Total Eclipse
Chapter Two
Pairing: Darklina x Fem!Reader
Summary: After retrieving the candles for your saint, you join Mikhael and Dubrov at the market, only to meet someone unexpected.
Word Count: 3.1K
My Masterlist
“You know, these sure could fetch a pretty penny,” Mikhael remarks, hooking a finger over the edge of the leather satchel sitting beside you.
Not looking away from your book, you swat his hand away before he can reveal the contents of your bag to the prying eyes of the market.
As night faded from the sky early this morning, you had visited the nearest meeting point for the Cult of the Starless One. In exchange for the black candles for your church’s altar, you paint your Saint’s symbol over their candles and wooden icons in shimmering silver.
Due to an old superstition in Keramzin, only the Cult uses black candles. Everyone else believes that lighting one would summon a nichevo’ya – one of the monsters created by the Darkling during the Ravkan Civil War over a century ago.
“I know. Hands off.”
Mikhael shrugs.
“Suit yourself.”
At the sound of his smug nonchalance, you glance up from where you’ve perched yourself on a low stone wall. Dubrov lowers a box onto their makeshift table, the wood creaking as the weight of the box thuds against it. As he opens it up, you spot something vaguely familiar glistening in the late morning sun.
“What the hell are you doing with that?” you ask sharply.
He grins at you, cradling one of the necklaces from Lord Morozova’s house in his palm.
“Setting up shop.” He gestures to the necklace before he elaborates, “Handmade jewellery.”
You gape at him in half horror, half amusement.
“There isn’t a single person in Keramzin who will believe that you made that.”
He scowls at you.
“Rude.”
Before you can continue to tell him what a terrible idea this is, Mikhael turns to you.
“Your fellow fanatic’s here.”
Eyes scanning through the throngs of people, you smile widely when you spot a familiar face.
“Yuri!”
His smile is equally as wide, excitement evident on his face as he lifts up a book to show you the deep red cover.
“It’s here!” he calls out.
Two simple words, yet you understand his excitement immediately. The new copy of Istorii Sankt’ya has arrived at Keramzin’s only bookshop.
“Already? Show me.”
Shuffling over the wall, you allow Yuri enough room to sit next to you. He’s wearing his usual robes of black, with his token of the Starless One hanging around his neck, visible to everyone. Your own token lies against your chest, hidden safely underneath the layers of your shirt and jacket, accompanied by the token of Sankta Alina.
He sits down beside you, opening up the book and settling it in your lap. Entranced by the glossy pages, you smooth your fingertips over the words printed on the first page. With careful motions, you begin to turn through the pages.
“It’s beautiful,” you whisper.
The faces staring out at you are familiar ones. All painted in vibrant colours, detailing their most holy acts. Continuing through the pages, you soon find your own Saints. The breath catches in your throat as you admire the image of them.
“To your liking?” Yuri prompts with a knowing smile.
The two of you had snuck into the local archive once. All night, you had read through every edition of the Istorii Sankt’ya in their collection.
As an artist yourself, you take the depiction of your Saints very seriously. There is always something not quite right about the paintings you have seen of them, though you are only allowed to paint your Saints to the church’s liking, and you’ve never had enough money for paints of your own to truly capture their likeness as you believe them to be.
“Almost perfect.”
He nods.
“I had a good feeling about this edition. They hired an iconographer from the Os Alta cathedral.”
“That’s the height of devotion,” you murmur softly, tracing the golden rays of sunlight illuminating the face of Sankta Alina.
“Let’s see it then,” Mikhael says, swallowing down the last of an iced pastry. He licks his fingers clean before he reaches for the book. Instinctively, you close the book, folding your arms around it protectively as you press it against your chest.
“Keep your sticky fingers away.”
He feigns offense, grumbling as he wipes his fingers on the dust covered front of his jacket. There is no chance of you letting him touch this book.
“What are you doing for the summer solstice?” Yuri asks you. Mikhael answers before you can give your own response any thought.
“Same as every year, getting as drunk as we can before they throw us out of the pub.”
