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sunderwight · 4 months ago

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Random thought but:

Those wide-brimmed pointy hats that witches and wizards are often depicted wearing are for traveling, right? That's what the brim is for, to protect from the sun and other elements. But the pointy part is probably ceremonial -- historically speaking most conical hats are often worn by priests or nobility to signify rank or role.

But sometimes in fantasy settings, wizard hats don't have the brim. But witches almost never lose the brim.

This indicates to me a shared origin between wizards and witches as traveling practitioners of magic. Which makes sense! If you only get a few magical people in a community, either because magical talent is rare or because it takes a lot of study to pick it up or both, then most magically inclined people would probably be in high demand. Which would mean that there was a lot of call for them to travel around and provide their services to place too poor or remote or unlucky to have their own resident magical practitioner.

But gradually, a divide begins to occur. Formally educated magical users are of course most commonly found in cosmopolitan regions (big cities) and can afford to stay in one place for a lot longer. Perhaps even exclusively, if the community is large enough to support them! So as more great cities establish themselves and also establish things like larger and better-funded academic institutions, a class of non-wandering magic user begins to grow. This group, i.e. wizards, signal their greater access to formal education and to wealthy patrons by dropping the brim from their hats. They keep the conical shape and height, to denote status and rank, but they get all bougie about the brim. Other attempts to flaunt success among wizards emphasize the lack of need to travel for work, such as building magnificent magical towers, positioning themselves in the courts of nobility, or building entire academic institutions dedicated to the study of the arcane arts.

Meanwhile rural communities still require the services of magically inclined people, but can no longer afford to entice wizards away from their status-defining sedentary lifestyle. Thus another class of magic user (witches) begins to define itself by their continued existence and work outside of major population centers. Since witches still travel and live in the countryside, their hats keep the brim, because they still need it to protect them from the elements.

This also explains the gender differential. While magical talent probably doesn't operate on the basis of gender, classism sure does. Girls born into wealthier families are often slated for marriage alliances and encouraged to treat formal education as an opportunity for husband-hunting, rather than actually becoming adept in or engaging with the professional use of magic itself. Which doesn't mean that none of them do it anyway, but there's probably a more marked difference between women who become wizards and men who do. Especially as wizards become more preoccupied with social status, and thus more likely to gate off access to certain levels of education, so that only either the extremely wealthy or the extremely talented can get at them. If a girl's family doesn't want to go to all the trouble of paying for a full education or compelling a skilled teacher to take her on, her options for pursuing it on her own are probably quite limited.

Meanwhile out in the sticks, magic users are such rarities that gatekeeping on the basis of gender is frankly too impractical, especially considering the degree of utility magic has for saving lives and livelihoods. It's just not that feasible to give a shit about the gender of the spellcaster who is saving your entire sheep flock from a bad case of bluetongue, or holding up a barrier that's keeping a recent landslide from burying your house, or getting the ghosts out of a local well that you'd really love to be able to actually use.

So over time witches become associated with women, even though it's more that they've got a 50/50 split whereas wizards heavily favor men. In the way of things, this actually become a self-fulfilling prophecy over time, because men who develop magical aptitude see witchery as "women's work" and are more likely to try and save up and move to the city to learn "real" magic, or else try and differentiate themselves from female witches by creating their own distinctions between what they do and what women spellcasters do, carving out particular areas of focus to be the masculine fields of magic.

This would probably create even more distinct classes of magical users -- the male witches who still do the usual magic work in rural regions but don't like to be called witches, and so do something else to distinguish themselves in an equivalent of stamping a No Girls Allowed sign on their door (warlocks?), who probably still keep the wide brim on their hats but perhaps ditch the pointy part in a middle finger to the elitism of wizards (and also to ensure they're less likely to be mistaken for witches), and the magically talented people who make their way from the country to the nearest cities to try and join the wizard class. Though this group is more likely to struggle due to a lack of social or financial clout, and probably has to depend way more on having enough sheer natural talent to draw the eye of a benefactor (sorcerers?). Most of them would be men too, because of increasing social attitudes that men were just better at this "type" of magic would mean that women would have a harder time getting backing, but there would probably be some who were ambitious enough to nevertheless go for it and then end up in a related-but-still-gendered category of their own (sorceresses?).

Because classism, it seems likely that these underdog country-to-city spellcasters (probably also joining in with impoverished but talented locals to the metropolitan areas too) don't get the pointy hats unless they manage to actually succeed in being absorbed by wizard establishments, but also don't keep the brimmed hats because those are associated with being a bumpkin. They're hat-less, or else wear a completely different style. They probably also get a bit of a shady reputation because there are a lot of predatory institutions that scoop up magically talented individuals who don't know how to navigate the relevant social institutions, and then basically embroil them in debt or whatnot in order to exploit whatever magical talent they have for whatever profits are to be gained.

