Chapter 7

Lucid Dreaming

Dimitri has found herself alone in the forest, having kept the witch’s cabin only barely within sight when she decided to wander off. Something deeper into the woods beckons to her, but her intuition warns against going any further. She’s seated on the only solid log she could find, as most have crumbled to rot or have been overtaken by fungi. A large spider with an oversized, yellow abdomen is weaving an intricate web between the lowermost branches of a nearby tree. In this moment, that weaver is Dimitri’s world, but she is nothing to it in return.
The spider makes light work of its web, as it is finished within half an hour. Dimitri admires the perfect symmetry of the silk lines as they loop and connect to each other. They spiral into the center most point, where the weaver herself sits, waiting patiently for her prey to make a fatal mistake.
It doesn’t take long for a mistake to be made. The silence of the moment is interrupted by the buzzing of a fly and then interrupted further when that buzzing becomes a desperate fight for release. The orb weaver is on the insect in seconds, paralyzing it into silence and wrapping it like a gift to be presented to herself.
“I wish I were you.” Dimitri speaks, but whether it’s to the fly or to the spider, only the gods know.
The girl sighs, and the forest sways with her exhale.

She’s at a loom, larger than any she’s seen before, and watches as her own hands work without her prompting. Thread by thread, her fingertips are bloody and her knuckles ache from the work, but the piece never seems to grow.

Dimitri awakens, still in the woods, but now on her side in the dirt with her back leaning against the log. She doesn’t remember laying down, let alone falling asleep. She presses herself up from the soil and brushes debris from her clothes. There’s dust caked onto her face in lines, where the tears once flowed.
There’s a crack behind her and she whips her head around to see a man approaching from the direction of the cabin. Dimitri quickly comes to the conclusion that it was the sound of Prince Ivan’s approach that pulled her from the slumber. She rubs her eyes as he approaches.
“Dimitri?” He speaks softly, “Are you alright? You disappeared…”
“Do I look like I’m alright?” There’s an undertone of frustration in her voice and Dimitri throws her hands in defeat.
“No, I suppose not. And I wouldn’t expect you to be.”
“Don’t look at me like that, like you pity me. It’s just as much your fault that I’m here and they’re dead.”
“Come now,” Ivan has finally reached her and reaches a hand out towards her shoulder in an attempt to reassure her. She slaps it away, but he continues, “I have no control over any of this situation, I-”
“How do I know you’re even telling the truth? Maybe you both just want me broken! All this talk of curses and gods and weaving and, and, and… WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME?!” The final question seems to be directed at the forest around them and the sky above more so than the man.
Prince Ivan has nothing to say.
“That’s what I thought.” Dimitri plops back down onto the log, her arms falling to her sides like lead weights and her eyes gazing into the forest but not looking at anything.
“I have no reason to lie to you, Dimitri.” Prince Ivan’s voice is found and echoes from behind her. He lightly places a hand on her shoulder and this time, she doesn’t move it. “I really am sorry about all of this, if I thought that I could have prevented any of it, I would have. Neither Baba nor myself have anything to do with the curse that is plaguing your people and I would have left you and everyone alone if it were my choice, but it is not. I am property of the witch, Dimitri, cursed myself to do as she commands.”
“You must have some inkling of free will if you were able to bear me the news from the city.”
He sighs, “Yes, I cannot argue that point, aside from stating that it was only because the witch was asleep and I was left unattended.”
“Why didn’t you decide to keep it to yourself, then? You could have left me to go about in ignorant bliss.”
She can’t see his face darken, but Dimitri does hear the grimness in Ivan’s voice, “Because, I will not watch another innocent child be corrupted or devoured by Baba Yaga, and the truth is empowering, no matter how painful.”
Dimitri turns to face him and studies his face –full of conviction and without a trace of dishonesty.
“I’ve been a slave to her vices too long, kid, and maybe I’m under the impression that, by helping you, by doing my part to put an end to her madness, that maybe, just maybe, you will be able to help me too.”
A shadow seems to fall over Dimitri’s face, the same one over Ivan’s, and she presses her lips together in concern before responding, her voice shaky, “Prince Ivan, what are you talking about…?”
This time, it’s the man’s lips that are sealed. He seems about to proceed when they’re interrupted by a shout from the cabin.
