Archive of Our Own ^beta

The first time Liza comes for tea, Anastasia has the realization that something is wrong with her.

She has suspected as much for a good while, but it's difficult to make the time for introspection when she has a life to watch slowly slip out of her grasp. Which is part of the problem, really. She has everything: a loving husband - she thinks. A beautiful house - that doesn't really belong to them. The security that her uncle-in-law would never truly let them starve - even if her husband's pride would.

Her life is held together by all of these strings; she's basically a living puppet. In short, she's suffocating and she's tired and she's-

"-lonely, I suppose." is what she finally tells Liza. The woman frowns, but there is no sympathy in her soft gaze. Her pain is familiar to Liza. This far into their acquaintance, she knows if anyone understands, it'll be her

"How long have you felt alone?" She asks, and reaches a hand across the table. It's cool against the back of Anastasia's own, relaxing in a way.

"Oh, I've been alone probably my whole life. When you marry a poet you don't expect constant companionship, you know." She laughs and shrugs a little, but Liza sees right through her attempt to deflect.

"Friends? Family?" She asks softly. Anastasia can't look at her. Her eyes fall to their hands.

"I'm a long way from home, Liza. I've built what life I could while in Town, but everyone I might have known is hundreds upon hundreds of miles away. All I really have anymore are my students and my useless husband. And you, of course." 

"I'm glad to hear myself counted, at least." Liza smiles. Something relaxes around her eyes. "It's not an easy place to make friends, to be sure."

"You seem to have managed!" Anastasia replies. "On several occasions now you have convinced my husband to come home where I cannot make any headway. And I have conversed with both the bookseller and Ms Faina at Church about our lovely new town Doctor. You are known, Liza, and you most certainly do not have to be alone here."

Liza's smile drops, just a fraction. Anastasia notices.

"I think perhaps some people are simply destined for loneliness." But Anastasia cannot believe that about Liza. Someone so warm and kind does not deserve this kind of cold isolation.

"And you think you are?" She asks. Liza shrugs.

"All evidence suggests so. I-" She hesitates, her jaw tightens. "This world does not take kindly to women who want. You understand that, I know. It takes and takes until there is nothing left within to want. When one...wants badly enough, the world cannot mold us to its will. I am cursed to loneliness, at least in part, because I want too much."

"Do you believe I did not want enough, then?" She frowns; the idea offends her. "How can you say that?"

"Not at all! I apologise, I didn't mean to offend. What I mean is- you have been with your husband a long time, right Anastasia?"

"Well, yes. I was still a girl when he wrote my parents, seeking to court me."

"So you grew up with both your attachment to Evgeny and your love for music." Anastasia inclines her head. Her husband has been a constant presence in her life far longer than most anything else.

"And your husband has taken much from you, until you cast your wants aside. I grew up wanting. I wanted a father who could love my brother and I more than the bottle. Wanting an education, wanting to read and write and see the world. Wanting to be the first woman to be a doctor. There was never any chance for anything else." Anastasia cannot imagine wanting so much, and fighting to make it happen. She supposes that's why Liza seems so much happier than she, even in her loneliness.

"But never wanting...companionship?" Liza's lips quirked upwards for a flash.

"Well, yes. I had my...base wants, as do most. But even there I was...wanting." Anastasia's eyes widened.

"What do you-"

"It's strange, isn't it? How, even though I have chosen to walk my path in life chasing after the things I want, there are still those parts I will always fall short."

"I'm afraid I don't understand." Anastasia replies quietly. The line of conversation makes her feel unsettled; it's not like Liza to speak in circles. Liza's eyes drop where her hand rests on the table. There's a moment of hesitation, her brows draw together. When she speaks, her voice is soft, laced with something akin to sadness.

"I mean...there are certain things that are not meant for women, and certainly not for women like us. We're meant for...less. To be helpful. To serve." Her voice takes on a hard note, and Anastasia can barely breathe. "Companionship only ever means a man, a husband, and even that is...constrained. Sometimes one needs - wants - more, even if it falls beyond societal approval."

Anastasia frowns, unsure whether Liza still speaks of love or something else. There is no companionship without a husband. Unless Liza means spinsterhood? She must mean more, but her words are like a puzzle to Anastasia.

"If what you're saying is true," she replies cautiously, voice shaking. "What does that mean for- for us?"

Liza smiles, a flicker of a thing. She reaches across the table to take Anastasia's hand, carefully running a cool thumb across her knuckles.

"For me, it means I learn to live without asking for what I truly want. I take what I can when the world lets me, and let go of the idea that some things I want are even possible. Only you can decide what that means for you."

Companionship. Wants. Her eyes linger on their joined hands, and her mind sits on the delicate way Liza speaks of love - something secret. Something forbidden, perhaps. She thinks she's starting to see the bigger picture - the idea makes her heart race.

"So...you never wanted-" Anastasia tries, but falters at the last second. It feels suddenly dangerous to acknowledge aloud.

"I've wanted many things." Liza replies, and her voice is lighter again. "And I'm not unhappy with my lot in life. Not all...desires can be fulfilled. It's not always about the simple things...or the most obvious ones." She meets Anastasia's eyes; her gaze is soft and knowing. She wonders how many other women have had a similar struggle before them. Are they the first two in all the world to wonder about such things?