Of course you probably also have the opposite class of people, i.e. formally trained magic users who decide that trying to rub elbows with kings and rich people is stupid, and take their training to go off and save villages from mudslides and such instead. They're basically witches again but with a fancier pedigree, but of course coming from the outside of it they lack the community knowledge to navigate regions as well and also now there's this split from the Boy Witches Who Won't Be Called Witches, and probably what counts as Girl Magic gets very regional, so what jobs you do or how you go about casting spells has an irregular impact on what the locals will call you if you aren't a woman. If you're a woman you can probably take the witch label without as much issue. But since the fellas started as wizards, then, they more likely still call themselves wizards in the face of all this, but the big city wizards do NOT want to be associated with them (unless they do something really impressive that they can share credit for), so there has to be a new category for them (hedge wizards?) to differentiate from proper wizards. Anyway they wear the big brimmed hats again, because that's just practical. Whether they wear tall ones or not probably varies between individual and regional implications about it.

So. Yeah. Magic user hat politics, with bonus gender nonsense.

#long post #witches #wizards #wizard shit #magic #world building #fantasy #sword and sorcery #do warlocks wear cowboy hats?#all those fancy fantasy charts that are like here's how you determine spellcaster class based on how you cast spells #meanwhile I'm out here knocking shit off the table like no you fools it's the hats

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kasagia · 2 months ago

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I love you... I am sorry IV

Pairing: Aleksander Morozova/The Darkling x fem!witch! reader Summary: Aleksander spends more time with Alina, playing with your heart. Luckily, an old friend returns to your side. Will he help you get over your Sasha and finally put yourself first? Or maybe you'll find that you're not dodging a bullet, you're just losing the love of your life. Aleksander Morozova's Masterlist ~•♤♤♤•~Main Masterlist ~•♤♤♤•~ Part 3 ~•♤♤♤•~ Part 5 ~•♤♤♤•~

"Any longer you stare at her like that and you'll burn holes in the back of her skull." Ulla comments as you sit in the tavern a bit apart from the rest of the group. And you look. At Aleksander and Alina's.

You shake your head and look away from them, digging into the beer in your hands. Ulla was right. You were pathetic, giving him exactly what he wanted – attention – when he was flirting with Alina just to spite you. Son of a bitch.

"I have no idea what you're on about." You mumble at her, the bitterness in your voice so obvious you grimace into your beer.

"About that donkey head, aka my stupid brother and his annoying Sunny Queen. I know you love that stubborn bastard, but the way you look at him and her, you're giving him exactly what he wants. Your jealousy. Just ignore him and go have fun with someone. Preferably a guy. That'll piss him off more."

You roll your eyes at her brilliant plan to get back at Aleksander. Sometimes you really wonder if you didn't make a mistake in raising her. She was such a teenage drama queen at times. Just like her brother.

"I doubt that adding another guy to this mess will help me in any way. Besides, he's right. We haven't been together for what… an age? I think it's time to move on."

"What?!" Ulla shouts at you, drawing the attention of the people around your table. And not only them.

You ignore the quick glance that Aleksander throws your way and try to speak as quietly as you can so he doesn't understand anything of your little conversation.

"What you just heard. I stayed where he left me for too long."

Ulla stares at you with wide eyes, blinking several times.

"But… but you can't… you love each other and… but…" You place your hand on hers and give her a sad smile.

"The thing is… sometimes love is not enough. You have to meet the other person halfway. Understand them, accept their flaws and be with them… we probably lacked that." You shrug and take a sip of your beer, trying your best to keep the tears from welling up in your eyes.

It would be better this way. After all, Luke and the other witches were after you. It'll only be a matter of time before they get you... or when you get them.

“Stupid boy.” Baghra comments as she sits down next to you. You raise an eyebrow at her unexpected company, noticing Ulla tense up next to you out of the corner of your eye. “I told you he wasn’t worth the effort.”

"Since when on earth are you interested in my personal life? Or anyone else's except yours?" You mock her as you sip your beer and try to ignore the way Aleksander delicately tugs at a strand of his Sol Koroleva's hair.

You feel like throwing up. And it's not from the amount of beer you've had. Maybe you need a little more to get drunk. This is probably the best way to spend tonight.

"When you make stupid decisions. Which means always." You roll your eyes at her and glance around the bar, trying to ignore the monologue she's giving you.