“PRINCE IVAN!” Baba Yaga barks into the dense woods. “I DO NOT KEEP YOU FED FOR YOU TO SLACK ON THE JOB! FIND THE GIRL AND DRAG HER BACK HERE IF YOU MUST! WE HAVE WORK TO DO!”
The shadow passes and the muscles in the Prince’s face release, “YES MA’AM, SORRY MA’AM!” He drops his voice for Dimitri, “I told you nothing, now wipe the tears from your face and follow me.”
Dimitri does her best to regain composure and does as he says, not seeing any better alternatives. What else could she do? Run away? She’s not even sure where she is…
They both stumble their way back to the cabin, where Baba Yaga is leaning against the porch railing, supporting her arthritic back. A grimace is sculpted into her face, “Where have you been, child? Running away? To where? I’m the only reason you’re not dying in a hospital bed anyway, now come inside and accept my hospitality before I get any angrier.”
Dimitri takes immediate note of her change in demeanor, which is not so welcoming and wholesome today…
Luckily, Prince Ivan is quick to take blame, “My apologies, ma’am, she hadn’t gone far at all, it’s just that I tripped and fell while retrieving her and well, she was the one that found me, so it’s really my fault we took so long, she wasn’t running away or anything…”
Baba seems to relax, but not by much, “You stupid bird, useless no matter what form you’re in!” She mumbles on and then snaps twice, “Why don’t you at least pretend not to be a waste of my remaining magic and go eat the flies that have decided to take over our humble home since you left the gods damned window open again!”
By the time she’s done ranting, Prince Ivan has shrunk back down into the form of a familiar gray goose. He lets out one more human grumble that turns into his sad little honk and then waddles through the open door and into the cabin.
Baba Yaga opens her arms to welcome Dimitri back inside, completely shifting her mood towards the girl. “Are you hungry? Thirsty? There’s hot water in the kettle and oatmeal in the cupboard.”
Dimitri does her best to act normal, “Tea would be fine, I found some food earlier before you awoke,” She tries not to watch the goose, currently making a fool of himself as he flits around, trying –and failing– to eat the flies. “I’m sorry for the scare, I just didn’t want to wake you this morning and decided to go for a walk. I may have gotten turned around a little bit, so I’m glad that I found Prince Ivan when I did.”
Baba laughs in response, seeming to have fully relaxed. Dimitri and Ivan share an equally relieved glance while Baba is looking away. The old witch proceeds to pour hot water into two mugs and brew a strong tea; the aroma of a smoky, black tea filling the small house. She brings both mugs to the small dining table and seats herself before motioning towards the other empty chair.
Dimitri, after having been awkwardly standing in the middle of the room, makes her decision to join Baba at the table. Between them, aside from the tea, is an arrangement of small taper candles and a deck of tarot cards. The candles burn in Dimitri’s memories and the fog of time passed seems to disperse like candle wax on the surface of water. It’s as if Dimitri is back in that carnival tent, the past decade having never happened.
Dimitri focuses on taking a drink of her tea to ground herself in the moment. The tea is sweet and full-bodied. Dimitri knows the flavor well, as it’s a popular choice across her country, but this brew is stronger and smokier than any she’s had before. If it could, the drink would melt in her mouth more than it already is. She closes her eyes in an unexpected bliss.

A cold, bitter wind bites at every available piece of her skin. She sways with the camel beneath her, keeping her eyes cast downward towards the hooves of the camel in the line ahead. The wind backs off enough for her to brave a look across the Mongolian steppes that surround them. At the edge of the horizon in front of her, beyond the line of camels and their dozen caretakers and tradesmen, their destination for the day is just beginning to materialize. The white tents of a village are pinpricks amongst the fields of dry, brown grass. Another gust of wind comes, tearing at her clothing as if to take her bare. She stays prude to the claws of a cold and miserable hell by pulling the fur-trimmed hood as tightly around her face as she can and nuzzling into the heavy, wool scarf around her neck. The camel underneath stumbles momentarily before finding its feet and trudging on with the rest.

“Delectable, isn’t it?” Baba’s voice pounds against the inside of Dimitri’s skull. “You’ll never experience such a genuine brew elsewhere.”
A shiver runs down Dimitri’s spine. She opens her eyes and is still holding the mug of hot tea to her lips, Baba Yaga sitting across from her with a smug look. “Wha-? How?”
