Andrei and Rhian

The brown-eyed boy married Isabella two years later in a ceremony of three. He wished his sister and his parents could have seen him as he stood that day. He’d been devastated and beaten, but he’d beaten back and won. He’d lost it all, and from nothing he rose. His success, his true love, all the things he’d wanted and worked for.

He built them a house in Istok. A kitchen downstairs, two bedrooms up. It wasn’t big, but it was theirs, and it was beautiful and whatnot. Our boy and Isabella had it all, all except for one thing. They had a spot of trouble making a baby to keep. One, two, five times. Always the same. They’d celebrate together, then they’d mourn together. It went on and on for years until it happened. “I’d like to name her for my sister. I’d like to call her Lidia.”

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Baby Lidia was born late autumn, three weeks prematurely but otherwise safely. She had her father’s eyes, her mother’s charm, and a set of lungs renowned throughout the town. Each night, after rocking his child and kissing his wife, our brown-eyed boy thanked Amalia for the second chance at life. He promised never to fail them, never to stray. In the Ruza household, everything was exactly as it was meant to be.

It’s just a goddess-be-damned shame it wouldn’t last.