"And what does that mean for you?" Anastasia asks, barely above a whisper. She doesn't know where the question comes from, but it burns in her chest. Liza doesn't answer immediately. She pulls her hand back, leaving Anastasia's knuckles hot, and lifts her cup to her mouth slowly.

"It means I learn to live with what I have. It means making peace with what’s out of reach... and sometimes it means finding ways to survive in a world that doesn’t make room for us."

A weight settles over the room; there is something final about what Liza has just said. She has truly accepted her lot in life, and Anastasia has to wonder what that means from a woman as determined to live for herself as Liza.

"Do you regret it?" She asks, to break the heavy silence.

"There is nothing to regret." Liza replies, though her eyes are sad. "I have chosen nothing; this...preference, affliction, curse, deviancy - I've learned it's called many different things across many different places - is simply how I was made by the Creator Himself. I regret that I must dance this Waltz of obfuscation with you, that I cannot simply live this part of myself the way I do most other things." Anastasia stays silent for a long moment, dwelling on her words. Her suspicions are all but confirmed. Rumours circle of course, particularly among the social circles of her youth, and Anastasia knows she should be horrified or afraid. But she feels only...sympathy. Liza sounds so alone, as much as she, certainly. While her mind reels, Liza continues.

"Do you remember the early days of your courtship with Evgeny? Walking arm in arm down the street, leaning against his shoulder sat together on a park bench, dancing with him at balls." Truthfully she remembers little, and what she does remember tastes ashen on her tongue.

"I do." She replies. "Happier times, although they bring me no joy now."

"What do you think courtship looks like for me?" And there's the crux of the issue, isn't it. Why Anastasia's heart aches for her friend, why she feels no revulsion, no fear. Why she wants to know this woman, fully and completely, despite her affliction. Because she knows the same loneliness Anastasia does.

"Friendship." She realises, her throat dry. "You are bound to friendship one way or another." Just like her.

Liza nods.

"Exactly. I walk alone now, but suppose I were to find myself someone who shares my...proclivities. Cutting off a part of yourself to the rest of the world is terribly lonely. But then, that is something you can share in, isn't it?"

"I can?"

"Your symphonies?"

"Oh yes, of course!" Anastasia swallows thickly. She is a well travelled, worldly woman, and she can certainly remain composed as her greatest - only - friend shares her pain. Anastasia reaches out a hand slowly to take one of Liza's.

"Well, if life has decided the two of us should be lonely, then let us be lonely together. You are my friend, Elizaveta, and nothing will change that." Liza's face finally relaxes properly. She looks so much younger in softness.

"As are you, Anastasia. Thank you."

The second time Liza comes for tea, Anastasia feels all out of place.

She hasn't seen the young doctor in over a week, hell she's barely seen anyone in over a week, and she knows something is going on with Evgeny but he won't talk to her, just sits drinking and mumbling in his office or at one of the bars. She's careening down a mountainside and she has no idea how long the drop is.

So when the knock comes, and she opens it to find Liza; pale and panting, and some dirt along the very base of her skirt, Anastasia is naturally more than a little taken aback.

"My good God, what has happened to you?" She takes her by the hand and leads her through to the dining room. "What on earth has happened? Let me get you some tea."

"Tea..." Liza replies, all but collapsing into one of the dining room chairs. "Would be delightful, thank you." Anastasia comes back a few minutes later with the pit and tray, to Liza slumped forward on the table, almost asleep. She drops the tray on the table with a clatter and rushes to her friend's side.

"Liza! What's the matter, how can I help?"

"It's nothing." She mumbles. "Just a little thirsty."

"Let me get some sweet tea in you, then you can tell me everything. I'll sort you right out my dear, don't you worry."

"Thank you, Ana-" Liza's voice falters, as she puts her head down again to rest.

Anastasia gets to work sorting out the tea, as Liza begins to hum softly.

"Beautiful tune." She says. Liza doesn't respond. She looks over to the doctor to find her gaze firmly on Anastasia. There's something intense about her eyes, a darkness that she's never seen before. It's intoxicating. Her hands tremble, but she lets her body carry out the motions of preparing tea, grounds herself in Liza's tune. The music relaxes her in a way she hasn't felt in years; she's so safe here, with Liza, with her music. When she slumps, Liza catches her, and everything goes soft.

Anastasia comes to on the loveseat in the sitting room, Liza knelt by her side. Her whole body aches, like she's spent a day tending to her garden. Her mouth feels dry, and she tastes iron in the back of her throat. Her eyes find Liza; she sits on the floor slumped towards Anastasia's body. Her eyes are damp, but she looks a lot less pale, a lot less fragile. Anastasia reaches out a hand to caress her cheek.

"Oh thank goodness!" Liza cries, and takes her hand. "I'm so sorry, I don't know what happened - one minute you were sorting the tea, and the next you just...dropped!"

"I don't...remember. Your song - it was beautiful, I felt so...at peace. I don't know what happened though."

"How are you feeling now?"

"Achy, but pleasantly so. Like a long rehearsal before a big performance.

