#ofgrenvde

⸻ After a long day, and having finished up of settled up a few things at home, the twins on the portable crib she had set up in the living room, playing with their toys, and separated a few boxes to throw off, she forgot her fridge was nearly empty, she miscalculated supplies for the rest of the week. Either way, could you blame her? She is the head of literally everything in her family, and they were her father, the twins, and the cat. This time, she focused, despite being exhausted from a sleepless night, she made a list of the items she needed.

Sasha went to do groceries with her babies, fortunately, they were well-behaved, and the advantage of using their stroller is to help her with the grocery bags. ⎯ Arriving at the apartment complex, pulling the stroller, she tries to rush to the lift. ❛ Ебать! ❜ ( Fuck! ) She grumbled in Russian, and pressed to button to wait for the lift to arrive. Her six-month-old daughter, Yelena, threw her stuffed tiger on the floor. ❛ C'mon Lena! Y'know I'm carrying these groceries on my own. ❜ She hates that her babies are in the throwing-toys phase.

𝐥𝐨𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧: their apartament complex.

It was a quiet Saturday morning, and Akash found himself wandering through the local farmers' market, enjoying the bustling energy of the town. The scent of fresh produce and baked goods filled the air as vendors called out their specials. He wasn't here for anything in particular—just the kind of casual stroll he indulged in when he needed to clear his head.

As he passed by a booth with handcrafted candles, he spotted Sahana nearby, her presence felt almost like a familiar thread in the fabric of Devil’s Junction.

“Can’t resist the market’s charm, huh?” he said with a relaxed smile, stopping next to her. He casually examined the booth they stood in front of, “anything interesting enough you've seen?"

⸻ Sasha was just strolling with her chaotic duo and had taken a break to sit on a bench, pulling the stroller closer. Yelena was wearing a pink hat, heart-shaped sunnies, and a bikini over her diaper, while Ilya sported shark-print shorts, a little sun hat, and blue sunglasses. The older blonde had a big scoop of ice cream, which she was sharing with the twins. Her eight-month-old son got so excited that he flung his teething ring, right in the direction of a nearby woman, Zelie.

Sasha let out a deep sigh. ❛ I’m so sorry! ❜ She called, already on her feet to retrieve the ring. Behind her, the twins started calling. ' Mama! ' — their newest and favorite word, learned just two days ago. They used it now with purpose, each little voice full of expectation, because whenever they said it with that tone, it usually meant they were after something tastier than their usual milk.

⸻ Sasha’s standing just off-stage, the "Round One" card in her hands, trying not to wrinkle her nose at the mix of sweat and cheap cologne in the air. Her boots pinch, the lights are too bright, and she’s hyper-aware of the barely veiled stares from the crowd—some amused, some leering, some curious. It’s her first night. She didn’t come here to make friends. Just money. Keep her head down, play the part. No one needs to know she’s fluent in first aid. Or Russian. Or pain. She’s not like the usual girls they cycle through. Too calm. Too quiet. Too focused. She seems like someone who belongs in a ballet company, carrying herself like she’s seen war. She went backstage to change the card, holding it as if it were a shield.

⸻ The twins were restless. Daycare hadn’t burned off enough energy and the promise of a stroller ride only carried so much weight once the streets of Devil’s Junction swallowed them whole. Sasha steered them toward the boutique district, more for the quiet than the shopping, her steps steady even as Yelena kicked at her blanket with a shrill squeal. The gleam of Luxe Lumière’s windows caught her eye, gold light spilling over carefully arranged silks and glass. It was the kind of place she would never walk into for herself, not with her paycheck or her priorities. Still, the twins’ chatter slowed as their eyes caught the shimmer, and for that alone she stopped outside.

Sasha bent to adjust Ilya’s hood, murmuring something soft in Russian that coaxed a giggle out of him. Straightening, she found her reflection tangled with another’s in the glass. A woman watching from just inside, poised and elegant, silk draped like armor. Sasha’s brow lifted slightly, an almost-smile curving at the corner of her mouth. ❛ Don’t suppose you sell anything in sizes under three feet tall, do you? ❜ She asked, dry humor carrying in her voice as she rocked the stroller lightly, keeping her restless daughter from another outburst.