“Then move onto the next one,” Dubrov adds with a grin. You shake your head at the two of them with a fond smile.
At times, you feel like the odd one out among them, but you had been raised together in the orphanage on the edge of town and they are practically your brothers.
“I’m not sure,” you say to Yuri. “It falls on an eclipse doesn’t it?”
He nods.
Total eclipses happen once every two years in Ravka, and are a day of celebration for followers of the Starless One. This year you’re rather conflicted as it coincides with the summer solstice – the Saintsday of Sankta Alina.
You have never met someone who follows your two Saints. The majority of Ravka will celebrate Sankta Alina on the solstice as usual, while the Cult of the Starless One will celebrate the eclipse.
“I might just do something by myself.”
Yuri nods again, though you can tell he doesn’t like the idea of you spending such a joyous day alone.
“You know you’re always welcome with us.” You shake your head slightly, looking down at your boots.
“I know I’m welcome with you. The others I’m not so sure about.”
He looks down too, watching as you swing your legs gently, heel scraping against the stone wall.
“You know how it is. They aren’t many of us here in Keramzin. The fact that you follow two opposing Saints worries them.”
As always, you bristle internally at the thought of your Saints being opposed to one another. All of Ravka sees Sankta Alina and the Starless One as polar opposite, you however see them as two perfect halves of a whole - incomplete without the other. Which is why you feel so conflicted about celebrating one of them, whilst neglecting the other.
“I know…” You sigh. “I just…”
As your eyes scan over the crowd, your gaze locks onto a familiar face and your heart beat pounds frantically in a flurry of panic.
“Dubrov. Put the jewels away.”
Mikhael frowns at the shift in your tone, sensing something is wrong. Dubrov isn’t as perceptive.
“You see, this is why we don’t like to involve you in this sort of stuff. We know you feel bad, but he really won’t miss this stuff,” Dubrov says, trying to reassure you.
“Lord Morozova is here.”
“What?” He turns quickly, following the direction of your eyes. “Fuck.”
The two of them scramble to shove the jewels back into the box. Some fall on the ground, some land awkwardly in the box, preventing him from shutting the lid properly. They cram brooches and strings of pearls into their pockets. Mikhael kicks a diamond ring under the table.
Once they’ve finished, their table of trinkets looks rather bare but at least they won’t be arrested – or worse. A man like Lord Morozova has the power to turn heads in the opposite direction should he want to punish someone personally.
Whilst the Morozova line has been known to be ruthless during times of war, the man you had met yesterday wasn’t anything like the rumours you had heard about him. Nevertheless, you still think he might react harshly at the thought of you breaking into his house.
Yuri raises a questioning brow, but you shake your head, and he accepts your lack of explanation as he observes the way your fingers run nervously over the spine of Istorii Sankt’ya, subconsciously seeking the comfort of your Saints.
Too busy worrying about what Lord Morozova’s presence here means, you don’t notice the woman by his side at first. When you do, you can’t take your eyes from her.
Her dark hair is pulled back, neatly woven into a series of braids and her eyes are wide as she takes in every sight and sound around her. Occasionally she will pull lightly on Lord Morozova’s arm, pointing something out to him when he ducks his head down to give her his full attention.
When his eyes lock on yours the breath catches in your throat. He tilts his head as recognition sparks in his eyes, then he says something to his wife, and you’re unaware of anything except the pounding of blood in your ears.
“He’s heading this way. Please be normal,” you plead, looking at the two boys who currently look like the most awkward pair of actors thrust up onto stage with only half a script.
Dubrov ducks under the table, pretending he’s lost something, while Mikhael counts their meagre profits of the day so far, fidgeting with the coins to the point in which he drops a few onto Dubrov’s head. With a small sigh, you send a quick prayer to your Saints to protect your idiot friends.
“Lord Morozova,” you greet him with a smile. Hopefully he is too focused on you to pay them any attention. He says your name softly with a nod of acknowledgement.
“This is my wife - Alina.”
