Beneath our Gilded Cage PV — N. VOLKA closed

Date: Winter 2022

Ariadne's own spun silk couldn't compare to the finery embellished over the youngest Volkov that morning. For what reason he remained entirely oblivious but one thing was certain it would involve charade and performance and denying every notion of his mind that this was the furthest thing from the life intended for him. Mere months away and he would be a student at the prestigious Durmstrang academy and for the first time in his life he would be free, well at least for a portion of each year. Yet even that would be a relief.

Nikolai supposed that was why he was being extra vigilant in his pleasantries regarding his parents these last few months. Anything to not rock the boat that was constantly drowning and blow what short fuse they held. Anything to not jepordise his shot at a real life. Anything he told himself, whatever it took.

So as they prodded and poked, styled and restyled and changed his outfit for what must have been the four millionth time after all Stribog forbid his suit was frost blue not icy blue, as if there was a difference, he remained tolerable for his mother and silent for his father. Just the way they liked it, the way it has always been.

Yet there was something else in the air that morning some kind of pressing tension or pressure that left all eyes staring pointedly at him. From his brothers Cas and Rad to the serving staff it seemed as if every member of the Volkov household waited with baited breath this morning over something Nikolai felt frustratingly ignorant to. Being the youngest he was no stranger to being left out, another irrelevant spare in the Volkov line, but he prided himself on always staying in the know for his own safety. Thus to not be was torturous and when he was the aim of the ire, borderline dangerous.

Knowing his families reputation the sudden attention he was receiving could only fabricate negatives in his young mind and if he hadn't been forced to conquer fear until mastery he may have sought to hide within its grasp. No, he would not be scared of whatever was to come but that certainly didn't mean he had to like it. That was the other certainty, he was sure he was not going to like it.
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Approaching the large mansion on the other side of St Petersburg he felt comfort in the soft crunch of snow underfoot, only to be distracted by the fowl fraternal giggling of his elder siblings. While Nikolai adored every aspect of his brothers they were still siblings and winding one another up was among their favourite tortures for the youngest boy. "What, do you two want, why are you even coming mother excused you both?" Smirked devilry steeled behind perfectly framed faces lit up with the question as they replied in unison, "Just here to watch." Scowling back he found his mind racing with tension as he asked "Watch what?" Slight irritation working it's way into his throat but unsurprisingly he found no answer in the pair who continued to glide above him deliberately obvious in their deeper knowledge of why he was here.

Refusing to spare them anymore of his suffering he lost himself in the gothic architecture of the property. Truly it was a masterpiece and must have been fairly old given the detailed craftsmanship almost as if the owner had been around to witness the gothic age themselves. Ever the keen historian he quelled the worries of his mind in his fantasies envisioning who might live here and comparing it to the works of literature he devoured so often. Elements of Stoker we're evoked in his mind at the prospect and he giggled to himself at the thought his parents were giving him over to Dracula sacrificially. A giggle met by a withering state from his mother.

The way his father moved through a house not belonging to himself infuriated him thoroughly. Not simply because he acted like he owned the place but because in truth he had the very power to if he wished. Mikhail was not a man to be triffled with and whomever they were about to face Nik found himself hoping they were prepared. Dark thoughts began to creep in at the idea of a confrontation, was Nik being fully brought in to the Volkov world? For then even Durmstrang wouldn't be enough of an escape, in his soul he knew he belonged to his family in life and in death.

Such dark imaginations felt deftly flat as the room before him opened to reveal something akin to what could only be described as a macabre regency painting. Despite clear attempts to be perceived as natural in the setting the positioning felt strategic, organised. At the very least Nik sought comfort that his father was being met by an equal in ego if not power. Assorted pleasantries between the hosts and his parents undergone he felt two pairs of piercing eyes bearing down on him yet still he remained completely lost.

Such meetings often happened at parties where he was forced to play the role of dutiful youngest son, a portrait of Volkov perfection but never had the role been so enforced for an intimate gathering. Utterly confused he stepped forward ready to formally greet the large domineering man ahead of him with a rehearsed bow but as he did a sudden hand curled upon his shoulder. Ice cold fingers that raised every hair on the back of his neck to attention his father held him with just enough pressure to impose his will as he guided him towards the smallest of the family.

Sat alone at a rather grandiose piano he yearned to hear played was a similarly puppeted individual. Just like himself she had been draped in silks that complimented her features and seemingly matched his own family colours. While incredibly beautiful there was something ever so slightly off about the image like while she wore it to perfection she would just as willingly shed it. Curious eyes met her own as they both stated at one another a mirrored reflection of platinum hair and piercing blue eyes. One could mistake them for siblings in a crowd. Spurred by his father, "Dearest Niklaus, do introduce yourself. Remember your manners." There was poison seeping between every word. Whatever was happening it was important and everyone knew it even if they didn't know why.