"Any dizziness? Sickness? Pain?" Anastasia shakes her head.

"No, I feel fine." In actual fact, she feels rather like she's floating high above herself, Liza's song lingering at the edges of her thoughts. Anastasia swings her legs off the cushion, and Liza springs up and moves back as she tries to stand. She wobbles. Liza places a hand gently on her arm, steadying her.

"Thank you." Anastasia says, eyes finding Liza's. "Wait, you were in a really bad way when you got here, are you okay?"

"I am. When you fell - I think my biology took over, and a burst of adrenaline seems to be exactly what I needed." She looks down to an empty mug on the floor. "Plus a cup of tea to wash away the fatigue, I hope you don't mind."

"Nonsense, as long as you're feeling better." And she does genuinely look better. There's a rosy flush to her cheeks, and Anastasia assumes Liza carried her to the loveseat, with no one else around. She can't imagine needing such strength, but Liza had always been full of surprises. She smiles softly at the doctor, and inclines her head back towards the dining room.

"Shall we resume then? I still want to hear all about whatever scrape you had gotten into before you arrived."

Anastasia remains close to Liza, just in case she falls again.

The third time Liza comes for tea, Evgeny is home. He's home a lot more at the moment; it seems he's fallen out of favour with the vodka bar, and even he knows he cannot afford to drink much at the salon. Such a pity.

The pair can hear him storming about in the bedroom while they sit together in the garden.

"I'm sorry." Anastasia says for what must be the fourth time. "He isn't- " she sighs, glances up to the window where she can make out the shadow of Evgeny storming about in the lantern light. "He's not a bad man."

"I know." Liza says softly, as she does every time Anastasia has to make excuses for him.

"But..." She has no idea how to say this, only knows that she needs it off her chest. Liza waits patiently. "I think he might be a bad husband." Liza stalls at that, but they've known each other so long now, shared so much, that she knows the doctor is not judging her.

"To his credit, if I think of all the great poets throughout the years, I don't believe any one of them would make a good husband." That gets a laugh out of Anastasia.

"Yes, I do believe you're right." She shakes herself then, and refills her cup from the pot sat on the floor between them. She makes the offer to Liza, but she declines. She shrugs and sets the pot back down. "I feel terribly uncouth, constantly talking about my troubles. What kind of a friend am I?"

"It's no trouble at all. I'm always ready to lend you my ear, Anastasia."

"And I always appreciate it, my dear. But now, for once, let us talk about you! What has that doctor of yours got you working on at the moment?"

"Well I'm not sure if you've heard, but his specialty is blood. At the moment, we're investigating how different diseases present in blood, how damaging blood in different ways affects living creatures." Anastasia has no reply that would satisfy her bright young friend. Rather than display her own ignorance, she simply makes the correct noises to show that she's listening as Liza continues to baffle her.

"-and the pain and fatigue seem unbearable, but of course we cannot accurately measure just how painful."

"Of course, because rats cannot talk."

"Exactly. If only there was some way of seeing what their brains did in reaction to pain."

"Brains react to pain?" Liza lit up at the question, and Anastasia suddenly felt very proud for having asked it.

"Technically, pain is only really felt in the brain. See, there are millions of...wires, I suppose is the easiest way to understand them, running all the way through every single part of your body. When something happens, say a dance partner stands on your foot, the wires in your foot pulse with electricity all the way up to your brain. Your brain registers a threat and responds with pain. It's a mechanism to keep the body safe."

"But the reaction to the pain is instant! How does the...signal? travel so fast?"

"There's actually a few things happening. Some wires send a signal - I like that word for the phenomenon by the way - to the nearest muscles, literally forcing you to move away from the stimulus."

"That's incredible!"

"Because the signals are just electricity, the stimulus doesn't have to actually be painful either. For example," Liza reaches her hand out to Anastasia's own, lightly scratching the back of her hand with sharp nails. She pulls her hand away immediately, then stops to stare at the offending digit.

"Oh!" She exclaims, then looks back at Liza. "You're right - that doesn't actually hurt, but I still pulled away!"

"The body is fascinating." Liza agrees.

"Do it again." Anastasia says, putting her hand back down. Liza pauses, then scrapes her nails over her knuckles. She doesn't pull away.

"It's the sudden stimulation of the nerves - the wires - that creates the illusion of pain." Liza murmurs. Anastasia nods along, fascinated with the way her pale hands make her skin tingle without hurting. Liza turns her hand over, and scratches more firmly against Anastasia's wrist. She inhales sharply, but doesn't move.

"There's no pain." She confirms, as Liza looks up at her face. Her cheeks grow warm, and she looks back at their hands. "I take it," she starts, voice barely above a whisper. "That these wires are not only sending signals for pain?" Liza's thumb flattens against her wrist, the tip of her nail barely sinking into skin.

"What do you think?" She replies, just as softly.

Anastasia's not sure she's capable of thought just then. It feels like her skin is on fire with the idea of pain, without the sensation. She feels something else too, familiar on only the rarest of nights with her husband.

Desire.

She opens her mouth but cannot speak, anything she could say would be dangerous, would be telling. She feels hot and cold, and the strange urge to shiver. Liza must see something in her expression, because she withdraws with a final soft caress.