“I’ve been collecting gifts for a millennia, child.” She takes a sip from her own mug and contentedly continues on, “This one I came into possession of in that little village that you just saw. You could say that I was the good luck charm for that caravan.”
Dimitri hesitantly takes another sip, but this time she feels no cold, just the warmth of the tea spreading through her body.
Thud
Both of the women at the table jump in their seats, the noise interrupting their comfort. Dimitri turns to see Prince Ivan on his rump, shaking the stars from his eyes. “Sorry, I got the fly though.”
It’s enough to get a snicker out of Dimitri, despite the grief in her bones that gnaws more than the freezing air of the past.
“That’s enough, Prince Ivan! Go do what you do best.”
Baba juts her chin out in the direction of the fireplace, giving Prince Ivan the sanction to stumble over and plop down for a nap.
“Much better. Now, where were we? Oh!” Baba picks up the tarot cards from the table and begins shuffling them with a nimbleness that Dimitri never would have expected from her knobby fingers. Once she seems satisfied with their mixing, Baba slides them across to Dimitri. “Split the deck into three, they don’t have to be equal, you can split them however you feel.”
Hesitantly, Dimitri takes the stack of cards. She’s watched her mother use a similar set hundreds of times, but never went out of her way to learn much about them beyond the basics. She cuts the deck in half as closely as she can, sets the top half to the side, and then cuts the remaining half once more, not putting any effort into equality this time. In front of her now are the three uneven decks, the thickest in the center, sandwiched by the other two.
“Good, now flip the top card of each deck over and we’ll see how the forest air has influenced your fate.”
She follows instructions, flipping the cards over, from left to right; the Five of Swords, Justice, and an upside-down Seven of Swords.
Dimitri’s face is blank, as the cards mean very little to her. However, at the edge of her vision, as she studies the cards, she catches the shadow of a scowl pass over the face of Baba Yaga across from her. She lifts her head, looking to Baba for an explanation.
Baba forbids any emotion from catching in the wrinkles of her face and clears her throat, “Ah, two sword cards…” She speaks low and pauses often as she continues, “logical, an act of slicing through illusion… Five of Swords, upright for you…hmm… there’s conflict, you’re combative and ambitious, but your need to win puts you in a precarious position…
“Seven of Swords reversed,” She chuckles and shakes her head in amusement, “a clever one, are you? Might just tip the scales in your favor in regards to that Five of Swords… Speaking of the scales, Justice.” She looks Dimitri in the eyes, “Should I explain the meaning of justice to you?”
Dimitri scoffs and rolls her eyes.
“Right, well, I suppose only you can truly interpret these messages in regards to yourself, any questions?”
“Yeah, do these mean anything to you?”
She glares at the girl, “I see only tragedy in your future, girl, and advise that you don’t make any rash decisions and trust my judgment.”
This time, Dimitri is the one with a darkness in her eyes as she looks daggers at the witch. She stands and turns to walk away before changing her mind and scooping up the deck of cards. Dimitri shuffles through them until she finds the card that she is looking for and slaps it on the table in front of Baba. The Tower, upright in front of Baba. The one card that Dimitri knows the meaning of well enough to get her message across. Much to Dimitri’s chagrin, the old woman merely smiles, the gaps between her intact teeth are windows to a hungry darkness within.
“You must be sleepy, dear, why don’t you get some rest? Then, this evening, we can finally get you working the loom?”
And with that, the young girl decides that her futon is looking quite comfortable.

Dimitri dances. She dances for an audience of one. She dances for herself. In fact, she is watching herself dance from the third person. It’s a strange sensation. She crosses her arms and adjusts her position as she stands at the back of a dimly lit stage, watching the movements of a girl she can only describe as herself. She even has the same, persistent bad habits. She can see the tension in the dancer’s chest and knows that she is holding her breath. Dimitri clears her throat –the signal that Coach Yelchin always used as a reminder– and notices the dancer falter in her movements for a moment as she releases a gasp. Dimitri never realized how noticeable that habit can be. The girl takes in new air and continues more steadily, at least until another difficult move comes up and she is once again just a moment away from going blue in the face. Dimitri feels like she’s smoked a cigarette, clearing every ounce of moisture from her throat as she watches her reflection. This goes on for what feels like hours, until the dancer collapses in exhaustion.
“Maybe you wouldn’t tire so quickly if you remembered to fucking breath!” Dimitri speaks to herself.