Taking a large mechanical bow that while graceful held no passion, he maneuvered over to the piano and taking up her hand placed a delicate kiss upon the back. A familiar gesture in pureblood society he barely registerd the greetings any longer but something held his attention more than usual. Where typically he found refined smooth skin that had been grromed to perfection, in the young heiress' he was met with the subtle rough touch of calloused and small cuts. It was an enigma and although before he would have continued his spiel robotically. Nikolai found his words genuinely hunting with intrigue as he introduced, "Nikolai Volkov miss. Whom do I have the pleasure of meeting. I must say I am already charmed."

Interacting with Victoriya Petrovskikh @Elena Clark

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Victoriya's gaze flickered back to the frosted glass, captivated by the endless snowfall beyond the estate's walls. Each swirl seemed a mockery to her situation, flakes dancing freely to the rhythm of the cold russian wind, while she sat, bound by layers of pearls and silk. The ruby weighted heavier at her neck, its hues of crimson reflecting on the piano's pristine surface. Her fingers hoovered over the piano's keys, nails mirroring the light like little daggers. Not daring making it chant again, she withdrew her hand back to her lap, playing with the lace adorning the trim of her dress. The approaching sound of boots on the polished marble floor brought her focus inward. She didn't turn around ; she didn't need to. The presence behind her was unmistakable, pressing behind her like the blade of a sword, as well as the silence the room seem to hold. His voice followed, low and deliberate, each word echoing throughout the void of the room. "Straighten your back, маленький ягненок." Viktoriya immediately stiffened, his tone leaving no place for questioning. The words wrapped around her throat like chains, tightening her spine and lifting her chin up. "Behave," he continued, an unerlined threat looming beneath the ice of his voice. "Or you will answer to me." She began to turn her head around, gaze full of questions about the reason why tonight was so special, but his hands landed on her shoulders, grip of steel forbidding any move. He delicately adjusted the ruby at her neck, with deliberate care, before withdrewing. With one last glance who cut through her facade like a knife, his expression unreadable, he strode back to the fireplace. Viktoriya's eyed met her brother's, who seemed to carry a hint of amused superiority. The youngest Petrovskaya let out a shallow breath, heart thundering inside her chest. A silver strand fell in front of her eyes, one she quickly tucked away. Her icy gaze traveled across the grand salon, the pinnacle of Russian's finest architecture. Opulance seemed to be the only command, air heavy with wealth and history. From the delicate chandeliers falling down the ceiling painted with historical and mythical sceneries, their flame reflecting on the line of mirrors adorning the wall, to the tapestries decorated with wars and weaponry hung between each arched window... Each furniture was a piece of art itself, nothing more than a lavish spreading of the Petrovskikh's importance. The grand doors creaked open, revealing an equally aristocratic family - the Volkov. Despite being considered a spare, the young girl had her fair share of lessons on Russia's most influential families, and this pack of wolves was a force Mstislav acknowledged and respected. First came the father, Mikhail, its presence challenging - he walked as if he owned the place. His wife followed, ruthless beauty like the edge of a sharp dagger. Two boys walked behind them, chin up. The first seemed to carry the entire family's burden on his shoulders, a hint of rightfully earned importance exuding from his stance. Casimir, if she remembered correctly. The heir, and therefore an important target. The second one had the remarkable charm of someone that knew they were pleasing to the eye, and moved with an effortless ease, a smile lingering at the corner of his mouth. This one could only be Radamir, the very face of the Volkov brothers, always attending various gathering. Viktoriya had noticed both of them a numerous amount of times before. The Volkovs moved with the grace of a predator, eyes looming for any weaknesses. A threatening presence which Mstislav seemed to match, as he nodded towards Mikhail. The family split in half, revealing a figure trailing behind them. It felt like looking in a mirror. The boy was her age, maybe a year older, and moved with a hesitant grace, his expression carefully neutral - although Viktoriya thought notice the faint flickers of something deeper, uncertainty, discomfort, and perhaps a quiet defiance not unlike her own. His hair, which catched the light like freshly fallen snow, was a blinding shade of white ; his eyes a deep, icy blue. He carried that hint of superiority which seemed almost as natural as breathing to the Volkovs, yet his was ... slightly unsure ? Being visibly the youngest of the siblings, he could only be Nikolai - yet Viktoriya had never seen him before. Her eyes went back to Dmitry, who for once seemed completely indifferent to the scene unfolding itself before him. Her unease deepened. Why did he look so indifferent when tonight appeared so important ? And why was she dressed like a porcelain doll for a performance she didn't agree to give ? Her confusion increased when she noticed the usual protocol wasn't respected - Mstislav was supposed to be acknowledged, then Dmitry, then her mother, and finally a small nod towards her. Instead, her attention was caught by the young boy, guided by the firm grip of his father. Her breath hitched - a pawn. What she took as misplaced superiority was a poor tentative of facade, when in reality he was as lost as her in this chessboard grandeur nature. A slight glance towards her own father, who kept his eyes resolutely fixed on the pair, confirmed her intuition and she rose to greet them, legs itching from the uncomfortable bench. She barely had time to master a composed face that the presumed Nikolai was standing before her. He took his hand, lips brushing the rough skin scarred by years and years of practice - a classical aristocratic greeting, which seemed practiced over and over again. Though the gesture was undoubtedly grateful, it lacked a certain authenticity, a certain truth. Her pulse quickened as she fought the urge to rip her hand free, only staying still from the watchful eyes of her father - Mikhail's gaze seemed to pierce right through her. The words that politely, almost mechanically left Nikolai's mouth lacked the same truthfullness as his gesture, honed and poised. As expected, she gracefully bended her knees in a gentle, perfect bow, hand lightly grasping the hem of her dress. A single silver strand obstructed her vision, as she replied with a smooth (and as emotionless as his) voice. "Viktoriya Petrovskaya." The name echoed throughout the walls of the castle, as if carrying the weigt of its centuries of history. "The pleasure is mine, sir Volkov." She withdrew her hand slowly, gaze flickering back to Mstislav - searching for a flicker of approval, even if she would never admit it. What she found was nothing, as usual. Emotionless, reptile - like stare that could tighten the toughest of hearts. A soft sigh escaping her, she turned back to Nikolai. Two pawns, dressed in silk and chains. Viktoriya leaned back slightly, her eyes lingering on the boy's stance. Although as poised and elegant as she stood, he held a certain unease that mirrored hers. That he found himself as out of place as she did despite their noble bearing comforted her in the idea she might have found a kindred spirit, a silent ally. Before she could speak, Mstislav's voice rang out, commanding. "Viktoriya, the guest didn't come to admire your silence.". She imperceptibly tensed, a faint flush creeping at the base of her neck. Unsure of how to act, she glanced towards the pristine piano, then back at her father, silently asking. "I hope you play as beautifully as you look tonight, маленький ягненок," he continued, confirming her doubts. Already searching through the thousands of melodies she knew, she sat back on the cushion, hands brushing over the keys, the cool ivory grounding her. She hesitated for a second, the weight of the ruby and watchful eyes feeling like a set of chains wrapping around her throat. Settling on a piece she knew by heart, a melodic and soft music that always seemed like a silent scream in the winter's night. Holding her breath, she began to play, a bird's song trapped in a gilded cage, each note echoing at the barrels of her golden prison.