Keeping your gaze from wandering to the Darklina, as Ulla affectionately called it, is getting harder with each passing second.

You might want to gouge your eyes out.

But then, you notice the fire in the inn's fireplace flashing with different colours. Curious, you look closer until you see a hand in the fire. You frown, finishing the rest of your beer and watching as the hand waves at you, encouraging you to come over. You come up with some stupid excuse and get up from the table, heading towards the inn's exit.

The cold wind hits your skin, a clear reminder that you should have brought a coat with you. Especially when you're on the border with Fjerda in the dead of winter. You rub your arms together and mutter some kind of warming spell when suddenly, a thick coat is draped over you... a reindeer coat. With tiny crystals sewn into the leather.

You only knew one person who would voluntarily wear something like that.

"Mijomir?" You ask in shock and turn around to find yourself in the arms of your old friend.

"So obvious?" He asks with that trademark smirk of his. You jump into his arms with a squeal and wrap him in a tight hug.

"I've been looking for you for a decade, you idiot! Where have you been? We last saw each other at the port in Western Ravka."

"A little here, a little there. Kerch is a very interesting land. I'm sure you'd like it. For the record, I'm still mad at you for not coming with me, but I understand. Your boyfriend and all. But… I heard Luke's after you."

"Yeah… minor inconvenience."

"Luke or your man?"

"Both." You answer quickly, not wanting to delve into the subject. “Actually… I don’t have a man. He... he is not my man.” You mumble it more to yourself than to him.

The words are like a bitter goo on your tongue, a poison you must taste… or a terrible medicine that will heal you. Anyway... saying it out loud confirms what had been happening this week. Alina and Aleksander's closeness... your distance from each other. Maybe you were never meant to be together. Maybe you weren't the one he saw at the heart of creating the world. So why did it feel so right while it lasted?

Mijomir frowns at your confession but doesn't comment or question it. A true friend. One of the very few. If there was anyone you could trust with your life, other than Ulla and Aleks… other than Ulla, it was him. And only him.

"Anyway… I figured you could use some help. Either killing Luke or pretending you were dead. Although from what I gather, you managed to pull off the latter. You scared the living daylights out of me, by the way. I thought you were actually dead until I found that damn communication stone."

"Sorry, drastic measures and all that. Besides, I haven't heard from you in 10 years."

"I was busy. I thought I was…" He sighs and runs a hand through his hair. "We don't have much luck with significant others, do we?"

"Hell no. But I'm guessing most witches don't." You nod, agreeing with him on that one point.

You open your mouth to ask him exactly what he was doing during that time, but just then fate decides to put another witch in your path. This time, a worse one.

You don't even know the redhead who attacks you. She simply throws ropes at you and uses her magic to bind you with them. But before she can leap at you with a golden dagger, Mijomir is there to save the day and push her away from you. Clumsily enough that the woman cuts your right cheek.

You hiss as you feel blood drip down your skin but quickly recover. You shrug off your heavy cloak and use an old trick taught to you by the older witches in your coven. The woman begins to choke on her own blood, which unfortunately has the same effect on you.

Blood pours from your eyeballs as you work your dark magic, tearing apart every cell in her, causing her heart to stop as you strip away every tiny tissue of her muscle and nerves to her heart.

Meanwhile, Mijomir kills another witch who came to the aid of the first one. You catch your breath in quick gasps, exhausted from using so much power. Mijomir quickly shoves the bodies into a ditch and sets them on fire, controlling the flame so it's not big enough to attract anyone's attention.

“Are you okay?” He asks, grabbing your arm and pulling you away from the fire. You nod, looking around the alley. "Don't worry; these are less-travelled areas. Although I think you know that when you stop here. What are you even doing here? You should be far away from here, either planning to assassinate Luke or to escape and start a new identity and life."

"I… I'm not exactly alone." You mumble, staring at the small fire.

5th attack this week. And it was only Wednesday. I think you're going for a record this week. And I guess the news of your death wasn't convincing enough in the witch world.

"What do you mean?"

"Y/N!" You shiver at the sound of Aleksander's voice behind you. You turn to see him, Baghra, Ulla, and Ivan heading your way. You sigh, realising that you're in for another long evening of explaining what happened.

You frown as Mijomir suddenly slumps on his knees to the ground, shivering in pain as he puts his hand on his heart. Luckily, you connect the dots quickly.

"No! Leave him alone, Ivan! He's a friend!" You shout at him and kneel next to the wizard.

Ivan thankfully listens to you for once, you doubt it was out of respect for you. More like your furious look or Aleksander's nod as he dismisses his shadows.