"I'm sorry." She finally says. She doesn't look at Anastasia. "I wasn't trying to- well. That wasn't my intent, at least."

"What wasn't?" Anastasia replies. Her hand twitches, her skin burns. "Seducing me?"

"No, of course not!" Liza sounds horrified. "Anastasia, believe me. I have no desire to- well- I mean." Anastasia's not sure Liza knows what she means.

"I- uhm- goodness." She's not faring much better; the idea of being seduced by anyone, but particularly this young Doctor's apprentice is...well...

Rather thrilling.

"I should go." Liza says, and Anastasia has never been split in two minds so perfectly before. Common sense wins out, as it so often does.

"I believe that might be for the best." She replies, but she is sad about it, and makes no pretense at hiding it. She walks Liza to the door, where they both hesitate. Uncomfortable again. Anastasia finally takes a step closer and murmurs, like a scandal, like a promise, "You'll come again though, won't you?"

"Only if you'll have me." Liza replies in the same tone. And oh, how can she deny her that? Though they part, Anastasia's thoughts linger with Liza.

Whether she intended to or not, it seems Liza did try to seduce her - and given how her heart still flutters, she supposes it was a success. What does that say about her? And, as she glances at the man next to her in bed, reeking of vodka, does she want to find out?

Liza doesn't come for tea the following day. Anastasia doesn't have any lessons planned, so she does something she would never have dreamed off a few weeks ago. She takes a violin with her into the garden and she plays. She doesn't compose, but she does create and it feels so freeing. Her fingers fly and her mind chases the notes as she hears them and it's like she never set aside the desire to make music.

She thinks of Evgeny, lounging in his office, bottle in one hand and a pen in the other. How he must force himself to write his poetry. How did she ever believe the lie of the tortured artist? She could do this forever.

Birds flap across the garden, spooked, and settle on the other side of the house. Her eyes land on the culprit; a small bat that seems to be watching her. Her hands come to a stop.

"You're not here to bite me, are you?" She says aloud, then laughs at herself. "Of course not, you're just here for the fruit trees aren't you." It stares at her, and doesn't move. "I wasn't anticipating an audience, but since you're here I expect your very honest feedback. Do we have a deal?"

The bat blinks once, and Anastasia takes it as agreement.

"Very well then, you may keep me company. It's not like I'm expecting anyone else." With her thoughts now firmly with Liza, again, Anastasia begins to play once more. Lost in the music, she doesn't notice purple eyes blinking at her where the bat once perched.

The next time Liza comes to tea, it's with an explicit invitation from Anastasia. She writes the letter and, after reworking it so that her handwriting and phrasing are both perfect, she rushes it to the postbox in time for the evening post. She's filled with a nervous energy; is she becoming too bold? Too desperate? Will she scare off Liza before she can- Anastasia cuts that thought off at the root, instead returning to the garden to her violin. When she feels untethered - as she has often as late - the strings beneath her fingers tie her back to the world around her, even as the garden gives way to the music.

She doesn't expect a reply from Liza, and doesn't get one. Instead, she arrives at almost 10 o'clock, just a few minutes earlier than Anastasia proposed. She agonised over the decision for a long time - was it too late, was it too forward, was she going to give Liza ideas she didn't necessarily want to convey - but she has never seen Liza much earlier anyway. Evgeny is just leaving when she arrives.

"Dearest, won't you stay and take tea with us? I'm sure Liza would love to-" The door slams behind him. Anastasia looks to Liza.

"I wouldn't take it personally. He feels more like a cold wind through a window than a man these days."

"Well, let's not let him spoil our evening. How have you been, Anastasia?"

Scared. Curious. Lonely.

"I've been...well." She replies and finds it's the truth. "I'm afraid I'm becoming positively nocturnal, but it's been nice seeing the town in a different light. How have you been, dear?"

"Alright, the doctor keeps me busy. There was an incident up by the lake several days ago that I had to attend that was particularly nasty. A poor boy was - oh, but you probably don't need all the gory details."

"Nonsense! I'll get the pot on, you tell me all about it."

I just like listening to you talk.

"Okay, well, have you heard of Rusalkas? It seems one might live in the lake, and tried to steal the boy. He was pulled out, but nearly drowned and was scratched up badly."

"The poor dear." Anastasia gasps. "Is he okay?"

"Oh yes, I managed to patch him up. He'll be stuck resting for a long time, but I don't think he minds very much."

"That's great, well done! The doctor must be proud." But Liza only shrugs, smiling sheepishly.

"There isn't much room for pride in my profession, I'm afraid. We just do what we can, wherever we can."

"And that is noble indeed." Anastasia replies firmly. "Let's go and sit down, shall we?" She picks up the tray and heads through the kitchen and towards the sitting room. She sets the tray down on a small side table and begins to pour out the tea.

"Sit wherever you'd like." She says offhandedly, before turning with two cups in hand. Liza sits on one side of the love seat - of course she does. Memories of Liza looking up at her, concern and care lingering in damp eyes, makes her breath catch. Then, before she can dwell on the moment, she sits on the other side of the seat. Her knees don't touch Liza's, and that doesn't seem like something she should notice.