On the lacquered floor, the dancer is deaf to the commentary and proceeds to peel her pointe shoes off, uncovering blistered and hardened feet. Once off, she extends her legs and leans back on her hands, lounging, and breathing steadily.

Dimitri wakes up sore and disoriented. The act of propping herself up in bed and turning her head to scan the room hurts. It takes her a moment to recall where she is, and then it’s not just her muscles that cry out, but her head too. She collapses back into her pillow.
“No, child, I’ll not have you oversleeping today, there are things you must learn.” Baba puts an emphasis on the “over” before “sleeping.”
Dimitri groans and finds the strength to drag herself out of bed. Luckily, there’s warm food waiting for her at the table instead of more tools of superstition. She winces as she shuffles over. Once seated, she takes a moment to inspect her feet –the primary source of her pain– and notices new blisters have popped. Repulsed by the liquid oozing from said blisters, she stands back up, goes to her pack and digs through it, puts on a fresh pair of socks, and returns to the table. Baba watches closely from her winged chair in front of the fire, but says nothing.
Dimitri eats in silence, and relishes in doing so. The food is satisfying and does wonders in making her feel better. Deep down, there’s an anger that festers, but it’s hard to be truly angry when your stomach is full from a warm, comforting meal. Once finished, she leans back in her seat and sighs contentedly.
“Ready for your real lessons?” The old woman’s voice has quickly become grating on the dancer’s ears.
“I didn’t think I had a choice on the matter?”
“No, not really. Unless, of course, you’d like to leave this cabin and find a way home?”
Dimitri says nothing.
“Mhmm.” Baba slowly rises from her chair and moves the short distance to the loom. “I will need to show you how to set things up and teach you the basics before you can truly begin weaving. Come, join me by the fire.”
Dimitri reluctantly stands, leaving the dirty dishes on the table, and joins Baba. It is now that she notices Prince Ivan’s absence. “Where’s Ivan? He’s not here.”
“I see your observation skills are keen.” Baba responds while shuffling a couple more items. “I sent him on an errand, he’ll be back this evening, most likely. Now, this is the castle shelf-”
Baba Yaga begins pointing out every piece of the loom, naming them and describing their purposes. She often pauses to point at her tapestry, hanging above them on the wall, as an example piece to better explain some of the process and pieces involved.
“The warp yarn is taut, it does not move, it is the skeleton of your art. Adjust your weft threads all you like, they will be your expression. Does this make sense?”
“Don’t fuck up the warp threads, got it.”
“If your warp threads are not strong you have no foundation. Weaving is not just about textiles, girl, do you understand?”
“I really shouldn’t fuck up the warp threads, understood.”
“Or what?”
“Ohhhh my gods, or the whole piece could fall apart. Yes, I understand, just like how if I can’t maintain something as simple as breathing in a dance routine, everything could fall apart.”
“There you go, now was it so difficult to take this somewhat seriously?”
Dimitri rolls her eyes.
“Alright, since you understand so well, I’d like you to stretch the warp threads and prepare the loom to begin a piece.”
Dimitri huffs and begins to do so. The only yarn available for the warp is a large spool of deep red, which she begrudgingly takes the end of and unwinds a substantial amount. Dimitri doesn’t get far before Baba has her own hands in the mix, correcting the dancer’s every minor and major error.
Despite the woman’s waxing impatience with the girl since arriving, she is surprisingly gentle with her corrections. Baba Yaga is, Dimitri decides, acting much more like the grandmotherly figure she presented herself as from the beginning. She also decides that it is ever so deceiving and steels herself not to let her guard down. She does not want to be here, she never wanted to be here, and by the gods, she won’t stay here…

She has returned to that dimly lit stage, watching herself spin and spin and spin. She’s dizzy just watching, or is it because it really is her spinning? She finds herself constantly yelling “Posture! Posture!” this time, as the version of herself in the spotlight falls short on her spins every time. Every damn time. To an untrained eye, it means nothing, but has her posture always failed her like this? Coach Yelchin’s voice echoes in her head, telling her the same thing, and in the past she always took that voice for granted, but now she understands. For the second time, Dimitri yells until her voice gives out and dances until her feet do the same.