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Date: Winter 2022

Elegant silk and refinery no matter the quality could only conceal so much about a person's truth. There was no shadow of doubt both were masquerading as mere puppets of themselves, carefully handstitched by their parents to be facades of society, a controlled pawn and very little more. Neither of the pair were the heir, a blessing Nikolai thanked the stars for every night, and thus were both succumbed to the will of whatever menial secondary task assigned. No freedom, such frivolities were for the lower class with their dreams and illustrious ideals. No even a spare had purpose and while the young Russians still had no understanding of their own the terse silence of the room listened knowingly.

Viktoriya's return was all formality and pleasantries and while she couldn't have possibly known he felt the flare of indignation rise within him eyes flashing merely for a moment, lightning in their piercing blue storm. Being called a Volkov was just one of the main chains that bound him tugged suffocatingly by his father and mother so eroding Nikolai found himself surprised his very skin didn't bare the stain of their bruise. Still every time he was referred to as such he couldn't help but reject the claims internally a battle long since lost but ever present. Luckily for the young aristocrat the rose in front of him, though far more thorn than petal, had averted her gaze past him for just enough time to still his expression back into the perfect portrait it wasn't dared to falter from.

For what was mere seconds the two locked eyes, an wild expanse of icy blue rivalling the very frost tips that laced delicately along the outcrept borders of the magnificently large windows of the room. The cool winter light washing in over them was only chilled further by the deep foreboding voice of the girls father who's very words seemed to transfix the room just as his own father could. Two lions in a den while the rest watched on yearning that they were not the subject of prey this evening. A foolish thought given that all eyes seemed firmly set on the pair. Taking in the sight of the large Petrovskaya patriarch was as threatening as it was magnificent, there was a timeless grace to the man despite his broad form that spoke of wisdom beyond scope. It wasn't until his mouth opened once more, a sharp fang protrusion just lightly bordering over the tip of his lower lip that his mother's incessant lessons refocused in his mind. The Petrovskaya's were Dhampir and notorious at that for their weapon smithing.

An alliance between the patriarchs wouldn't be all that surprising given their nature of work, both being in the affluent but barbaric business of violence, and given the only redeeming quality of his parents being their dismissive beliefs on purity it could be a friendly one at that. However, it still perplexed the young studious Russian as to the timing of meeting now. What was so important that required a personal entourage of family to acquest whatever deal was on the table. Pensive in thought he could have mulled the logistics over for hours but Nikolai found himself distracted as the young girl began to play hands far more delicate than their visual appearance tracing swiftly over the ivory keys of a most stunning antique. Chuckling internally he supposed immortality must have many such benefits for collecting.

In the charming playing he found himself totally enamoured with the girl. Rather than choose some mercifully dull fanfare meant to dazzle and impress she practically reached for him through soul and he was assured more than ever of their shared burden. Winter was a cold time especially in Russia and she masterfully captured its loneliness in her playing, though the keys played soft and melody fluid there was an internal rage to the piece like screaming into a pillow, silent but releasing. Enraptured by her he could have watched for hours but seemingly not everyone was quite as entranced as the young Russian, particularly two elder brothers utterly incapable of recognising talent and taste if it slapped them across the face.

