Propaganda Blinds Us

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"..."

Oh, starshiĭ brat, gde vay nahoditesy!?

While Natalya Arloŭskaja cared very little for the ''Catholic Christmas'' and its involved traditions. Any event where she could be allowed a wonderfully opportunistic and affectionate reward from her dearest starshiĭ brat, she would participate in. Undoubtedly so, a rare kiss of fate under the mysterious mistletoe with her Vanya sounded right up her alley and her expectant, willingness towards it shown.

Is my eagerness showing?

The last thing Natalya desired today was to be the cause of her brat's visible discomfort. Deep in her heart she knew she could hardly contain herself. Why couldn't things be simpler between them? I... If she had the guarantee that he wouldn't whisk away from her grasp, she would have just grab a hold of her beloved and capture his lips with her own, under the pretense of some centuries old-catholic's tradition. While predominantly Eastern Orthodox, she was certain her starshiĭ brat had a few Catholic's crawling around his snowy lands. 

As she made her way towards the nearest parasitic shrub, she began to tidy up her appearance. She had to look at her cutest for him. I wonder if he would find my Santa dress to be to his liking. She pursed her lips. At times, it seemed as if her starshiĭ brat enjoyed foreign assembles, so perhaps, this would be one of them. She hoped, or all would have been for naught. Tightening up the red ribbon on her head, she grimaced at the memory of purchasing her current attire. It had been a mildly irritable ordeal to purchase it, let alone dress up in it. She would have worn the dress he'd given her, that old blue dress held many memories and sentiments to its wear, but at the moment it was at the cleaners needing a few extra cares. Tch. 

Looking up, she thought not of the off-chance and possibility of accidentally missing her target of fate and instead, having to kiss another gentlemen in this unholy, god forsaken night. Or heaven be damned, a woman. In any case, women did not kiss other women, specifically on the lips and even less romantically so. It was a thought too ridiculous for her to even begin to consider. Shaking her head and dispersing such vile thoughts with a grunt, she'd finally reached her destination. Eerie satisfaction began to swirl in her.

No one's here. 

Under the nearest mistletoe, standing, Natalya waited for her destined one with hands clasped in front of her.

He will come.