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She rolled her eyes and turned away, heading out. “Are you coming?” she called over her shoulder.
I quickly followed her barefoot, shutting the door behind me.
“Where are we going?” I demanded, trying to keep up.
Despite her petite frame, Dasha was fast, and I had to practically run to stay close.
Finally, we stopped in front of a black door with a golden handle. She unlocked it with a vintage key and pushed it open, gesturing for me to enter.
“You first,” I whispered.
She smiled softly and stepped inside, gesturing for me to follow. “He said you’re now allowed to use this room, as long as you don’t destroy anything.”
To be honest, I barely heard what she said. I was blown away by the beauty of this room. The high ceiling and the windowed wall showcasing the magnificent forest and distant mountains made it feel enchanting and unreal—a vision of pure peace, a perfect symbiosis between nature and this place.
The other walls were painted dark charcoal, contrasting with the light of the sunset streaming through the windows.
To the left stood a long, impressive library filled with hundreds of hardcover books, with a dark ladder placed to the side.
To the right, a gigantic velvety dark corner sofa faced a lit fireplace, with a huge plasma screen mounted a meter above it. Facing the windowed wall was a desk with a dark burgundy armchair, adding to the room’s ravishing dark atmosphere. It felt like Dracula might appear any moment to drain me of my blood. I shivered at the thought.
“Be careful with the fireplace. I don’t want you to burn yourself.”
Jumping back to reality, I almost forgot that Dasha was still there. I swallowed and tried to hide my excitement. Staying in my bedroom was depressing, and I welcomed any safe distractions. I walked toward the sofa and laid down on it. To say it was comfortable is an understatement; it must be what clouds feel like. Its softness enveloped me, and I absently rubbed my cheek on it.
“Are you sure you want me to stay here? You do know I’m a pyromaniac.”
She raised an eyebrow and crossed her arms.
I feigned innocence, glancing at my nails. "And who exactly is the lunatic who kidnapped me?" I asked, locking onto her stormy gaze. "Why does he have a stash of my childhood photos? Is it for his own sick pleasure?"
“Volk,” Dasha’s calm voice lingered in the air. “His name is Volk. And let me warn you, my love,” she said, approaching me. “He is anything but charitable. When he gives you small gestures of decency, take them.”
“What do you mean?”
Volk? Wolf, really? What an odd name.
I edged toward the fireplace, holding my breath as she reached for a piece of loose hair that had fallen from my ponytail and tucked it behind my ear, softly caressing my cheek.
“He isn’t nice. When he gives you something nice, take it and don’t question it.” Her eyes watered, her face pale as snow.
I stayed silent, the sound of a storm echoing in the room.
I looked out the window, amazed by the sudden downpour.
“Did he hurt you, Dasha?”
The rain ticking against the windows, the creak of wood burning in the fireplace, and Dasha’s shaky breaths were the only sounds keeping me from falling into the abyss of sleep.
She looked down. “Nyet. Not him,” she choked out a sob.
I got up and pulled her roughly into my arms. “Gosh, Dasha,” I breathed.
Dasha buried her face in my shoulder, her tears flowing freely. Her soft sobs broke the silence, each one a stab to my heart. Despite my anger, I couldn’t bear to see someone crying, especially someone who had been part of my life for so long. We stayed like that for what felt like hours, my arms around her as I whispered comforting words, until the crashing sound of the storm tore us apart in fear.
My heart pounded, making my chest ache, and I struggled to catch my breath. I’ve always hated storms, and this room made me feel like I was outside, being drawn into the heart of the cyclone.
“Promise me, Sofiya. Promise me you’ll listen,” she asked, her expression pained as she gently ran a hand through my hair.