Anyway, when Mijomir can finally stand properly on two legs and is not in danger of being attacked by your little company, he is recognised.

"It can't be…" Ulla mutters, taking a step towards you and looking at him.

"Ulen'ka?" Your friend mumbles, squinting at her as if trying to connect the face of the child he knew with the face of the adult woman now standing before him.

"Uncle Mijo!" She screams and rushes to hug him. He can barely stand on his two legs.

Luckily, you support him, keeping your hand on his back and making sure Ulla doesn't jump on him and throw the two of them into the ditch where the witches' bodies were still burning.

"Uncle? I don't exactly remember you being part of the family." Aleksander speaks up, drawing your gaze.

You ignore the way your heart beats a little too fast, pleading with the saints who still listen to your pleas for Ivan not to sense this, and you give him a distant, cold look.

"He's my family, so don't be surprised that he's the same for Ulla."

"I thought you had no family." He notices, jabbing you in the sweet spot with a pin, using the knowledge of your past to hurt you intentionally. Son of a bitch. A real one.

"Well, I have Ulla and him. I guess that counts."

You mask your winning smirk, turning your head towards Ulla and Mijomir at the perfect moment, ensuring you do not notice the spark of pain in Aleksander's dark eyes as you exclude him from your 'family'. Serves him right. Although you doubt you would think so if you saw the true effect it had on him.

No… you end up putting him first.

"Let's go inside. Fedyor will patch you up." Aleksander says, nodding at your bloody cheek and the streaks of blood under your eyes.

"Ah, that. Don't move, Y/N." Mijomir says and walks over to you. He cups both of your cheeks in his hands and presses his lips to your forehead. You feel the magic swirl between you as he helps you heal without the little science of Grisha, just his magical essence.

After a while you feel much better; your head isn't spinning as much as before, and you feel more energetic after Mijomir lent you some of his magic so you could replenish your supplies.

He doesn't give you a chance to check Aleksander's expression. He grabs your hand and simply drags you into the inn, mumbling something about the bloody winter and how he won't be rubbing you with healing oils if you catch a cold.

Ulla will later describe to you in full detail how furious her brother was watching this interaction between you two.

You feel that Mijomir will help you with this exactly as a true friend would... or maybe even someone more.

"I don't want to leave you alone with her…" Aleksander grumbles, feeling guilty as he packs to leave.

You sigh, walking over to him. You take out the black linen shirt he wanted to take and leave it on your small bed. You hug him tightly, burying your face in the crook of his neck and inhaling his scent, tracing gentle, soothing circles on his back.

"I know, honey… But you said yourself that this is a good opportunity for us. Quick earnings, low risk of being discovered. And we need this money. Ulla is growing faster and faster; Baghra hasn't shown up in years… And you know perfectly well that my little witcher tricks and money creation are quite limited for now. You have to go."

He mumbles something into your hair and plants a long, tender kiss on the top of your head.

"Are you sure you'll be okay? And that you'll be safe without me?"

"Aleksander, it's only two weeks." You notice, pulling away to get a better look at him before he will leave.

Damn, you were lucky. He was all yours. Only yours.

"A lot may happen in those two weeks... just promise me you will wait here for me." You snort in amusement, as if you were going to move anywhere else until he comes back for the two of you.

His serious expression, however, suggests he's not in the same playful mood as you. You smile and cup his slightly bearded cheek in your hand.

"I will. I'm not going anywhere until you come back here again. Consider this a vacation from me and Ulla." You add playfully and press a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

You gasp in surprise when he grabs you by the waist, pressing you against the wooden wall of your little cabin in the woods and stealing a breath-taking kiss.

One of his hands wraps gently around your neck, the other cupping your cheek, lifting your head higher as his tongue makes its way into your mouth.

He devours you.

He takes everything you have from you, and all you can do is moan into his mouth, tightening your grip on him, pulling him closer to you desperately, melting into the feeling of having him so close to you, almost as close as he should ever be.

Your lips chase after his as he pulls away, but he doesn't let you kiss him again. Instead, he trails along the column of your neck, leaving soft bites and kisses, marking you for his absence, as if he hadn't done enough the night before, as if you weren't still sore from a long evening and morning of goodbyes.

As if you would ever let anyone have you the way he had you.

"I could spend all eternity with you and still not have enough of you." He mumbles against your skin, pressing one last kiss to your jaw and resting his forehead against yours, inhaling your scent, revelling in his final moments of closeness with you.

"Silver tongue…"

"As always. Just look at another man in my absence and you'll see what else I'm capable of."

