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Vera stares up at hiry enough and sick enough to see ghosts The ax falls frorasp, thunks on the floor at her feet

“Verushka?” he says, frowning

At the sound of his voice, she feels herself start to fall Her legs are giving out on her If this is dying, she wants to give in, and when his arms come around her and hold her up, she is sure she is dead She can feel the warht No one has held her in so long

“Verushka,” he says again, and she hears the question in his voice, the worry He doesn’t knohy she hasn’t spoken

She laughs It is a cracked, papery sound, rusty fro you?”

“I’m here,” he says

She clings to hioes to kiss her, she draws back in shaer has made her smell foul

But he won’t let her pull away He kisses her as he used to, and for a sweet, perfect irl in love with her prince

When finally she can bear to let hione, shaved down to nothing, and his cheekbones arenew in his eyes—a sadness, she thinks—that will now be a eneration “You didn’t write,” she says

“I wrote Every week There is no one to deliver the letters ”

“Are you done? Are you back now?”

“Oh, Vera No ” He closes the door behind him “Christ, it’s cold in here ”

“And we’re lucky We have a burzhuika ”

He opens his ragged coat Hidden beneath it are half a hae links, and a jar of honey

Vera goes alht of meat She cannot remember the last time she tasted it