Dimitri wakes up feeling nauseous and groans as her feet cramp up under the blankets; of her makeshift bed and of the night, as she realizes that the sun is still a long way off from rising. The rhythmic snore of an old witch doesn’t falter as she groans again, rolling out of bed and placing her bare feet to the cold wood of the cabin floor and softly pads to the restroom. She locks herself in and shuffles around in the dark until she can find a matchbook and candle sconce.
It takes a moment for her eyes to adjust to the sudden light in the small room. She sits on the closed toilet seat and lifts one foot to rest on her opposite knee, using the candle light to take a look at what’s causing the pain. She rubs her eyes to make sure she’s seeing clearly. Sure enough, more blisters have formed and blood stains her toes and the balls of her feet. She begins to wonder what’s more real; her dreams or her waking hours at the loom. Maybe, with luck, none of it is real.
Dimitri doesn’t fight the tears as she loosely bandages the raw wounds on her feet with what she can find in the bathroom and then lets darkness consume her once again as she slumps over and hides her face in her arms. She sits like this for a while.

She’s alone in a dark forest. Unless, of course, the cackles of a hidden murder of crows count as company. Relieved, she lowers herself to the surprisingly soft soil of the forest floor and lays on her back, staring up at the tree canopy. She strains her eyes to look past the canopy and towards the heavens, but only catches glimpses of what she assumes are gray clouds, amassing for a storm. It doesn’t take long for her assumption to be proven true. At first she can only hear the large raindrops splatting against leaves and foliage, but it quickly picks up until she can feel a shower of cool rain, breaking through the barrier that the trees create to divide the earth from the heavens. Despite the cold that seeps to her bones, it’s refreshing and reinvigorating. She could lay here for hours.

Dimitri wakes up, her neck stiff from the awkward position in which she fell asleep in the bathroom. The candle has long burned out, leaving her in a musty darkness, but movement outside the door invites her to exit her confinement.
Standing and opening the door to the rest of the cabin, light seeps into the main room from open windows. More light than the past couple of days, she notices. Baba Yaga is up, setting out fresh fruit and oats on the table. Taking several steps, Dimitri is pleased to notice that her feet no longer ache the way they did in the night and surmises that it really was just a dream.
There are three bowls at the table this morning and as Dimitri takes her seat across from Baba, Prince Ivan crashes in through the window and excitedly waddles over. For the first time in days, Dimitri laughs as the goose awkwardly hops up onto the booster seat that Dimitri is only now noticing in the third chair. Prince Ivan goes to town on the breakfast set out for him. They all eat in silence, as it would otherwise be difficult to converse through the sounds of Ivan’s messy eating.
“Boy was I hungry after that trip.” Prince Ivan shakes a few crumbs from his feathers and lets out a long, satisfied honk as he allows his head to plop onto the kitchen table.
“Clearly.” Baba responds with a tone somewhere between annoyance and amusement. “And was your trip fruitful?”
“About as full as I am of fruit after that breakfast.”
“Your appetite is excruciatingly difficult to please, is that good or bad?”
“You tell me!” It takes an effort for him to lift his head. “As you requested, I passed on the message to the Tsovetsky family that Dimitri is in fine health. In regards to the news, it’s always so difficult to tell what the truth is behind all the exaggerated headlines and whatnot. However, seems to me like the nation is fully shutting down and closing all borders with this outbreak. The performance and treaty signing are being postponed by a month in order for…” He fades away, glancing at Dimitri with a suddenly apologetic look in his beady eyes.
“Well go on, she’ll have to learn the truth of the world sooner or later.”
“Well, since many of the Russian ballet recruits got sick and, uhh, y’know… They need replacements to fill the performance.”
Dimitri remembers the previous day’s news from Ivan, but also remembers that she wasn’t supposed to know yet. Luckily, it’s still fresh enough that she doesn’t have to feign her grief. She swallows the lump in her throat and her lower lip quivers, but she can’t seem to find her voice for several long seconds. “I- I’d like to be excused.”
Baba waves her hand nonchalantly, “As you will.” She turns back to Ivan, “What else? I sent you elsewhere, too.”
Dimitri doesn’t stick around to hear any more news. Even though she could still hear if she wishes, her head is swimming and she quickly finds her socks and shoes, which she has to carefully pull over the bandages on her feet from the night.
The pain was real enough for me to have done something about it.
She finds the door and steps outside, onto the porch, but doesn’t make it far as a sudden lurching sensation makes her stomach drop even further than it already had. The house is on the move again, and they are currently traveling through a much brighter part of the forest, the canopy thinner and undergrowth much more active with critters looking for their own meals.
