You nod accordingly – that all seems interesting, Anastasya – a built-in response picked up after years of such routine. When the topics of conversation dry up like a well, she will unglove her ice-cold hand to feel your exposed skin. You become used to the chill that you no longer flinch; it’s hard to be bothered anymore. 

She savors her moments with you and immortalizes such transient minutes through the very ice she controls. To preserve and cherish every moment with you is one of the simplest pleasures in her life. The moment she’s needed to step back into her role of being Snezhnaya’s ruler, she leaves whisps of snowflakes that gently caress your cheek; her own form of a goodbye kiss. 

You’re not her spouse, nor is she your wife. But she promises day and night for the past 500 agonizing years that the moment she seizes authority from the heavenly principles, you two will finally be wed and shall be marked as the first monumental event in the new world. 

That child, too, will come back. And you’ll all be a happy family. 

Until then, you are encased in a room only she has access to in the name of love. 

LOVE IS CONJUGAL. (VALERIY)

“Major Valeriy will be displeased to learn you lost your wedding ring. Fret not, I will find it for you, my grace.”

His Oprichnik subordinate quickly gets on his hands and knees to begin a fruitless search while you watch him scramble around from the sofa. Leisurely leaning back with a cold drink in your hand, you know it’s not nice to torment a faultless person, but all your anger must be vented somewhere even at the cost of an unfortunate Oprichnik. You’ve grown to be selfish in that sense - it’s an undesirable trait nursed by your husband’s weirdly coddling attitude. His fault. Entirely his fault.

You intended to watch this stranger run around like a headless Volkodlak fae for a little while longer, just enough to bring him to tears behind that mask when heavy, thudding footsteps enter the room. The Oprichnik quickly stands at attention, bowing a perfect ninety degrees to whom you need not guess. Your husband, Valeriy, is here. Rolling your eyes over to his, you note that his obsidian hair is powdered in snow with his cape nowhere to be found, nose is a bit red too. You hold in a grin – an avalanche most likely caught him. Serves him right. 

It falls just as quickly when a familiar ring glints from the chandelier. A bemused glint appears in his eyes at your bewildered stare. 

“How did you–?” You threw that wedding ring out of the window. You know it, saw it become lost in the snow. Yet he–

“I did a little digging.” He strides up to you before kneeling down. He extends out an expecting hand to which you reluctantly give. Gently and reverently, he slides the ring back on your wedding finger, smiling in content when he does so. “Be careful next time.”

LOVE IS COURTSHIP. (ALYOSHA)

You have a peculiar companion who walks you home at night. You don’t know him, his face, or his name, but you know his voice and shadow. He always follows just a couple of steps behind you with his footsteps lagging a second behind before hiding behind barrels and buildings when you turn around. You’d think you’re hallucinating had it not been for the proof standing outside your home. 

Swallowed by shadows, you see only his vague silhouette. A fur-lined hood with horns protruding, you think, average height – the only visuals he presents to you. On brave occasions, you’d call out with a stutter,

“W-why are you following me?”

His answer and the voice you hear are both hauntings dredged up from your nightmares: “Because I love you.”

Morning comes and the result is the same. You open your door, ready to head off to work before being stopped by a carcass left at your doormat. It stains the textile with blood – you’ll have to buy a new one after you finish your shift. With a shudder, you drag the dead animal inside, cringing at the trail it leaves behind. 

At work, you ask your boss about it, fed up with the horrors you’re forced to live through. To which she tilts her head and smiles, “That means he’s courting you. I know you’re from overseas, but that’s how it is here in Snezhnaya!”

“I… What?” 

She laughs, “It’s the land of love. Who isn’t willing to do everything for love around here?”

You better get used to it.

LOVE IS INFATUATION. (VODYANITSA)

“Seriously, another ticket to her show? You’re not rigging the system, are you?” Your Co-patroller jabs an accusing finger at your golden ticket. Lord Harbinger Pantalone would have your heads for slacking off on the job by talking about Primadonna singer Vodyanitsa, but your excitement cannot be contained for a moment longer. He’s not around to personally survey the Fatui agents in the area, fortunately. You’re free to parade your golden ticket around – proudly so.