Angling his head around he watched as his brother Radamir and her own Dmitry perhaps if memory served found themselves cradled in hushed voices whispering away like petty gossips towards the pair. Whatever this secret was Nikolai was not pleased to find how much amusement it brought the pair. From the intimacy and animation of their rapport Nikolai determined they must already be acquainted, likely at previous balls given Durmstrang's antiquated stance on half breeds. With a hearty laugh he found his gaze drawn to the older Petrovskaya sibling who radiated with golden light amongst the dark wood and pale skin of his family. Something light fluttered within Nikolai's heart as he watched the carefree pull of his lips crack into a wide smile but far more surprising than whatever such a reaction was his eyes quickly averted when he failed to notice even a hint of fang in the heirs smile. Assuming he was mistaken and spurred by irritation towards the pairs comedy regardless he decided to move towards the person in his opinion who shone the brightest despite her cage.

Approaching the side of the piano as Viktoriya finished playing he was the first to flatter her with applause though rather than a testament to the room as he was trained he offered the praise simply to her and in whispered tones said, "You play most splendidly, I don't suppose you'd mind if I joined you?" Assuming she had no qualms with the request he found himself shuffling to her side teetering off the left side as he offered her a genuine smile now hidden from the prying eyes of their parents. Sat with her he found only reflections glossed in her eyes and appreciated her only further. "I imagine your well versed in Debussy's work, I hope you will join me in a duet. For their sake more than ours." His final sentiment served with a tremendous eye roll quirking his smile into a smirk as he began playing the primo position of Petite Suite I - En Bateau.

The piece he had chosen represented everything he couldn't have. It was indicative to himself of spring and literally translated to on a boat though could also be interpreted as by the sea. A place he yearned for more than ever, his greatest comfort of St Petersburg. By the sea one could envision oneself sailing anywhere like the characters in literature scouring the world for new shores. Anything away from here he thought melancholic, When his eyes returned to the girl as they were now playing he used the presence of the piece to mask his conversation from their families, "Now that they're distracted I must know why he insists on referring to you as a ягненок? Is it metaphorical, a wolf in sheep's clothing comes far more to mind? Or do they simply know you as little as my own parents?"

Such honesty could have come across as invasive, even rude in many circles he was forced to frequent but everything about the girl who shared so much similarities physically with him bolstered his assurance. Nikolai was sure that their shared traits outwardly weren't a candle flicker to the flame of resemblance they shared inward. Two puppets perfected in every way but both desperately searching for the blade to cut them free.