Once she’s accustomed to the sway of the cabin, Dimitri slides into the porch chair and does her best to get comfortable. Under different circumstances, maybe this situation would be relaxing; spending time away from the cities, away from responsibilities, blanketed by a thick tree canopy and swaddled by the soft soils. Instead, Dimitri is barred from her life and loved ones and kept in the dark by a witch whose home has eaten her and is currently taking its time in chewing.
Dimitri cries. The water in her eyes filters the moving forest, creating an image of dancing shadows and smudges of color as it all passes by. Tchaikovsky’s “Waltz of the Flowers” plays in her head and her thoughts drift away from Death and Despair until all she can imagine are the plants and wildlife around her reenacting the movements of the waltz, just as she has done, on stage in front of hundreds, except the forest’s only audience is of one.
The fantasies are interrupted by the flapping of wings and a thump into the other vacant porch chair. Dimitri wipes the remaining tears from her eyes and turns to see Prince Ivan in the seat, wings tucked at his sides and long neck arching back to allow his head to rest upon his feathered chest.
“Care for company?” He honks out the question.
“Only for yours, Ivan.” Dimitri allows herself a half-hearted smile at the goose.
He lifts his head to stretch, cocking it each direction, and then shuffles in his seat to casually lift his wings until a tightly folded, singular newspaper page falls out. “Oh, how’d that get in there?” His voice is low enough not to be heard by anyone or anything beyond the porch.
Dimitri quietly understands and leans over to swipe the paper. She feigns a stretch as well, glancing over her shoulder to ensure no witches or hags or anything of the sort is within sight. Once they both feel sufficiently private, Dimitri carefully unfolds the thin paper. It’s the front page of what she can assume is yesterday’s paper.
St. Petersburg Press – June 7th, 2092 – WITH THE CITY SAFE FROM ICE FLU, DANCERS HAVE BEEN CHOSEN TO FILL IN FOR LOST TROUPE MEMBERS AND NEW PERFORMANCE DATE HAS BEEN CHOSEN
Dimitri scans the article more closely, muttering phrases out loud, “Dancers have begun reporting to Berlin to learn the chosen production, which is still unannounced to the public… All Bratsk recruits have either passed away or declined the offer… One dancer still missing, the family has made no comments, they say she intends to perform…
“Wait, is this about ME?! And this date, June 7th, it’s only been a few days and we left in early May!” Dimitri lowers the paper and looks at Prince Ivan, “What’s going on?”
His head is pointed downward to avoid eye contact in either of his eyes, “Well, yeah, the date’s right, if that’s what you’re wondering..”
“That doesn’t explain how it’s right, Ivan!” She almost raises her voice but catches herself, hissing through her teeth instead.
“You sleep for a long time, and then, well, Baba has you work for a long time too… I know it may not feel like it to you…”
“Ivan, how long after we left did Lev die? And how long has it been since?”
He shifts his weight before answering, “He died within a week of your leaving and, well, it’s been almost three weeks sinc-”
“THREE WEEKS???” She lowers her voice once again, glancing over her shoulder at the door, “You told me that yesterday.”
“Well, you know what they say,” He pauses, hoping for a way out, but continues when Dimitri drills holes into him with her gaze, “yesterday is the new three weeks ago…”
The newspaper is beginning to tear under the stress of her clenching fists.
“Don’t blame me, Di! I don’t have any more control than you do. Believe me, I get it, I’ve slept through entire years without knowing. If you wanna know my theory, the old hag uses our long rests as a way to draw extra power…”
“Old hag is a nice way to put it!” Dimitri grinds her teeth and then releases them enough to continue, “Ivan, I’m supposed to be in Berlin with Lev and the others! Do you have any idea what’s going on here?”
“I just told you my theory.”
“Well, tell me more!”
He sighs, “Every couple or few centuries, as far as I know, the Baba Yaga finds a new successor to continue her legacy. I suppose she decided on you. What with all the popularity you’re gaining as the missing ballerina in the midst of a deadly outbreak and…” He fades away.
“Decided on ME? Why? Why me?!” It’s becoming exceptionally difficult for Dimitri to keep her frantic voice down.
“I don’t know. I was stolen from my fairy tale as well.”
