𝟭𝟵:𝟬𝟬 , 𝗩𝗘𝗦𝗡𝗔 𝗡𝗜𝗚𝗛𝗧 [ 𝖥𝖤𝖲𝖳𝖨𝖵𝖨𝖳𝖸 𝖯𝖤𝖱𝖨𝖬𝖤𝖳𝖤𝖱𝖲 ] ──── kisa yoo ; @seplchral
when vanya was a boy, his mother would let him play helper in the kitchen. vesna night was a krovograd celebration that required lengthy preparation. sunlight had once poured through the windows in the shift from winter to spring, mornings spent baking honey cakes that his family and neighbors would scarf down in minutes. baked with love, warm and fresh out the oven.
sugar, butter, flour ──── all valuable contraband he has managed to swipe. vanya is no baker, and in the ruins [ walking hell ] of krovograd today, the maintenance of household tradition has slipped far beyond his fingers. but every year, he still tries to follow it with honor. the cake is cold, shielded in hard plastic; not meant to withstand the winter wind, baked with an unspoken grief. a barebones imitation of his mother’s recipe.
he spots kisa, and vanya wonders if she remembers the taste. if she can recall better vesna festivities; when the night roared without fear of soldiers and sicknesses and their religion walked with them still.
boots crunch against snow as he approaches, backs to building wall, standing shoulder-to-shoulder. the perfect worm's-eye view, he realizes, from her spot in the shadows consumed; the light of the bonfire unable to reach this corner of the world.
“there are better things to do than sulk tonight.” the hand with the honey cake container reaches out for her to take. “i won’t say it’s better than theirs,” a nod to the stalls selling. “but i can say it has more sugar. won't poison you.”