"So what have you been doing? The school keeping you busy?"

"Oh, yes I suppose so. No more than usual though. No. Lately I've been, well, writing music again."

"Oh my, that is good to hear! Congratulations, Anastasia!" She smiles, and takes a sip of tea to hide it.

"Yes, well. Let's not get too excited, I'm hardly filling out a concert hall."

"What inspired this? You sounded so...hopeless about it the last time I asked."

"You did, actually." Anastasia replies. She instantly regrets being so forward, but Liza's smiling.

"Impossible. Am I to be the muse of every artist in this town? Perhaps I should have Roman write a story about me someday." The pair laugh together.

"I'm sure he would, you know." Anastasia agrees. "But that isn't quite what I meant. You said something when you first came here for tea, about wanting. About how I grew up with both Evgeny and music and I think you were right. I gave up so much for him, and I'm not sure he ever even realised it. He's more of a presence in my life as a spectre than a man, and I'm so tired of it. I just want something that is mine."

"I understand." Liza says softly. "My father- he came to depend on us to keep his world running. Get him to work, get him home, get him fed and into bed. I became a perfect student, but only because it was all I had outside of him and this home that I had to help keep running."

"Do all men fail us?" Anastasia asks before she can stop herself.

"Lord, I hope not." Liza replies, sipping from her cup. "I have a younger brother whom I'm sure will be a fine young man one day."

"You have a brother? What's he like?"

"Kolya is - was - a gentle soul. Not as interested in school as I was, but he loved the people around him, and lit up the room when he entered. I tried my best to protect him from the worst of father but, now that I'm here, I don't know how he fares." Liza's voice is quiet. Anastasia frowns in sympathy.

"You don't write home?"

"It's...difficult." Liza says, and says nothing more. She looks so sad, conflicted, that Anastasia does not press further. Instead, she asks quite suddenly.

"There's a piano in the other room. Would you like to play with me?"

"I- yes. Yes, I believe I would." They get up, Anastasia clears away the tea things, and approach the piano. Anastasia talks while they move, an attempt to hide her sudden anxious energy.

"It's quite a bit different than playing by yourself." She says. "For this, I want you at the bottom, okay? You should have an easier time there." Liza eyes the instrument warily.

"Just be gentle, okay? I've had three lessons with you, and that's the extent of my experience." But she's smiling as she sits down on the left side of the stool. Anastasia joins her on the right. This time, as the bench is so small, they do touch. Her thick skirts feel tight. She swallows.

"Okay, we'll take it slow." She says. "You might not be experienced with the piano, but for a doctor you have a great grasp of music theory. If I told you to play an E major, what notes would you play?"

"E, G sharp, B." As she speaks, she points to each corresponding key.

"So you are listening during our lessons!" Anastasia says with a laugh.

"What else would I be doing?"

"You'd be surprised - some students come because their parents expect it of them. Some come because they want to play piano, not necessarily because they want to learn. One young man, in another city altogether, came because he wanted...companionship." Liza raises an eyebrow.

"What a strange place to seek it."

"There's an assumption, particularly amid the, ah, upper classes, that a working woman must be in want of a husband."

"I see."

"The tragic part is that, under ordinary circumstances, they'd be correct, wouldn't they? Try an E flat major here."

"Would they? Must every woman want a husband?" Liza plays a couple of notes, but lands on something else.

"Not quite. Here, let me." Anastasia takes her hand gently, and nudges her ring finger from the b flat to the a flat. There's a familiar breathlessness that comes whenever she touches Liza, but she ignores it. Now is not the time for her feelings , whatever they are. Now is the time for art. "I don't believe any woman really wants a husband, you know. But I cannot deny there are aspects of my life that were made easy by having a man at my side. I've travelled, for one. Other men, for the most part, left me alone."

"You talk about Evgeny as though he's a particularly vicious dog."

"Do I?" Anastasia nudges Liza's finger again, lessening the stretch at the joint. "You're going to play four of them, then swap to the other, okay?" Liza nods, and begins. "I suppose I do. Funny, I suppose, how much it's taken for me to see how...privileged he makes me." Anastasia sets her hands down on the top keys, but waits until Liza can make the switch between chords cleanly.

"Is it worth your happiness?" She asks. She stares at her fingers, like she expects Anastasia to get angry at the forward question. It does give her pause, because there was a time she would have been angry. Now, though? She can only appreciate how solid her companionship with Liza really is, because she'd never ask that question herself.

"Not anymore." She answers, and begins to play a soft, hopeful piece over the top of the chords. "In sixteen, I want you to add a b flat major to the mix - that's a b flat, a d and an f going up, okay?" Liza nods. Anastasia grins when she realises Liza is counting the notes in her head, finding the keys with her left hand. "I admire you, Liza." She says suddenly. Liza glances across at her, but has to turn back to the keys when her finger slips. "For being able to do all that you have by yourself."

"It wasn't by myself. I needed to get out of that house, needed some way to help my mother and my brother. That was always the plan, you know? Study, finish my apprenticeship, move back home as the town doctor where I am known, where I have power and money and community support. To-"

"Protect them from your father." Anastasia finishes for her.