“I didn’t buy it!” You hug the ticket close to your chest, daydreaming about seeing your beloved singer on stage once more, “My pen pal did!”

“Pen pal? You mean, what was it again— Sirensong?” 

You smile, “Yeah. She’s also a big fan of Miss Vodyanitsa. I told her she didn’t need to buy me tickets every time, but she insists–”

“--and you’re too much of a freeloader to actually stop her.” Your co-patroller gravely nods, looking away from you, “Got it. I already know what type of person you actually are, we’re both Fatui runts at the end of the day.”

“Stop being mean to me, you’re just jealous.” You wave the ticket around their masked face. “Does it keep you up at night? Knowing you only saw her in-person once? Don’t worry friend, I’ll enjoy in your stead.”

“Whatever, whatever,” They roll their eyes before snapping back to yours, “Wait. Don’t you find it weird?”

“Weird?” You parrot.

“Yeah. How come she doesn’t attend the shows herself? Your pen pal, I mean.” 

“She said she’s limited to her home. It’s why we’re pen pals…?”

They don’t look convinced. On the contrary, they’re growing more suspicious.

“Really now? But tickets are sold onsite in the opera house days prior to the show.”

“She probably has servants. I wouldn’t be surprised – she’s able to afford the tickets!”

“...Can I see your ticket?”

You frown, “You’re not going to steal it and run off, are you?”

You receive a playful whack on the head as rebuttal, “Stop talking nonsense, I still need to earn money for my sister! I just need to see the code and seat number.”

“Okay…?”

Their face changes in real time once they get hold of your ticket. Observing, confused, and finally… Understanding?

“What did you see?”

“A VIP ticket. I get it now.”

They pick up their gun and resume patrol, leaving you in the dark. 

“What? What do you get?”

“Only the harbingers get VIP tickets, you know.”

“...Are you implying I’m a harbinger? I’m not.”

They shake their head, sighing.

“No, I’m implying that the only way you can get those tickets is if the giver was one of the opera organizers or… 

Miss Vodyanitsa herself.”

LOVE IS ENVY. (ODETTE)

“You’re late.”

It’s a pain to work with Odette. Talented and skilled she may be in the art of ballet, her punctuality remains as something she must work on. She always arrives late to rehearsals, sometimes completely missing them, only to perform just fine on the grand day itself. You didn’t know what went on in her life to always miss the appointed time, nor did you bother to care. She was wasting yours. 

But after catching her cleaning up a dead body one night after rehearsals, face splotched with a knowing red and dagger situated inches away from her on the ground, you now know everything there is to her. Agreeing to a truce, you negotiated for rehearsals to be limited to the two main stars while the rest of the cast practiced at a different time. 

Only so she can do her business in peace thus avoiding her tendency to be late. It worked for a while, but as of right now… looking her up and down, maybe she just has a serious problem with time awareness. 

“I said… You’re late. Did you not hear me, Odette?”

She nods a beat after, “I’m sorry.”

You turn away to start packing your bag, “What am I supposed to do with that? I don’t want your apology, what I want is for you to stop wasting my time. I get you’re busy with your… side assassin work, but keep me in mind, too.”

“I do.” She hurried to assure, “I keep you in mind every day.”

“Odd. It doesn’t feel that way.”

The ballet studio feels especially colder today. 

You’re nearing the exit when she finally unveils like the ribbons of your ballet shoes. 

“I got jealous.”

Her admission freezes you in place. “What?”

“So I… took care of him. I’ll control myself better next time. Keep rehearsing with me.”

LOVE IS AN ADDICTION. (NOY)

You know your place and your cue. 

A knock on your wooden door means it’s a house servant because Lord Noy himself enters without permission. With that knock comes a set of responsibilities expected from you. Once means that you must pick out the ribbon the lord will wear in his hair for the day. Twice means you must sleep in his bed that night. 