For a moment you’re too busy staring at the way her dark lashes brush over her cheekbones and the way her skin glows soft in the sunlight as she smiles at you. Luckily, you manage a reasonably polite response.
“A pleasure to meet you, Lady Morozova.”
She shakes her head lightly.
“Just Alina is fine, please.”
Clearly Lord Morozova disapproves, his brows creasing slightly as he glances at his wife. Looking down, you wonder how you can agree to her wish without upsetting him.
“Can we compromise on Lady Alina?” you suggest.
She smiles as she hums teasingly, butterflies fluttering in your stomach at the playful glint in her dark eyes.
“I suppose.”
Rather shyly, you smile back at her. Lord Morozova takes this as an opportunity to step back into the conversation.
“We’ve been looking for the local paint shop, and I wondered whether you might be able to point us in the right direction.” You nod.
“I can take you there now. If you would like?” you offer, already pushing away from the wall before they can answer.
“We don’t want to trouble you,” Lady Alina insists. You shake your head, picking up your satchel and shrugging the strap over your shoulder. The candles are a little heavy to be carrying, but you don’t trust the boys not to steal a few.
“It’s no trouble.”
As you go to hand Istorii Sankt’ya back to Yuri, he shakes his head.
“Keep it.”
“Yuri-”
“You deserve it.”
Swallowing hard, you smile gratefully at him. He knows what this means to you. Yuri is one of the only people who accepts your unconventional beliefs. Standing on tiptoe, you press a kiss to his cheek.
“Thank you.”
A shy smile tugs at the corner of his mouth.
When you turn back to Lord Morozova and his wife, you find them both watching you intently and warmth flushes over your cheeks. Adjusting the strap of your satchel, you gesture towards a narrow street.
“It’s just down here.”
They both keep pace with you as you stroll leisurely through the small gathering of townspeople. The streets aren’t too busy, which makes you feel less conscious about the attention the two of them gain. Ignoring the eyes, you decide to make some conversation with them.
“Are you enjoying Keramzin so far?”
Lady Alina nods.
“It’s a lot different from the last time I was here.”
Her arm slides from where it had been wrapped around her husband’s elbow, her hand settling into his and you see him offer her fingers a small squeeze. Looking away from the pair quickly, you glance down at the route you’re taking them on before you nod and say,
“It’s still a quiet town, but the market was expanded down to the next two streets last year.”
“Did you grow up here?” Lord Morozova asks you. You nod again.
“There’s an orphanage on the edge of town. Me, Dubrov and Mikhael – the two boys at the stall – we grew up there together and live further in town now.”
“And the other boy?”
“Yuri. His parents own a farm not far from the orphanage.”
A small smile tugs at your lips as you remember how Yuri had been the one to encourage your painting. The look of awe on his face, when you had gifted him the first ever candle you had painted – black of course with golden brushstrokes detailing the creation of the Fold – still keeps you motivated even now.
Before he can ask any further questions, you reach the paint shop.
The shop owner – a sharp eyed old woman with an equally sharp temper – scowls the moment you enter the shop, the bell ringing overhead as you hold the door open.
“If you’re not buying anything, get-“ Her words are halted by the presence of Lord Morozova, and she looks back down at the embroidery she’s been working on.
As always, the shop is silent, and you slide your bag off your shoulder to prevent any unintentional damage to the displays.
Lady Alina eyes the art supplies eagerly, gaze falling all the way to the back of the shop, where the shelves weave out of sight into a labyrinth of paints, brushes and canvases. An artists haven. She glances back at her husband, but he shakes his head.
“Take your time, Alinochka. I’ll wait here.”
She doesn’t hesitate for long before she’s disappearing among the shelves. As silence descends between you and Lord Morozova, you rub your thumb over the cover of Istorii Sankt’ya. You had only offered to take them to the paint shop, now that you had done that you could go. But you don’t want to.
This isn’t your first time in this shop, but it is most definitely the longest period of time spent here. Usually, the owner gets cranky over the fact that you only visit as an opportunity to browse and breathe in the scent of paint. Everything in this shop is far too expensive for you.