"Exactly. Without that driving force, I may already have been a housewife."

"No!" Anastasia says, horrified. Liza laughs.

"Oh yes. I'm not from a wealthy family, so I might well have been married off to a blacksmith or butcher or grocer."

"You would never, I simply can't see it."

"I'm twenty two so, let's see, I'd have at least two children already? And perhaps I'd put back the money so that they could go to school, like my mother tried to do for us." The idea of Liza the mother feels jarring, with everything she knows about her friend.

"You'd- have children" She asks, before she can stop herself. "I wouldn't have expected- that is, do you not...dislike...would you even be able to-" Anastasia's face burns, and she has to stop playing to try and think of the right sentence. Fortunately for her, Liza only laughs and bumps a shoulder into hers.

"See, that's the greatest difference between a woman who wants and a woman who doesn't. Had I wanted to pursue that life, I would have. I get to make that choice."

She plays the last few bars softly, almost breathless, as if she’s afraid of breaking something delicate. Liza hasn’t moved away. Their shoulders are still touching.

I get to make that choice . Liza lives a life she has built for herself from the choices she's made. What has Anastasia ever chosen, really?

She can feel Liza. Not just the warmth of her body, but the shape of her presence—solid, steady, known in a way that startles her.

Something blooms beneath her ribs. It's not gentle. It's not safe. It feels like hunger; not for food, not for touch, not for something she could ever name. Something she's never allowed herself to want.

Her fingers lift from the keys, and the silence that follows is thick with everything unspoken.

Liza’s eyes are on her, but Anastasia cannot look, cannot bear to see the tenderness and affection and the unnameable that she knows she'll find. She feels so full of want already that meeting Liza's gaze will surely burst her wide open.

So instead she rises. Careful, controlled, even though her pulse is a mess.

“I should go,” She says, even as every part of her aches to stay. Her voice is thick. She might cry.

Liza doesn’t stop her. But when Anastasia reaches the door, she glances back.

Liza is still seated at the piano, her hands resting on the keys like it's something fragile. She hopes Liza feels her through the instrument, as Anastasia does.

She opens her mouth, full of a thousand different ways to say the same thing, then closes it again.

Whatever waits at the back of her throat - whatever truth is roaring inside her - she swallows them whole.

She doesn't see Liza for several days, and it eats her alive because she knows it's her fault. She can't hold onto all this feeling, and she can't understand how to get rid of it. All she really knows is that she wants , wants Liza more than she thinks she's wanted anything before. Her hesitation comes because she doesn't know what that means . And her only source of information is the root cause of her consternation. In short, she's royally stuck.

Her dreams, she knows, are wild and inappropriate for a long-married woman to be having about a dear friend and not her spouse. She never remembers them, for which she is thankful, but she wakes up wanting, a face in her thoughts and an ache in her belly.

She spends her nights at the Church, for as long as they will let her. She plays nightly, writing and rewriting her music in a frenzy. It's the only time her thoughts leave Liza. Evgeny is still at home all the time, so she wants to be there less and less. She has not the religious fervor of some of her peers, but she feels something holy when she plays, believes God hears her, and through her songs prays for some reprieve from this confusion.

In the end, it's the loneliness that drives her to act. Fitting, in some way, as the backbone of their friendship. Evgeny is, as he so often is, the catalyst. He wants to go for a walk together, he says.

"I miss you when I'm writing. Without you, I am lost." He smells like vodka, he sways where he stands. Once upon a time, his pleas had melted her heart. Once, but no longer. All she sees is the cage of her own building, and a tantalising key barely within her reach. She grabs it.

"Go to bed, Evgeny." She says suddenly, and stands. "You can't walk, and I don't wish for your company tonight. I'm going out." Anastasia's head is clear for the first time in weeks, and she feels nothing but cold disgust for the man she married.

"The church again?" He cries, and stumbles over his own feet. He follows her to the hallway, chanting grandly. "My holy wife, the stairs she climbs, to heaven's gates, eternity divine."

"A social engagement." She replies, ignoring his outburst entirely. She fixes her coat over her dress. "I'm visiting a friend." He opens his mouth, then closes it again. He must see something in her expression that keeps him from inviting himself along. She's not hiding her disdain for him these days, so she's glad he sees it. What he makes of it, she'll have to find out later.

She beelines for the other side of town, praying it's still early enough that she can catch Liza at home - the doctor seems to get sent all over the place these days. As luck would have it, she actually bumps into her just outside the bookshop, clutching a book tightly to her chest. Liza's head is down, scanning the pages, and her back is to Anastasia, so she calls out.

"Liza!" She turns, and smiles when she sees her.

"Anastasia! You're not in a rush are you, I'd love to catch up - I just need to return this book to Roman."

"I was actually on my way to find you - mind if I join you?"

"Of course not." She laughs. Anastasia smiles, and follows her inside the store. She immediately feels more relaxed than she has since their last meeting; Liza just has this magical ability to make everything feel okay. Or perhaps that's what makes her such a good doctor.

Anastasia likes Roman well enough. He's a bit strange, a lot of occult learnings which seem a bit too entrenched in local superstition for her tastes, but he's a lovely man nonetheless. She used to stop in for a conversation often, when the sun was setting and she didn't want to go home.