"And jealous… you look damn handsome when you're jealous, Mr Morozova." You can't help but tease him, sending him a mischievous smirk as you ruffle his hair.

"Only about you, future Mrs Morozova."

"A bold statement from a man who didn't even give me a ring."

"Bold assumption that this man will let you go and have other options."

And maybe other women would have been scared of that, taken it as a big red flag, and packed their bags and run away long ago. But you loved that he was almost as madly in love with you as you were with him.

"Did he leave?" Mojomir asks, knocking on your door a few minutes after Aleksander leaves. You nod and open the door wider for him. "Woman, I feel like I'm in some kind of occupation. Or a secret cult. Or both. Are you sure you want this one? He keeps you locked away in the middle of the forest, away from the world, and makes you babysit his sister, as sweet as she is." He whispers, not wanting to wake Ulla from her afternoon nap.

"It's not like that… He loves me. And I love him. We just have each other, and that's it. Besides, I doubt the world would welcome a witch like me and a Grisha like him so willingly. I'm happy here."

You defend Aleksander, unpacking all the supplies Mijomir brought you from his last expedition. A few herbs that can't be obtained anywhere in Ravka, crystals, a new cauldron for your collection, and two new potion books.

"Does he even know what you're going to do? How much are you willing to sacrifice for him?" He asks you, taking one of the chairs. You sigh, putting the new things back in their places with your other witchy things.

"It's my choice. He has nothing to do with it. Anyway, if I told him, he'd try to stop me."

"That's what I was hoping for. This is crazy, Y/N. No one has ever attempted to create something this strong. Maybe only Ilya Morozova himself."

You smile to yourself at the irony of it. He was right. No one but Aleksander's grandfather would have dared to do something so crazy. You regret that he is dead, that you can't meet him, and talk about what you are going to do out of love for his grandson and granddaughter.

But it didn't discourage you. Or scare you. After all, you were supposed to be Morozova. You were supposed to create great things yourself.

"Only lunatics are worth something."

"I'll carve that on your tombstone. And mine, when that boyfriend of yours finds out I had a hand in this and helped you get killed."

"I think he'd sooner kill you just to come here and talk to me. You don't have to do anything more."

"Poor consolation. But seriously, watch out for him."

"He's a good man… despite what others may think."

Mijomir mumbles something under his breath about a psychopath with a heart of gold who kills innocent friends, but you don't have a chance to comment on it. Ulla, awake, runs to her step-uncle, peppering him with questions about his travels and adventures from the doorstep. You prepare dinner, listening to everything Mijomir exposed himself to, making little remarks about his safety from time to time.

You felt a little bit downhearted without Aleksander... but at least you had other family members to take care of.

After a long day of explaining to everyone the reason for Mijomir's presence, you almost thank the saints that you can finally rest.

You lie in the tavern's dingy bed, tossing and turning. Your restless mind effectively prevents you from falling asleep in these already questionable conditions. You sigh and get out of bed. You put on your coat and step out onto the small balcony that was somehow held up by the tavern's rotten wooden planks.

Your thoughts, of course, are none other than Alexander. As they always have been for centuries. You sigh and close your eyes, remembering the way he's looked at Alina these past few weeks. And even though you should have been over it, even though you should have walked away with dignity ages ago, let go of this losing battle with his pride; you just... couldn't.

He was the love of your life. He had told you a thousand times that you were the love of his life. And yet now, after so many centuries, after so much gossiping, after so many years together, after so many plans for a future together, so many promises that felt almost sacred... it felt more like a loss of your life.

It hurt all the more knowing that you would love him no matter what he did. Even if it was to hurt you. Sick, really. How could anyone love someone to such an extent? You suspected it was because of your immortality. Maybe if you had fewer years to waste sighing over him, it would be easier to forget him.

"Can't sleep?" You shiver as his voice booms from behind you. He pursues you like a plague, yet he won't even touch you with a three-foot pole. Ridiculous.

"I don't need sleep." You mumble without turning to face him, still leaning against the wooden railings. You wonder how much longer they can hold your weight before they break.

"Probably." He snorts mockingly and walks over to you. He leans against the railing, wincing as he hears the crunch of wood. "This is going to collapse soon."

"Probably." You nod apathetically, looking at the streets in front of you, not giving him a second glance. “Maybe you should go inside.”

"Who was he to you?" He growls, either unable to stop himself or biting his tongue too late.

"Who? Mijomir?" You ask, giving him a quick glance. “A friend. He would come over sometimes to help me with my witch stuff. Ulla loved playing with him.”