Luckily, Lord Morozova tilts his head in your direction as he looks passively at a selection of canvases and decides to initiate a conversation quiet enough to escape the scrutiny of the old woman who keeps shooting looks of suspicion at you.
“I’ve been searching for some black candles, Alina and I have them in our bedroom at Os Alta, but I can’t seem to find any here.”
At the mention of their bedroom, warmth blooms over your cheeks. That feels like intimate knowledge, something you shouldn’t know, and yet now every time you light a candle for the Starless Saint, you will think about how a similar candle might simultaneously be burning at their bedside.
“They are rather hard to find,” you admit. He studies your expression, and you wonder whether he can see how flustered the idea of their bedroom makes you.
“You told the minister you would find some at the market.”
“I didn’t say that.” Before he can disagree, you add, “I told him I would visit the market today. I never said I would get the candles from the market.”
He pauses. The corner of his mouth twitches and you wonder whether you had just impressed him. A thrill runs through you at such a thought. He nods in concession.
“Then where do you get your candles from?”
“It’s a secret.”
He smiles with a twinkle in his eyes as he leans closer to you.
“I won’t tell.”
The warmth of your cheeks runs down your body at his conspiratorial whisper, but you shake your head despite the smile on your face.
“I can’t. But I can give you some of mine.”
At that, he almost looks concerned.
“Don’t you need them?”
You shake your head.
“I don’t let them burn long. Just during prayer.”
When you realise what you’ve said, what you’ve just admitted, you freeze, smile dropping from your face. Black candles are only used for prayer to one Saint – the one that he is supposedly descended from. Concerned about his reaction, it takes you a moment to pull your eyes back to his face.
He nods slowly, his smile softening.
“You’re certain? I don’t want to take them from you if you need them.”
You shake your head.
“I’m just under halfway through my last one. I can spare a few.”
Unless you have an exceptionally lonely night. After a particularly hard day, when rest alludes you no matter what you do, lighting the Starless One’s candle always helps soothe you. Its scent is the soft creaminess of candle wax and the crisp berries they use to stain the candle black.
There’s nothing that compares to it, though in such proximity to Lord Morozova, you can’t help but observe that he smells remarkably similar to the candles. He must be wearing some sort of cologne. You don’t think you’ve ever met a man who wears cologne, and you’re tempted to turn your face into him and breathe it in.
Lady Alina returns with an armful of paints and longing fills you at the sight of such high quality supplies. The church give you what they can for your work, but it certainly isn’t the best.
At the prospect of a purchase, the old woman at the counter seems more amicable, though you do your best to remain unnoticed.
Once you’re back on the street, you open up your satchel pulling out a worn cloth bag which you shyly offer to Lady Alina. It isn’t the sort of quality a noble would be used to, but it will help her carry her supplies. She thanks you with a genuine smile and you open up your satchel once again and pick up the first candle you can grasp at.
“Will three be enough?” you ask Lord Morozova.
Amusement touches at his features as he observes you continuing to rifle through your bag in search of more candles. He shakes his head.
“Two will suffice.”
As you’re placing the candles into Lady Alina’s bag, she pulls out a small tin filled with paints – a travel set. She offers it to you.
“Here.”
Looking down at them, your fingers freeze mid-air.
“Lady Alina, I couldn’t-”
“Please, I wanted them for you.”
You blink at her in momentary confusion.
“Really?”
She nods, smiling kindly. You can hardly believe your luck – your own copy of Istorii Sankt’ya and your very first set of paints.
“Thank you, so much.” Your voice breaks a little as you thank her and for a moment you’re tempted to hug her. Then you remember who you’re talking to and step back slightly. “You have no idea how much this means to me.”
There’s something sharp that glimmers in her eyes, as if your words had brought back a forgotten memory and she understands your reaction.
“You’re welcome,” she says softly.
-
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S&B Tag List: @motheroffae
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INTRODUCING...