And thrice means… the lord needs another supply of your blood. Merely three days after his last feeding session, and already he’s asking for more. You grit your teeth before ultimately abandoning your journal to open the door, your smile is inauthentic, so too is the house servant’s.

“Please inform Lord Noy that I’ll be there after showering. Thank you.”

The house servant shakes her head, “I’m afraid he needs you now.”

“...As of this moment?”

“I believe so.” She bows before stepping back, “Please follow me. He’s in his study.”

Is he gravely injured that he needs your blood so soon to replenish himself? The usual time interval between feeding sessions on average is one week. Sometimes five days if he’s overworked… but three days is a first. You don’t know if you should feel worried for him. Or is his old age finally catching up?

Perhaps the answer is far simpler. 

Upon reaching the doors of his study, they immediately open and the house servant makes herself scarce. Lord Noy, dressed down in the comforts of his home, politely smiles at you, yet the lack of an… alarming injury on his person makes a question mark apparent on top of your head. You envisioned him to be bedridden in pain or maybe lethargic in his movements. The Lord Noy standing in front of you right now is anything but that. He’s perfectly fine. Visibly joyed at the sight of his sole bloodbag, actually.

You don’t want to overstep your place, so you keep your inquiries to yourself as you begin unbuttoning your high collar, fully exposing your still sore neck to his blood red eyes. He sucks in a sharp breath a second later, and you watch him advance toward you as if in a trance. 

Indeed, the answer is far simpler. 

Watching him feast and groan at the taste of your blood, you understand that he’s growing greedy. Both with your blood and body, and most especially your heart. 

LOVE IS THERE AT FIRST SIGHT. (MITYA)

The books you’ve been planning to borrow from the royal library were all borrowed by someone else first. It wouldn’t upset you at all if it were going to be returned next week, but it’s been three months now and the librarian is growing tired of your constant pestering. To throw you a bone, she gave you the address of the person who has your planned books and told you to: “Pay him a visit if you’re so desperate!”

Not the most moral thing to do, but you’re now standing outside the house (hut?) from the address given to you, seconds away from knocking on the door. He’s read all those books surely, so he’ll give it to you, right?

You knock. “Hello? Anyone there?”

A muffled, “Uhh, busy!” answers you.

Busy, huh? “That’s okay! I’m just here to retrieve the books you borrowed from the royal library. An approximate quantity of twelve books, if I may recall correctly.”

A faint gasp. “Already!?” What does he mean by already? It’s been three months. “Hold on! Extend it a bit, please!”

“Absolutely not.” You snap, “I need to read ‘I’m reborn as an evil scientist so here’s a guide to quantum physics.’ and ‘why it’s not crazy to say teyvat is upside down: a dissertation.’ now. You had your chance to read it!”

He shuts up for one second before bursting out laughing, “It’s good that I can just… not hand it over to you then! How did you find my address in the first place?”

You turn rabid. Gentle, polite knocks are now fists angrily banging on wood. “The librarian gave it to me! Open the door or else I’m invading your house!”

“Go for it! You can try!”

“By the Tsaritsa’s benevolence, I will!”

Ten minutes later, the thick wooden door collapses from your anger, and you see the source of your ire for the past three months in the middle of the room, surrounded by countless stacks of books, looking at you in complete shock. Ugh, What a greedy hoarder! He’s probably a poser!

“Give me the books!”

He mumbles something indecipherable.

“What?”

You wish you hadn’t asked him that.

 “I said... I think I’m in love with you.”

LOVE IS PASSIONATE. (DANICA)

The bed is made, dinner is cooked, the rooms are cleaned, your nightwear is laid out on your bed, the curtains are drawn, and the small garden outside is already watered – all to the courtesy of Danica, of course. Her dedication to take care of every aspect of your life is commendable, but you don’t see the point in chastising her. 