Dimitri sinks deeper into her seat and rubs her forehead, “This is absurd, I’m going crazy, I’m probably dying in a hospital bed next to Lev right now. There’s no other way to explain the fact that I’m talking to a goose about Baba Yaga kidnapping me to take her place. I don’t care that I basically just woke up, I need a nap.”
“No! Don’t! You’ll-”
Dimitri never hears the rest of the goose’s warning.

This time, Dimitri isn’t alone in the performance hall. She’s at the back of the stage, like usual, watching herself plié and tip toe across the lacquered wood, but this time the audience seats past the stage are full. Thousands of people, all ages, genders, and ethnicities are watching her perform. She’s watching herself perform, but without the ability to yell out every mistake. She’s making a fool of herself. Every spin is incomplete and her knees are often locked and toes are giving out and blood is seeping through her shoes and smearing across the otherwise spotless floor. Finally, she decides to ignore the crowd and marches to the curtains, pulling on a rope and allowing them to fall together, shutting out the rest of the world. She then marches over to herself, still spinning, and grabs the dancer.
“What are you doing? You’re a mess! Look around you!”
Dimitri’s reflection is stunned to meet her own gaze, but looks around at the blood on the floor and then down at her shaking hands. Her mouth opens and closes as if to explain, but no words come out. A look of defeat turns to conviction as her heavy arms fall to her sides and her mouth opens once again, opening wider as if to scream, and then wider still. From the depths of her throat comes the croak of a raven and with it, iridescent feathers. A moment later, the raven escapes from her maw. The dancer’s body falls to the floor, replaced by the wing beats like that of a heart. Dimitri steps back, too awestruck to do anything else, and before she can react further, the raven is diving into her own mouth.

Dimitri wakes up, but she’s no longer on the porch with Prince Ivan. As her eyes flutter open, she’s on her back with that familiar view of a dying forest as it marches across the tapestry hung above her. It’s illuminated by nothing but the nearby fire’s glow.
“Finally awake, I see.” It’s Baba Yaga, seated at the dining table with a collection of candles burning and cards spread across the surface. “Quite the experience you’ve had, I think. Happened faster than it ever did with me, you should consider yourself lucky. Took years for the Raven to ever take to me. It was great timing, however, we’ve finally made it to the Black Forest in Germany. You said you wanted to perform, didn’t you?”
Dimitri has barely managed to sit up and catch any of what Baba is rambling about. Her entire body aches and her throat is beyond sore when she finally wets her tongue enough to respond, “Germany? You said I’d return to my family before ever coming west.”
“Yeah, well, things change quickly. Get up and get some food, I never finished our lessons and my time here has drastically shortened.”
“How long was I asleep?” She asks while stretching and finding the floor.
“Just under 6 days and if I don’t get you to Berlin in time for you to convince them to let you perform in a month, this will all have been for naught.”
“And if I refuse this time?” Dimitri is standing firmly, no longer feeling a shred of fatigue.
Baba Yaga whips her head around and sears the girl with her dark stare, “You won’t. Now come sit and I’ll bring out tonight’s meal.”
Dimitri feels uneasy at the statement, her moment of confidence fleeting, and follows orders. Baba Yaga adeptly clears the table of her tools and then rummages in the kitchen. Dimitri watches the woman as she disappears –squatting behind the kitchen counter– and rises with what could only be described as a witch’s cauldron. She hobbles over and barely lifts it onto the dining table. Vegetables and chunks of meat float around in a broth, which Baba proceeds to ladle out into bowls for the two of them.
“Bon appétit, my dear.” Baba places a full bowl in front of the girl.
Suspicious, Dimitri pokes around in the bowl with her spoon before finally bringing it to her mouth. The broth is surprisingly soothing on her sore throat and Dimitri begins to eat more.
“What, you’re not going to ask where Prince Ivan is today?”
Dimitri pauses with a spoon of stew halfway to her mouth. Her eyes go wide and she glances at the cube of meat, bathing in the broth on her spoon. “I- I suppose I figured he’s out on another errand…”
“No, no, not today. Untrustworthy creatures, geese are. Did you know that? Always up to no good, it seems.” Still standing, she slurps several hearty spoonfuls of stew and then wanders back to the kitchenette space. “Don’t worry, I didn’t learn this about geese until recently either. Glad I did, though, before any mistakes were made.”