Interacting with Victoriya Petrovskikh @Elena Clark

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The piano's keys bended under Viktoriya's delicate touch, notes rising and falling in the tensed air like the free, careless snowflakes she was previously (enviously) admiring. The melody as smooth as the silk she was drapped in, her right hand played the light and elegant notes her father wished to hear - yet the left was slowly, surely descending an octave, a darker tune woven into the light. A small, persistent, growing cry of rage hidden by the soft, melodic chant her right hand delicately produced. Each note was a small rebellion in itself, a blow against the golden bars of her birdcage. Her fingers pressed harder on the keys, the song growing slightly louder. The ruby at her throat burned against her skin, a reminder of the performance she hadn't agreed to give, the cage she hadn't chose to inhabit. Her gaze drifted from the instrument and found itself drawn back to Dmitry and his golden hair, casually leaned against the armrest of a thick, comfortable chair. Sharing an inner joke with Radamir, laughter seemed to sparkle around the two heirs, as they talk in hushed, consiprational whispers. If their words were muted and couldn't reach Viktoriya's ears, the disdainful look woven with mockery her brother shot her speaked for itself, and she missed a key - a mistake that luckily went unnoticed. Or mostly, as a snarl escaped her brother. It felt like a slap. She hissed. His feet carelessly resting on the surface of a golden table, laughing, uncaring about whatever might comes out of his mouth, not watching his every move, not sitting in that uncomfortable bench, playing a tune he didn't even like, forced to talk to someone he wanted nothing to do with. The heir of the Petrovskikh, the one meant to carry their name with pride, perpetuate their legacy, defend the blood running through his veins... This very heir was sat here, drinking wine, spilling secrets that might be capital information, not trying to gather more, solely exisiting and being rewarded for it. It should have been me. Survival's rage. Her nails dug deeper in the keys, as the anger hit her like a blow. Her brother, who failed to see the brilliance of the future that was served to him on a silver platter. She was already the perfect, the senseful choice. He couldn't possibly last a single day in the upcoming civil war that was brewing between the Kolyakov and the Petrovskikh, let alone lead the family through such harsh times. Weak, she spat, a bitter scoff escaping her. Your only achievement is being born. Unware of Mstislav's eyes flickering between the two siblings - a slightly amused gaze, if one were to notice - she ended the song in a loud, held note that echoed her anger throughout the room, eyes resolutely fixed on her brother's. The silence was loud, defeating, buzzing at her ears until a single sound cut through, a blade through water. Applause. Surprised, the youngest Petrovskaya raised her eyes to meet the cracked mirror held in Nikolai's gaze, a silent understanding - hands clapping and a graceful nod of acknowledgement, more words exchanged in those two simple gestures than any conversation might hold. His movements were slow, deliberate, bound by chains made of history and legacy, and Viktoriya would see the weight his family's name brought to his icy gaze. She felt like he truly saw her - not the polished, refined version her parents seemed so determined to present the world but the hunger for something more they both seemed to share. The walls the young girl had so carefully erupted didn't require faltering, as the young boy had his own fortress ; both connected by the noted Viktoriya had produced. She hesitated at his request, her gaze flickering briefly towards her father. Mstislav's eyes held as much expression as usual, yet a slight arch of eyebrow sufficed to cause the young girl to nod at Nikolai, hands retreating to her lap. He sat gently, and his presence strangely comforted her. She felt like a soldier ready for battle, and her comrade had just managed to join her. His touch over the keys was smooth, polished, as notes began rising up in the air. His music choice sparked a soft smile at the corner of her lips - En Bateau, of course. Sailing away, dreams of freedom none of them could ever hope to achieve. As she joined him, a divergence seemed to carve its way between the two spares. Two pawns, bound by silk and lies, yearning for freedom. Yet their most primal desire drifted from one another. While Nikolai played like a bird wanting to fly away, dive into the endless skies and flee far from its cage ; Viktoriya played as a wolf tearing apart the disguise he hid under for so long, rising from the lamb's ashes. Two pawns, one eager to leave the board ; the other to cross it and be crowned. Although discording, their melodies intertwined themselves perfectly - an alliance, a secret pact between two puppets who had the same objective. As the piece continued, the sudden sound of the boy's melodic voice ripped the silver haired girl from her reveries. Her fingers stumbled slightly at his question, striking the very tight nerve. The easy answer would be to nod - after all, anyone she had ever met considered her nothing more than what she was, an obedient daughter dressed in pearls and silk. But her family was no ordinary person, and she knew exactly what each meant when they deemed her as a lamb. Dmitry saw her as a lamb in wolf's clothing, a frightened figure trying to be bigger than what she was. Aleksandra saw her as a wolf in lamb's clothing, seeing Mstislav's gaze each time she met her daughter's eyes. Mstislav... was more complicated. Viktoriya genuinely ignored if he solely saw her as a way to make her brother shine harder, or if he meant to push her to his ideal of greatness by diminishing her. A challenge, a deliberate provocation. He wanted her to rise, to fight, to prove herself worthy of the name her brother seemed to take for granted. "You're too soft, Viktoriya," he would spat, as she whined on the harsh training mat. "Too delicate. Again." And she would rise each time, because no pain in the world could deny the yearning for that small flicker of approval each time she battled against her own body. Bite, little lamb. "Perhaps he wants me to prove him wrong," she finally replied on the same hushed tone, their melodies rising in the air. "Or perhaps that's all he sees in me." Her soft tone curling simple sentences into underlying meanings, she let her gaze flicker towards her father - who was now exchanging with Mikhail. The two of them could have easily passed as brothers, if not for the thread woven through their gaze each time they smiled. And Dmitry couldn't care less. A rageful groan threatening to break her poised character, she focused on the black and white keys. Make me your champion, she silently begged - no matter how good she was, she would not spend the rest of her life tied to a piano, waiting for whatever husband her parents might choose her. She was meant to fight, to lead, to thrive in battle, in the midst of a war. Not smile and nod and chuckle. "How does one find his place inside this wolve pack ?" She mused, glancing at her new companion. Volkov. Accurately chosen name. "I suppose they see you as a mere extension of their name ? A reflection of their desire." The final notes of their duet echoed throughout the lavish room, as a slow, nonchalant clap rose from the opposite corner. Frowning, she watched him rise from his seat, as soon the rest of the room mirrored his applause. With a nod of grateful acknowledgement, the two musicians left the lacquered instrument to stand in front of its pristine surface, slightly bowing. "Well done, sister," he drawled, the falsely prideful tone her brother's voice held only caused the tension in her limbs to increase, as an arrogant smirk remained plastered on his face. An expression Radamir shared, making Viktoriya's mind race desperately to try and find out what information her brother could possibly possess. Given the formality of the events that had just unfolded, this evening must have been an important contract between the two families, even more so as they both had serious advantages to offer one another. But a contract signature only involved the main members of each family, aka the Patriarch and the heir. Nothing would require the spares' presence, unless- "-...wonder," her brother was still lost in his theatrical ranting, and she only made out the last eight words. "You two will truly make a perfect couple." ... What ?!

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Date: Winter 2022

Mirrors were a miraculous thing capable of reflecting a perfect visage of ones self back to them, a living portrait bound to the borders of the reflective metal. Yet mirrors were also capable of great distortion, they could be used to alter a form when given the correct moulding. When two mirrored reflections held each others stare Nikolai pondered this and found both to be distorted rather than true reflections. While Nikolai had been moulded by his father to appear sophisticated and aristocratic he rather found himself more drawn to the imperfections of a moulded reflection. Viktoriya on the other hand had been moulded to seem less than, dented by the hands of her family until she seemed smaller than she was and in those sparkling sapphires that graced her iris Nik saw her truth. While he wished to mould himself free from his rigid form, she wished to hold that status and reflect herself on full display. Both righteous in their wishes and linked in their simple wish to be seen for themselves not for others.