WOUNDED DIVINE, WITHERED COSMOS
— summary.
— set in the soul mythos
— adult fantasy space opera
when seven colossal beings of myth return after a millennia, they warn of a coming calamity that will destroy the universe, unless 777,777,777,777 mortals tithe their souls.
pinterest | lyrical playlist | instrumental playlist
— word count.
— currently drafting
— 4,756 of ~150,000
— contains.
Women, chronically ill characters, sapphic enemies to lovers, cyst realms buried beneath the surface of reality, souls born from the wombs of planets, slumbering gods, a Lot of fantasy religions, magic and arcane focuses, and millennia-old empires ruled by saints. also angst. this book is just angst.
— aesthetic.
cathedralian halo of thorned white stone, unending ocean wreathed in sun, cosmos burnished crimson with the heat of decay, a night sea misted with the glint of stardust, eyes wane opalescent with knowing, a thousand thousand burning incisions well light into the heavens, souls rend their scars of blight to seep a dying magic, slumbering gods whisper divine war, and worlds hiss their death elegy.
— plotlines and visuals.
THE WHITE WOLF + THE OBSIDIAN DRAGON
— in the aftermath of a calamitous vision sent across the universe, Lysmara battles to reclaim the stolen body of her slumbering God from the empire her saintdom answers to.
— main characters
— Lysmara the White Srasza: 27, she/her
— Ysythys the Obsidian Kostir-drac: 27, she/they
THE HOLY WAR + THE WORLD DEVOURER
— prophesied to incite holy war, Vesper is torn between the hope of a universe without eternal imperial rule and the vengeance for her lost world that only a chosen of the empire can offer.
— main characters
— Vesper Sol’Necrosia: 22, she/her
— Lylth Strathys: 26, she/her
THE CYSTIC SWORD + THE HERETIC GLAIVE
— imprisoned by the Cystic Clerisy alongside her enemy, Fesra is forced to trust her survival to the heretic hunter who once sought her execution. as the cult augments them into a sword that will pierce into the secrets of forgotten realms, they struggle to maintain their mind as their body evolves.
— main characters
— Fesra Stalks the Cosmos: 20, she/they
— Asyr: 23, she/her
THE WITCH-ZEALOT + THE THEURGIST
— when her closest friend is stolen by the Cystic Clerisy, Gorgoneth forsakes the vows forced on her in exchange for undeath. knowing soul rot will slowly consume her without her promise to the Saints, she infiltrates the cult to discover the dark source of their power and sever it at the head.
— main characters
— Gorgoneth Sol’Monasra: 26, she/her
— Nyphyr Sol’Aorsza: 27, he/they
— Morgorz: 1037, they/them
THE SALVATION + THE DEPARTED
— as the Annihilus Republic burns, Mordra shackles the Republic’s savior to her side and dooms the Annihilus people to imperial rule. with a slithering creature at the edges of her vision, whispering her onward, she delves into eldritch realms to restore her vanished motherworld.
— main characters
— Mordra Mothwym: 117, she/they
— Wisthe Caerthe: 27, she/her
THE LIGHTLESS ANGEL + THE DEATHLESS SAINT
— sent to retrieve a dead Saint, Isadothael discovers him alive and without memory. captured by the same cult of corpse-dealers holding the Saint prisoner, she’s forced to guide their ship into the starless, mind-bending dark of Gloom Space.
— main characters
— Isadothael Sol’Czaitov: 167, she/her
— Scythe: 124, he/they
THE MARTYR + THE DEMIURGE
— when the call for soul tithe reaches across the universe, Martyr’s imprisoned people are the first to be sacrificed. as her artificial body rapidly deteriorates with every use of a magic she shouldn’t possess, she races to board the ships ferrying her people to their deaths.
— main characters
— Martyr Cleaves a Million Chains: 27, she/her
— Vaerathûn the Scholar-Sacred: ~7000, they/he
— tag list.
if you'd like to be added to the tag list for this wip, let me know!
and if you made it this far, bless you because this book is an absolute behemoth!
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