Dimitri, her heart skipping several beats, scans the room with her eyes for anything, any clue that could help her in this odd situation. Her eyes are refocused on the witch when Baba kneels down once again and comes up with a tray. A cloth is draped over it, revealing nothing but an unidentifiable mass, hidden beneath.
With a flourish, Baba yanks the cloth from the platter, revealing its contents. “I was, however, already aware of how delicious goose meat could taste.”
Dimitri’s stomach bubbles and she gags in response.
“What, do you disagree? You think it’s gross? Or is it my cooking? Oh dearie me, and here I thought that I was a great cook! Aren’t all grandmothers supposed to be good cooks?”
She tries her best to avert her gaze, but Dimitri’s eyes lock onto those of a disembodied goose head, traces of fresh blood still oozing around it on the platter, gray feathers stuck to the sticky pool. Finally, Dimitri’s strength returns and she jumps up, toppling her chair behind her and bumping the table hard enough to create waves in the cauldron. Stew splashes across the table, soaking the tablecloth. Dimitri’s voice is nowhere to be heard still.
Baba Yaga cackles long and hard, to a point that Dimitri almost considers using the distraction to make a run for it. Before she can make that decision, however, Baba calms down and interrupts the girl’s frantic thoughts, “Don’t worry, girl, I wouldn’t give the fool such an easy way out, but it sure did make for a great shock, didn’t it?” As she finishes the statement, Baba kneels for what is hopefully the last time.
Dimitri sighs in relief as Baba comes up with a still-living goose in her grasp. She holds him upside-down by his legs, his short beak tightly wrapped shut with a cloth and one wing hanging loosely. Before she can laugh off the prank, however, Dimitri looks more closely and notices, with disgust, blood dripping from the nub that once extended into the goose’s other wing.
If she weren’t frozen in fear and disgust, the pounding of her heart and rising panic in her thoughts would have her sprinting out the door and diving off of the elevated porch if that’s what it took to escape.
Baba Yaga lets loose another hysterical laugh and then takes a moment to catch her breath. “Still want to rebel, girl?”
Dimitri gulps and forces herself to shake her head.
“Good, now right your chair and sit back down.”
Dimitri does so.
“Let this be a lesson to you both. Gods are not to be trifled with, even in –no, especially in– a dying state.” She picks up a nearby knife and hovers it near the neck of the living goose, who desperately tries to move away from it. She lets him panic for a moment before slicing off the fabric that keeps him mute.
Prince Ivan honks and quickly attempts to bite any of the woman’s flesh that seems even relatively within reach. He lands a couple of snaps, but Baba doesn’t bat an eye. Adjusting priorities, he yells to Dimitri, “Don’t listen to her, Di! Get out of here! Don’t worry about me, I’ve taken it for centuries, I can handle myself!”
“DO NOT make me silence you again, you foul fowl,” She pauses to chuckle at her own joke, “Next time it’ll be the girl and you don’t wanna watch another one of those episodes, do you?” She waits for a response, but his beak is clamped shut. “That is what I thought.”
Dimitri watches, wide eyed and open mouthed. She closes her mouth and takes a moment to gather the courage to speak. Finally, she squeaks out, “Wh-what do you want? What’s the point? I’ll do as you say, just, please stop torturing us!”
“Finally, some sensibility from the young woman, I knew you were a smart one.” Baba finally relaxes, coming back around to the table and depositing the injured goose onto his usual seat and then seating herself. She ignores the mess and retrieves her bowl of stew, eating comfortably and leaving the room in a stale silence until she’s ready to explain. “The answer is simple, my dear Dimitri, I’m dying and need you to take my place.”
“Right, you explained this when I first arrived but-” Dimitri is silenced with a glare.
“I’m dying and I need you to take my place, or, I will take what’s left of you in order to extend my own life long enough to hopefully come out on the other side.”
“The other side…?” This time Dimitri is allowed the question.
“Times are changing, and it’s time we change with them. Go to the performance, let the world be afraid of what us old gods are still capable of in our dying breaths.” Baba allows silence to fill the room again as she eats more.
What could be hours passes.
“Well?” Baba looks at Dimitri and then at Ivan. " What are you two doing? Eat up! Next, I’m going to finish teaching you, my dear Dimitri, what I can about weaving. Somebody needs to keep the tradition going in the new era. Record keeping is important, especially amongst gods. History repeats itself, don’t you know?”