As they played and the girl spoke of her father that reflection only warped more. It was clear from her tracked stares that she held deep resentment towards her brother, but when those blue gems rested upon her father she looked nothing but determined. A determination to prove herself he gathered, wasn't that the de facto Russian wizard monarchy way. Each heir was to break their backs constantly in battle over power, one upping each other to prove their superiority and gain the support of their peers. Nik had never been in the running given his significant age difference to his siblings, his parents dismay over his existence and the fact his brother had been so clearly moulded perfectly at birth for the position. Thus thoughts of such ambitions never really crossed his mind and yet still he knew deep down he had no interest in such manners.

Jolted out of his own furrowed thoughts with her question he gave her a pointed look as all joy seemed to drain from his face despite her musing. "I'm afraid you don't find your place, it's given to you and if you don't succeed, you don't survive. We live for his wishes, in many ways he didn't raise a family, he raised a pack." Noticing that his abrupt change of manner had caused Viktoriya to retreat slightly from their rapport his eyes grew heavy thunderclouds circling the piercing lightning blue at the edges leaving him with a look that spoke of a depth of sadness no one so young should know. "It's not all bad, but sometimes I wish I could smash the reflection, to see who I'd be in my own light. Foolish I know." Chiding himself he returned his full attention to the gentle build of the piece nearing its conclusion. Each note conjuring visions of the boat he would sail away on.

When the music finished Nikolai didn't rise as quickly as his partner towards the applause. The heavy burden of knowledge told him that no such praise would be channelled from his parents towards him and as such he left the girl to take the reward. Eyes falling on the delicate little snowflakes placating the window condensation building around the outer sheet unable to break through. The young Russian saw himself reflected back, his outer layer rendered so harsh and unmoving despite the legion of attacks and brunt he had faced but never letting such negatives seep through. Walls so fortified he wondered if anything would ever break through, if he would ever feel the cold rush of that snowflake within his walls. Or had he already become hollow, the reflection of their desires she had called it. A sentiment most harrowing for its truth.

Lost in the shimmering reflection of the glass a new image appeared. Viktoriya's face contorted into a frown. The freedom she possessed to even display such emotion threw the young boy off but realising that she too was not one to long for applause he rose with her and while bowing together turned ever so slightly to roll his eyes in a far lighter gesture than he felt. The girl, however, remained taut as if her very being was no longer hers to possess. Before the words left his mouth Nikolai could practically suffocate in the exuded arrogance of the elder sibling, he was quite used to it with Radamir but while in the Volkov's case the jest was amicable there were chess pieces at play he didn't have enough foundation to understand. While bound by duty to the chains of her father, they seemed only a fraction as binding as the thread between the siblings. Like a string tied tight around the pair, when one pulled the other suffered.

Whatever purpose the proceedings of the day were fell away to the necessity to stick up for his alliance. Perhaps the two differed in desires but they were similarly trapped, drowning at sea without a lifeboat and for the first time both had a chance to float. Words like a blade aimed directly at the string ensnaring her he cut, "She's a marvel, it must be hard being overshadowed by a younger sibling." All thunderclouds blowing away as his eyes flashed dangerously bright lightning striking at the edges until a more demanding storm filled the room instead. "Niklaus!" Entire body shuddering at the forceful cadence he felt himself stilled by the controlled fury of his father's tone. A dam ready to burst at any time. Still the fact remained that Nikolai, whether accepted as one or not, was a Volkov and schooling his features to pure innocence he corrected himself, "Musically I meant of course. My apologies Отец father for my lack of foresight."

While the apology seemed to contain the wildfire of his father's anger and satisfy the Petrovskaya patriarch who was watching him so intently with a look he couldn't comprehend like he was judging his adequacy. Unnerving stares aside the young Russian took a moment to relish in the satisfaction that Dmitry knew exactly what he had meant but as his stare met the older boy there was nothing but pure smug malice holding his features. "You two will truly make a perfect couple when the time comes." Nikolai had often since childhood had a recurring dream of falling, nothing around but shadow with no concept of how far he had until the ground would appear and his bones would shatter from the impact. Nothing to latch onto, no light to reach for or means of escape he would barrel further into the darkness losing sight of himself until he simply vanished completely and awoke sweat soaked and breath constricted. Never before could Nikolai have said he had experienced the living nightmare but when those simple words came from his lips Nikolai finally smashed upon the ground.

All the whispers and gleeful smirks of his brothers suddenly made sense. The endless attention of his mother to every detail of his outfit a clear sign. How could he have been so blind. Two players believing they sat at the table when truly they were simply pawns, sacrificial in another man's story. A trade deal, a merger, a bloody bargain. That was all he was. All they were. Two lambs brought to the slaughter so that the rest of the group could eat and be merry. Eyes threatened to water as the ever present bars that surrounded his cage moved infinitely closer until he could feel nothing but the constricting cool of the metal. How foolish he had been mere moments to go to think that something as delicate as a snowflake could ever break these boundaries. No Nik had been carved of stone and iron there was no place for life or spirit or love whatever that even meant. Nik was just a child far too young to consider such outlandish thoughts. Girls hadn't even yet begun to cross his mind, they were friends and while he knew them to be pretty he didn't wish to objectify them for something as pure as looks.