"Only a friend?"

This innocent question asked in the most nonchalant way he could muster makes you lose your composure. You snort in disbelief, finally giving him your gaze, only to see hurt and anger in his irises. He was acting like a 5-year-old who had a toy taken away that he didn't play with anyway but decided to be dramatic about it.

"You've got the nerve of a donkey turd to ask me that. Besides, I don't have to answer you. We're not together." You snap at him, ready to go back to your room and leave the balcony you share with him, but clearly today he's made it a point to annoy the living hell out of you.

"True. We are not together. And yet you are irritated by the sight of Alina and me." You stop at the door, clenching your fist at his irritating, cocky tone. Little son of a bitch. Scum.

"What can I say? You're not my favourite people. I actually only tolerate Ulla. And Mijomir." You engage in a verbal spar with him, even though the rational part of you is screaming to get out of there. You turn around and fold your arms, taking a step towards him. "But I see that today the roulette of your multiple personalities has drawn the version of you that wants to cling to our past." He snorts mockingly at your mockery and takes a step toward you, undeterred by the fury with which your eyes burn into his face.

"I think you're upset for a completely different reason." He replies confidently, as if he had any right to point out how he makes you feel.

"What do you want?" You sigh, tired of this game between you.

You had a coven of witches coveting your head, a war with Fjerda, and all of that combined with your ex's moods made you slowly prepare to explode. Preferably at him.

"Tomorrow we have our first serious battle with Fjerda. Alina has gathered the men." He explains it to you as if you were not a participant in any conversations about strategy for this particular battle.

"I know. And?" You ask impatiently, raising an eyebrow at him. He sighs and shifts his gaze from you to the streetlights.

"Look after yourself." He mumbles through clenched teeth as if someone had forced him to utter that small request. For a moment you stand there, frozen in shock, before you burst out laughing, shaking your head in disbelief.

"I don't have to. I have Mijomir."

"Y/N..." He growls, grabbing your elbow the moment you turn to go back to your room. You close your eyes and swallow as he spins you around, holding both of your forearms in his tight grip. "I am serious."

"Me too. You should go to Alina." You reply, looking him straight in the eyes, trying to maintain that unfazed attitude.

But he knows you better than that. One look in your eyes, the slight tremor in your voice as you say her name, and he knows everything he needs.

"Jealous?" You snort mockingly at his question. His raised eyebrow and mischievous smirk quickly fall under your indifferent and nonchalant attitude.

"I have no right to."

"But you are, don't you?" You frown as he continues to push the subject.

Even if you were... what would it change? Absolutely nothing. He's burnt himself too many times to put his hand in the same fire a second time. And you... you were probably too bruised to fight for him anymore.

"What game are you playing right now? What do you want to prove?"

You stare at each other for a long moment as he ponders the answer he was supposed to give you. Because what exactly did he want from you? Why did he follow you here? Why did he go out on that damn balcony after you without a second thought? Why did he tell Ivan to keep an eye on you? He knew. But it would be too pathetic to admit it.

"You were with me just to create this necklace, weren't you?" He watches you closely, asking you this question, a question that has hung unspoken between you ever since he found out what exactly the glass heart on your chest was supposed to do.

He watches with stoic calm as your eyes widen in shock at his question as you hold your breath for a moment, processing exactly what he's just said to you. And the moment you pull away from him, when tears briefly fill your eyes, quickly giving way to anger and frustration, he knows that the answer wasn't going to be quite what his logical, rational side was expecting.

"No. I loved you. I loved you, Aleksander. I fucking loved you with all my stupid heart. From the moment I saw you, I knew I had to have you, and from the moment I really knew you, I knew I had lost my heart to some guy who was too mysterious to tell me his damn name. And I should have known better; I should have walked away at the first sign of trouble, but damn it, I LOVED YOU. That's why I created this necklace. To never leave you alone, to always be with you, to help you bear the eternity that awaited you. But you can't seem to get it into your thick skull, so what does it matter? Too many years have passed to continue digging into it. You won't trust me anymore, and I won't forgive you for choosing to believe I was against you from the very beginning of us for so long, so... so maybe we should finally let this go."

"Let this go? Do you really want to let this go? Just like that?"

"I am dead to you either way. Am I not, Aleksander?" You ask with your head held high, even though your voice cracks slightly at the end.

He's astonished. He instinctively moves closer, extending his hand in an attempt to grasp your arm. However, you deftly retreat, evading his touch before his fingertips can even touch your skin. The sight of your tears sends a pain through him as intense as the merzost itself has never caused.