"-ah, Mrs. Skvortsova, how lovely to see you again!"

"I've told you before, Roman, Anastasia is just fine." She replies, her smile tight. He inclines his head.

"My apologies. It's been some time, how have you been? Busy with your practice?" Liza glances at her, an eyebrow half raised, Anastasia's cheeks grow warm.

"Oh, I- ah. I didn't realise the noise carried quite so far from the garden. I apologise for disturbing you, Roman. I'll move my...I'll start playing more indoors."

"Not at all!" His smile grows wider. "Why, when I close up the shop and settle into a good book, it sweetens my evening just a little bit more to hear your notes drift in on the breeze."

"Well, I...uhm. Thank you for such kind words." Anastasia bows her head slightly.

"You really are incredible to hear." Liza adds, smiling warmly at her. Anastasia squeaks, her eyes widening.

"W-when did you hear me?" She asks. There is a note of panic in her voice because, well, she's panicking. "Don't tell me I've been serenading the street all these nights?"

"Not...exactly." Liza replies, and at least she has the decency to look guilty. "I...came to visit sometime last week. I got as far as the dining room, but heard you so lost in your music I didn't want to disturb you. So I left." Anastasia has no idea what to make of that.

"When was that?" Is all she can think of to ask.

"Early last week." She says, and Anastasia knows that they're thinking the same thing. That was before their last, rather heated (at least, from her own perspective) evening together.

"Of course." Is how Anastasia shuts down the tension bubbling away between them, because they are not alone in this conversation, and Roman is an intelligent and well read man. He might be able to piece things together more thoroughly than she has managed. The thought is alarming.

"Do you play with the church?" Roman asks. "It would be a delight to hear your violin in a more formal setting, if you were so inclined."

"I...perhaps some day." Anastasia says, but cannot elaborate. The idea that she might be obvious, that she could be known, is suddenly worse than being lonely. "But for now I'm afraid I must be going. Other matters to attend to. Good evening." She nods at both and leaves quickly. The cool air helps calm her heart.

She doesn't get far before she hears the swift step of a woman with a mission following her. Liza really does move like a doctor.

Anastasia stops by the statue in the main square, and claims one of the benches. Liza, predictably, sits beside her.

"Do you have other matters to attend to?" Liza asks. Her voice is polite, but heavy. All of the courage Anastasia found whilst staring into the eyes of Evgeny has since dissipated, and all she can do is shake her head. "Can we talk?" Anastasia hesitates, glancing around the street like someone would overhear them. But it's late, and the street is nearly dead.

"Please." She replies, desperate for something - some closure, at the very least. Her voice is hoarse. "But not - I can't go home. Can't bear to be in that house a moment longer right now. And not here." Liza pauses, then nods.

"I know a place - so long as you don't mind sitting on a dead tree."

Liza walks her to the edge of town, towards the lake.

"What was that, at the bookshop?" She prompts without judgement. Anastasia sighs.

"I was rude, wasn't I? I'll apologise to Roman tomorrow. I just-" She glances behind them, but they are alone along the dirt track. "I felt suddenly too...seen. I don't know what's going on, only that something feels wrong , and it felt like-" She stops, but Liza carries on for her.

"Like he could see right through you?"

"Yes." She admits quietly. "I'm not even sure what I f- what there is to see, but it feels like I'm holding a large sign in a language everyone but I can read." Liza only laughs.

"Yes, it can certainly feel like that sometimes. That gets easier with time though."

To Anastasia's relief, they don't go much further than the lake. Liza sits down on one of the logs by the campfire, leans forward and fiddles with the dusty wood. A moment later, it glows.

"Wow." Anastasia breathes. "I didn't know you could do that." Liza shrugs uneasily.

"It was a chore I picked up when Kolya was young, when my mother was busy and father was...otherwise engaged." She pockets the matches, and smiles brightly at Anastasia. "Useful skill to have though."

"Absolutely." The silence that falls is punctuated only by the music of night. Insects chirping, owls calling and the soft lap of water against land. Anastasia feels she has already said everything she wanted to on the walk over. She needs Liza to give her something back, make sure they're on the same page. She glances at the doctor, but she seems content to wait for Anastasia to make the first move.

Well, she supposes this is her problem after all. Anastasia clears her throat.

"Do you come here often?"

Liza looks over, a flown creasing her brow for a moment. "No. Not really. I think the last time was the night I told you about. A boy got hurt in the lake."

"I remember." She pauses and looks out over the water beyond the fire. The moon shines in the water - distorted and warped by the waves, but still beautiful. "It's nice."

"Yes." Liza replies softly. "It is."

Another silence settles over them. Patient and calm, like Liza is ready to wait forever if that's how long it takes. It gives Anastasia the strength to speak.

"I thought I was going mad."

Liza turns to her. "You're not."

"I might be. I feel like two people, like I've been living two lives. The first, my life is an expected. Evgeny, the house, the garden. Money and family and music. An ordinary life for an ordinary woman. And in the other-" she falters, eyes lost to the ripples on the water. Liza waits, silent. "In the other I want. God, it feels like I'm burning with how much I want. How could anyone bear such wretched desperation?"