Growing uneasy with the emotional build up of the moment his eyes met his fathers who's withering glare demanded nothing but pure obedience from his useless son. Well useless until today he surmised. Clinically void of all emotion Nikolai spoke making sure to control his face with the polite smile his mother had berated into him, "So we are to be betrothed? When?" Flashing a defeated look back to Viktoriya he felt the crumbling hope forged between them of an alliance fall at his feet. Given time perhaps Nik could have grown to see the small weapon with love, there was certainly admiration and a knowing bond between them but something in his heart betrayed him. Unsure of why he simply knew the thought to be false. Eyes closing a wish kissed the top of his lips soundlessly asking for freedom before he returned his sight to his parents eyes clouded once more to a lifeless grey, "I mean. What wonderful news, I'm sure we will make an excellent pair as you so aptly put Dmitry."

Something about the smirk he levelled on Nikolai had his heart racing at supersonic speed. Wondering how someone could truly be so obnoxious he found it difficult to draw his eyes from him, such confidence and senseless pride that overshadowed the incredible girl behind him made him seethe with rage. The whole day was a resounding loss for the pair, now shackled by a new pair of chains. Unknowing what tribulations his ties to the Petrovskaya's would cause made trepidation trickle through his throat but nothing in comparison to the instinctual dread he felt for his new friend, or betrothed. To be a Volkov was a blood curse and no one deserved such binds willingly, no, if there were any means of intervention Nikolai would find it. He simply had to, Vik might have been a wolf in sheep's clothing but the Volkov wolves were a life sentence he wouldn't allow her to burden. No matter the price.

Rather than his father Nikolai was stunned, entire body tensed like the clamp of a bear trap had just rooted him to the dense forest floor leaving him to bleed to death as a enthusiastic wispy voice filled the room, "Oh darlings how exciting, myself and Aleksandra will discuss all the necessary arrangements for when you both come of age while Mikhail and Mstislav deal with the boring parts." Each of the four Volkov males seemed completely shellshocked by the presence to the point where it became almost unidentifiable to tell if they were all still breathing. When more than a few moments of awkward silence prevailed the Volkov Matriarch seemed to dampen returning to a fraction of the brightness she had just displayed until Mikhail cleared his throat commanding attention and with a pride that didn't meet his eyes said, "You are to be betrothed when the young heiress turns fourteen. I'm sure you will make us all proud in this endeavour son. It will be an honour to unite our prestigious families in such an allegiance." Nikolai barely functioned to accept the false praise eyes still fixated on his mother something resentful and cold filling his stare. Lost to everything.