"How can you expect... you were the love of my life..." He stutters through his words, too afraid to open up to both you and himself and too petrified to let you go forever.

"And you were the loss of mine, Sasha." You whisper, letting a few tears roll down your cheeks before you aggressively wipe them away with the sleeve of your shirt. The glass heart of your necklace clinks against the metal buttons.

This destroys him completely. He stands frozen in place, watching as you take off that damn immortality necklace and place it on the railing that looks like it's about to collapse in any second.

"Here… do with it what you want." You reply in resignation as he is frozen in pure panic, only able to hear the pounding of his own heart as it accelerates by several hundred miles a minute.

"Y/N..." He mumbles, reaching for you one last time, but can only manage to graze the fabric of your shirt with his fingertip as you run as fast as you can back to your room. "Y/N!" He calls after you as you slam the door shut, nearly ripping the already questionably constructed frame off its hinges.

He takes the necklace in a flash and clutches it securely in his hand, having a small heart attack as a silver pendant almost falls off the railing from the power of which you shut the door.

You wanted to get rid of that damn necklace and him… but all you did was prove to him what you had just said so loudly.

You didn't want immortality just for yourself.

You wanted it for him. So he wouldn't be alone.

And now that Alina was there and you thought he was with her…

No… you couldn't just do it… without it you'll die, if not of old age then from those who hunted you… and he couldn't… Ulla will kill him.

"Trouble in paradise?" His mother asks, leaning against the door frame and watching him carefully.

He takes one deep calming breath, shoving his shaking, empty hand into his pocket so as not to show her the unstable, trembling emotional mess he currently was.

"For centuries, thanks for noticing, mother." He growls back at her with clenched teeth, staring at the necklace in his hand. His blood. In this heart. He had thought for a long time that it was meant to symbolise your power over his heart. In fact, it was a symbol of his power over yours.

How funny it is that in the moments when he feels the most powerless, his mother is always there with him...

"Are you just going to let her go?"

The irony is that the same woman who pushed him away from you is now questioning your idea of leaving him. Even dares to talk him out of the mere idea of allowing it… or maybe that was his mother's way to make him completely disgusted with you. Although… in all these years, has he ever really had a resentment for you that outweighed his… his love for you?

"You wanted this. Weren't you the one who told me she created that necklace behind my back? Weren't you the one who rubbed it in my face with pleasure that I had let a witch who wanted to use my immortality for her own gain? That it was never about me, but about the power I have? Didn't you do the same with Alina?" He throws accusations at her furiously, as if a moment ago he did not have tears of helplessness and despair in his eyes.

"I was right about Alina. You wanted to use her, you can't convince me otherwise. The saints know that all you really loved was that witch girl and your sister."

Aleksander just shakes his head and heads inside his room, knowing that arguing with her is a lost cause. He sits on the bed, the necklace still in his tight grip as he wonders what the hell he's supposed to do now.

"You were right. I made a mistake with Y/N. But how was I supposed to know she did it for you?"

"And how was I supposed to trust her when you spent your whole life teaching me to rely only on myself, mother?" He asks mockingly, lifting his gaze to her, surprised that she had gone to the trouble of following him and continuing his tirade.

"Don't put the blame on me. The pride that prevents you from telling her you were wrong is something you earned entirely by yourself." She continues to mock him, to which he just rolls his eyes. Her demeanour changes though, becoming a tad… awkward as she avoids looking at him. "I… I may have been wrong in a few matters. But I know one thing for sure. Pride, Aleksander, does not go hand in hand with love."

"Another lesson?" He mumbles, raising an eyebrow at her.

She doesn't grace him with an answer, though. She leaves his room, leaving him alone with his thoughts, the shadows moving around him, and the necklace still safe in his hand.

And Aleksander is faced with one dark truth that he has been running away from for so many years, centuries even.

He had wasted so much time with you, believing the worst, clinging to his mother's suspicions of you, and then, when some sense returned to him, he had clung to his pride. Because admitting that he had ruined your lives… who had condemned your love to loss and failure would have been too devastating for him.

For a long time he had thought that the Sun Summoner would be his guide, his equal, would show him the way, would stay with him, and would fight for their people together. Would fight for him. Would give him light in his darkness. But the truth was, he already had his equal. You. And he had lost you.

No. He won't let you go.

He jumps out of his bed and walks out of his room, storming into yours. He almost breaks the door down with his strength, and if he weren't so desperate, he'd wonder why it's open, but all he can think about is getting you back.

Damn his pride. Without you, none of this mattered anyway; nothing worked out for him the way it should. And although he couldn't live with you, living without you seemed a much crueller, more torturous process than admitting that he needed you desperately, painfully, in a crazy way that took away his rational thought.

