doorway was fully open.
Vasilisa’s hand continued to drip red crimson droplets onto the floor, but the numb pain in her hand washed away for a brief moment as she stood and greedily drank in the fresh air that flowed from the blinding outside world. Then she felt a weight fall from her left hand as she realized the serpent had uncoiled itself from her wrist and landed on the floor.
“Go now, while you have the chance.” muttered the serpent.
“Are you not coming with me? I can take you.” replied Vasilisa, shifting her weight from one foot to another as she beheld the glittering serpent in the light of day.
“We serpents have poor vision and many hunters on the outside,” said the serpent as it slowly turned back to the darkened hallways. “Here, it is nice and dark - comfortable and quiet.”
“So this is farewell?”
“For a time, perhaps.”
Vasilisa took a few steps towards the intoxicating glow of the outside world. She heard the distant calls of birds, the chittering of unseen insects, and the whispers of the wind playing along tall grasses. She turned back to say one final goodbye to the strange talking serpent, but it was already squiggling across the stone floors, retreating into one of the many winding shadowed halls of her prison.
As Vasilisa stepped across the threshold of the stone doors she heard one final utterance from her brief slithering companion before the noise of the outside world drowned out all else.
“Fare thee well, Vasilisa.”