It’s because of her dedication that you can get away with being an utter brat. 

“My liege, I’m back.”

You come rounding the corner eagerly greeting her, “Did you do it? Did you poison my father, Danica?”

She smiles at your demeanor, her uncaring and formal exterior always nowhere to be found in the face of her master. “Yes, the deed is done. He collapsed thirty minutes ago.”

You hug her in thanks, “And the body? Did you search the body?”

Her arms hold you in a tight grip, unwilling to let go. Melting into your embrace, you feel her lips move around the nape of your neck, “I have.”

Danica knows you like the back of her hand and her loyalty is unfaltering. The ugliness of your soul can never chase her away, for she loves you dearly and undoubtedly. 

“What did you find?”

She shakes her head in disappointment. “Nothing.” 

You pull away, ignoring the pleading eyes she sends you. “How unfortunate… Then it seems we have to look for the key elsewhere. You cleaned up the evidence, right? Oh, and prepare some tea for me, please.”

“My liege…”

Patting her head and watching her lean into it, you tut, “Danica, I’m not mad at you. I’m mad at that dead bastard. The Tsaritsa’s plan needed his research, and he chose to keep it from us. Could you believe him? Serves him right.”

“So please don’t worry, my dearest maid. You have never disappointed me, and you won’t be doing so anytime soon.”

LOVE IS A CRUSH. (VESNA)

“You!”

You hold in your sigh, and instead brace yourself for the telltale sound of fae wings fluttering in your direction. It’s the third time this week, and the nth time this year that you’re stopped and humiliated in the middle of Snezhnograd, all at the amusement of a certain fae officer. A high-ranking one too, unfortunately. 

The sound of her heels dropping down to the ground makes you look at her. You say nothing, she seems pleased by this. 

“Good, you knew you were the offender right away.”

She swivels and takes flight once more, “What are you standing around there for? Come with me! You need to fill out your violation form in the office.”

That makes you sputter, “But I don’t even know what I did wrong? You just stopped me and–”

“You think just because you possess a stellar linchpin means you’re free to run your mouth? Might I remind you that I impose the will of the Tsaritsa on you humans?” Vesna’s always been cuckoo to you, but this is… 

You bite your tongue, watching the other faes squirm around in discomfort. 

“Nevermind. I’ll follow you.”

Like a switch flipped, she proudly nodded in approval. “Very well. Off we go now.”

From behind, you hear the fae officers whisper to one another that: “She’s incapable of wooing her crush. Let’s leave her be; she can always make them give their name to her.”

...What a horrible week.

LOVE IS UNCONDITIONAL. (PANTALONE)

Centuries ago, the name Feofan was inconsequential to the citizens of Snezhnaya, for the bearer of that name was nothing more than a struggling young man living paycheck to paycheck as a bank clerk. He meant nothing to the grand picture of the nation, but at that time, Feofan was your closest friend.

As the bank clerk slotted after his shift, you formed a friendship with him that way. During the brief window of time as his shift ended and yours was about to begin, conversations were made, and hangouts were formed. Good friends save up their salaries to go see an anticipated Opera that day. Good friends didn’t care that their friend wasn’t the epitome of wealth. 

When Feofan asked you if you wanted more in life; wanted more from him, you shook your head no. What else is there to want? You had good friends and a decent job. But his expression was unreadable when he asked a following question if you’d like to have more wealth. 

…It’d be nice, definitely. But I’m fine with my life right now, maybe in the future I’ll want more, just not now.

Believing that it’s the only way to repay you for loving a worthless man like him, he took that as the signal to pursue his years-long obsession with money. After quitting his job, he disappeared from your life for a few years, and he began pursuing a business. You thought he had moved to a neighboring nation at some point until he showed up on your doorstep one day. 

Your bank clerk friend, now turned Fatui Harbinger, insisted then and there that you drank the vial he held in his hands. You trust him, yet…

“Why?”

“I want us to live forever.”

To love a worthless man… surely you would love him more now that he had something to his name.