Somehow, she's looking at Liza. Her eyes are soft, a gentle smile curls at her lips. Though she is always pale, in the flickering light of the bonfire she looks ethereal. A vision sent down from on high, surely, otherworldly in her beauty.

"What do you want, Anastasia?"

Her eyes slide closed, as if that would help the torrent of her feeling from splitting her apart.

"How could I possibly begin to say?" She whispers. Her eyes are wet. "You said once that some things can never be fulfilled. The most simple, you said. And the most obvious."

"Look at me." Liza whispers. When did she move closer?

"I can't."

"You don't have to be afraid." But that's easy for her to say, Anastasia's heart beats so fast she fears it might run out of beats altogether. She digs her nails into her hands, she can taste her own tongue.

For the first time, it occurs to her that this must be why a woman must not want for herself. If this is what it feels like, if this is the force that drives Liza...

It could change the world.

"So...you knew? That I- that I could be like... you?" Anastasia wishes for a word, any word, to describe their connection, their inclination. No wonder she struggled to understand Liza when she first came to tea.

Liza pauses, her mouth tight, before nodding. "I did."

"How? When?"

"In your garden. When I...touched you." She swears Liza flushes, though it could be the firelight. She knows her own cheeks do. "I'd never heard someone so...that is, I didn't know-" she cuts off with an exhale, and looks out towards the water. "I've...felt such things before, of course. How else could one learn they're of a particular disposition? But only in passing."

"What do you mean?" Anastasia asks quietly. She's on the edge, she knows, of something far bigger than she ever could have dreamed of. She barely breathes.

"I've never felt such desire." Liza confesses. Anastasia inhales sharply; the honesty takes her aback after so many weeks of wondering. "I've never seen it so clearly in another. Your eyes, Anastasia, were so dark, your cheeks flushed. You looked like you..." Liza takes a deep breath and exhales shakily. She clutches her skirt in her fists; Anastasia realises for the first time that Liza is truly just as affected by her as she is by Liza. She reaches out and runs a finger over those tense knuckles.

She replies softly, afraid to break such an honest moment. "I looked like what?" 

"Like you wanted to devour me."

Anastasia's laugh trembles. "Perhaps I do." She confesses. "What did it feel like in you?"

The question makes Liza swallow. "Does." She murmurs.

"I'm sorry?" Liza finally looks away from the lake and at Anastasia. And she sees what Liza meant; there's an intensity to her gaze that she swears she feels in her spine. 

"What does it feel like. That's what you mean."

"Oh." She sees what Liza saw in her, all that time ago. Anastasia licks her lips; her throat feels dry. "What does it feel like, Elizaveta?" She whispers. "Are you burning? Does your head swim?" Liza nods, eyes darting between her own, like she doesn't know where to look. "Me too." She says. Finally, finally, she closes the gap between them to kiss Liza.

It's soft . Liza is so soft, Anastasia loses herself in the kiss. No thoughts, no stress, no waiting for it to be over. She just...kisses her.

When Liza pulls away, Anastasia lets her. Her chest flutters, and she smiles wide, soft, open mouthed and full of teeth. The stillness of the night settles over them.

"How do you feel? Liza asks after a moment.

Anastasia leans forward to kiss her quick, before she has time to react. "Powerful." She replies with a laugh. "Free." Liza puts a hand gently to her cheek.

"Quite." She says with a chuckle. They sit like that for a while, sharing the silence, as reality comes back to Anastasia. The wild edge of the woods, the owls, then the lapping waves against the shore. The world keeps spinning. And she has no idea where she fits anymore.

"What happens now?" She asks. Liza's smile drops at the edges.

"That depends," she says carefully. "On what you want to do about Evgeny."

"I'm going to ask him for a divorce." She replies firmly, and is proud of how little hesitation she has towards the idea. "I haven't been happy with him for a long time, and I think he's been miserable for even longer. We're just...not right for each other." Liza looks sympathetic. "What? Don't you agree?"

"No, I do." She replies quickly. "I just- are you sure?"

"I am. I think I would have made that choice one day anyway, regardless of...this." She nudges Liza's shoulder. Liza still looks concerned.

"Anastasia. You must know this won't be an easy path to walk. We must let as few people as possible suspect the true nature of our relationship, and even fewer must know the truth. There will be rumours, scandal. You may lose your social circle, your standing with your peers."

Anastasia takes a deep breath, and takes a hold of the hand on her cheek.

"Dearest," she begins, tangling their fingers together. "The life I have lived until now has been difficult. I have so few friends, my social circle might well be a triangle. I am bound to a man I cannot love, in a house that is not a home, and have put aside my dreams to support his." She brings their hands up tk her face, and kisses the back of Liza's. "This life may not be easy." She concedes. "But I want it. I want you. I choose to be happy."

"Will you be?" Liza's question, her concern for Anastasia's happiness is a first for a long time. It fills Anastasia with the same confidence she started this night with. She leans her shoulder on Liza's, and looks out across the lake.

"I do believe I will." She replies with a smile. Silence settles over them again, as they watch the moon sink further and further in the sky.