"I love you, Y/N. I'm sorry, I…" His confession dies on his tongue when he sees only an empty room. An empty room with a broken window and signs of a fight in it.

His apology catches in his throat, ash on his tongue as he realises exactly what happened while he was in the next room, oblivious, when he should have been in your bed with you, holding you safe in his arms, killing whoever came after you.

A cold chill runs through him, his shadows churning within him, ready to be released, to create another Fold, like when they first took you from him. Thankfully, he is much older and has much more self-control. He does not want to destroy any clues.

"IVAN!" He's yelling at the entire tavern, not caring who he wakes up. In fact, he wants to wake everyone up and immediately go on a search, chasing you. "IVAN!"

He places your necklace around his neck, his own heart racing with fear. You were defenceless. Mortal. Vulnerable to ordinary blades and bullets.

"Moi soverenyi, what..." Ivan’s question dies on his lips as he runs into the room, his kefta barely fastened. Heartrender swallows hard. “She’s gone.”

"Collect our people. We're coming for her. Spread the word. Everyone who believes in the Starless One must show up."

"What's going on?" Alina enters the room, tying her robe. He can see Nikolai and Ulla right behind her, but he's too preoccupied to answer her.

He walks deeper into the room, analysing every inch of the floor covered in blood and blade scratches. And then he finds. A small figurine of a wolf's head. A Drüskelle.

If they had her, word would spread quickly to the Sabbath who hunted her.

"You can't disappear and look for her now! We have more important things to do! We have a war to win!" Alina protests, tugging on the sleeve of his shirt, forcing him to stand up from the floor and look at her.

He's faster than she can process. He grabs her by the throat and pins her to the wall. Alina gasps, barely able to say a word, let alone take a proper breath. He casts his shadows, seeing Nikolai reach for his gun out of the corner of his eye. Saints praise Ivan; he'll quickly overpower the little Tsar.

"Sasha, stop!" Aleksander hears Ulla's weak protest, but all he can do is stare at Alina with pure hatred.

For a moment, he thinks of a similar situation between them in his grandfather's workshop. The difference is that then he did care a little about the Sun Summoner, but now he doesn't feel that sentiment anymore.

But after the diminutive form of his name uttered by Ulla seeps into his brain, all he can remember are your words.

You were the love of my life...

And you were the loss of mine, Sasha.

"If I don't find her, I'll make sure you have nothing to fight for. There'll be no Fjerda, no Ravka, no Shu, nothing. I'll leave nothing that my shadows won't turn into one big fold. Do you understand now how important she is, moya tsarista?" He growls, using his most intimidating tone. Shadows gather around him uncontrollably, his hand around Alina's neck shaking as he struggles to retain any remaining control.

You were the loss of mine, Sasha.

He watches with satisfaction as she just nods, barely able to do anything. He lets go of her, letting her fall to the floor, coughing, holding her neck as she gasps for air.

"You are mad... completely mad." Alina is panting on the floor, trying to pull herself together after his attack at her. But he doesn't see her. He only sees your tearful eyes.

You were the loss of my life, Sasha.

"Don't blame me, my Sol Koroleva. Love makes me crazy." He scoffs mockingly and turns to Ulla, who has been watching this with panic and slight disappointment. "Go get that wizard of hers. Maybe he'll be useful." Aleksander replies, unfazed by her gaze. He will be whatever monster he has to to get you back.

He was the Black General. A Darkling. He would kill anyone who dared to touch what was his.

His sister nods and runs out of the room, leaving him with a furious Alina, an unconscious Nikolai, and Ivan, who is the only one who seems unfazed by the whole situation. May the saints bless him.

"We'll find her." His heartrender assures him, at which he just nods.

He has to find you. He sees no other option.

The glass heart now hanging around his neck had evaporated a hole right through him. This is the last time he lets you take off that damn necklace.

Suddenly he doesn't care at all that it was created without his consent. What an irony…

All he thinks about is your last words to him.

Do with it what you want.

He will. He will put it right where it belongs. On your neck.

Or he'll kill everything around him trying to do so.

Did I have fun writing the end of the chapter? Yes. I'm curious what you think about Mijomir and what your attitudes are towards the next chapter. I'm also wondering how long this series will be, what else you want to see, etc., so if you have any special requests, feel free to write! (I love all my anonymous people, so do not be more shy than me! 😊😘)

Any comments/messages/hearts are greatly appreciated! Thank you so much!!! If you want to, let me know what you think 🥰🖤🖤

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