Interacting with Victoriya Petrovskaya @Elena Clark

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A sideways glance was the only reaction Nikolai's words provoked, as they stirred something deep within the young girl's heart she wished to remain burried. In only a few sentences, he had resumed the entirety of their lives, a destiny unfortunately shared with every young aristocrat who had the misfortune of being born last. Her own light. Something she prayed she would never see, as it was not gentle, nor warm, but a blinding, rageful oblivion - something raw, violent, ruthless. A sun collapsing on itself, exploding in a thousand rays, a white fire ready to devour whatever stood in its way. And yet, a part of herself was yearning for its release. For her to blaze herself across the world that had bound her in silk and pearls, that had taught her to step lightly and bow and smile. "It isn't foolish to want to know yourself," she simly replied, nails digging deeper in the black and white keys. "Simply foolish to believe we will ever be allowed to." Unless we stop waiting for permission. The scene continued in a machine-like precision. They rose. She bowed. Again, lowering her head to her brother, while he wholeheartedly laughed and rejoiced, mocking the very thought of her. Her body felt detached, as if watching herself from above, the silence the only sound that echoed throughout the room. Silence that felt too loud, too suffocating, filled with every unsaid word clinging to the tapestries like ghosts. A silence that shattered only when the boy at her side spoke. Words that cut through this thick, akward veil like a carefully wielded blade, words that immediatly sparked a reaction in Viktoriya. Her mouth twitched, the tiniest pull at the corner of her lips - so slight, so imperceptible, it may have been imagined. But it wasn't. Two people noticed - Nikolai, and Dmitry. She caught it, the exact second her brother understood these two dwarfs were openly laughing at him, she saw the very moment his pride took the hit as the need to lash out rose, higher and higher, the desire to reduce his arrogant sister to silence. And he did. And the world tipped. You two will truly make a perfect couple. The satisfaction with which Dmitry spoke each word ranged hollow to Viktoriya's ears, drowned beneath the rush of blood, as the realisation was denied entry to her mind. Despite the same lazy amusement his tone held, she could see the hint of cruel satisfaction swirling in his brown eyes, the silent triumph lurking beneath his smile. Her breath grew heavier, as only one word repeated itself. No. no, no, no, NO. The air felt thick, suffocating, and for a second she thought she might actually choke on it. Betrothed. The word was a chain, wrapping itself around her throat, drawing the air from her lungs, searing itself into her body. Of course. A wedding. What this day was all about. Why she had received such particular care and attention, why Dmitry couldn't stop grinning, he was delighted in it, in the horror dawning on her face, in the checkmate he had seen coming long before she even realized she was playing. A deal, a bargain, another move on the chessboard that never belonged to her. A mere pawn, offered as a bait, her role decided before she even got a chance to play. A scream pushed behind her throat. The urge to lash out, to tear that smile off his face, to break every single piece of this carefully created lie, to shatter the polished, perfect world they had built around her, for him, for him. The heir. The only heir. For what was she ? A mere replacement, something they could simply toss away or push forward when needed. Her left fist curled into a tight ball, as her nails digged into the trunk of the piano, clawing at its perfect surface. She pressed harder, harder, until it hurt, until blood ran down her fingers, until the wood gave away. And still, she did not break her brother's gaze. Were she not so deeply burried within her rage, she might have noticed the amused gleam that her father's eyes held, or the way her mother's gaze anxiously darted between her and him, as if slowly realizing the resemblance between her oh-so-dear husband and this devil of a daughter. The urge to scream was so strong, so pressing, she thought she might actually give in. Instead, she lifted her chin. Forced herself to turn, to meet Nikolai's eyes. She saw the exact moment he understood, the flicker of realisation, the dread that surfaced for the briefest second before disappearing under a mask of careful composure. Mstislav would like him. So quick to school his features, to react properly. She, on the other hand, was a wildfire waiting to erupt, and she was oh so close from snapping. Void of all emotions, his voice rose, steady and controlled, asking the question she didn't wish to hear the answer to. He was playing their game. Because what other choice did he have ? She had thought she would have a say. How foolish she had been. Seeking answers in her father's eyes, she found nothing but this cold, calculated gaze she knew too well. Behave. “Don’t look so displeased, сестрёнка.” Dmitry’s voice was like silk laced with poison. “You could do worse.”Her nails dug further inside her palms, sharp crescents biting into her skin as rage coiled tightly around her chest. He had always been so sure of himself, of his place. Never feared the possibility of being used as mere bargain, as a line at the bottom of a contract. Hatred burned through every fiber of her being, a rage to overthrow him, to wipe that smirk off his face, to watch him crumble to dust. Were they alone, her sword would have met his throat. Yet here she had no blade, only pearls and silk. She inhaled sharply, forcing steel into her spine. Her hand were steady, showing nothing of her inner turmoil. "Do not mistake my excitement for dread, брат," she retorted, voice sweet and sharp, a practiced smile curbing her lips as a flash of red tainted the celestial blue of her gaze. "I am delighted to actually be useful to our family." Unlike you, were the underlined words he sure did caught - given by the way his jaw tightened. His fists clenched, mirroring the youngest, and he strode up to her, eyes narrowing in a mix of disbelief and anger. The tension rose, the pulse of something far more dangerous than sibling rivalry. Viktoriya tilted her head, smile widening, a mocking gleam dancing in her eyes. Hit a nerve, have I ? her stance screamed. Fight. That she knew, that she had somewhat of a control on. Dmitry's nostrils flared, the muscles in his jaw twitching but a deep, threatening voice cut him as his mouth opened to utter whatever meaningless insult he thought could hurt her. "That's enough," Mstislav spoke, locking eyes with his son. Without another word, Dmitry's shoulder tensed and he strode back to his seat, pride bruised more deeply. Viktoriya's expression flickered with surprised - her father had always favored his side of the story, not hers - but the corners of her mouth tugged upward in a small, satisfied smirk. A smile that quickly disappeared when her own gaze found Mstislav's, bringing her back to the cold reality of this moment. Betrothed. Their mother's voices rose in excited chatter, an endless hum of warmth filling the air. In the midst of everything she caught somethig - a word that cut through her heart like a blade. Fourteen. Mikhail’s voice carried the answer like it was nothing, like it was as simple as arranging a dinner meeting. Fourteen. The word felt foreign, meaningless, unattached. A countdown. Her heart beat too quickly, too loudly, the blood rushing in her ears. Throat tightening, she forced herself to nod, to smile, as though she had not just been condemned to six years of living beneath the shadow of an arrangement she had never agreed to. As though her life had not just been swepped away without her consent. Fourteen. It felt like a prison sentence. She felt the edge of a sharp reality sink deeper, the weight of her own insignificance pressing against her chest. A pawn, a piece on the board to be sacrificed at the whims of others. That's what she was. Her gaze drifted to the boy besides, the one that had shifted slightly, bringing her attention back to him. Her new ally. Another pawn. Both trapped in this web of silk and pleaseantries, in a game they never agreed to play. Clearing her throat before speaking, she let the soft yet sharp tone of her voice cut through the ambient chatter like a blade, calculated and controlled. She could not stand to stay here any longer. Not in this choking atmosphere, knowing each person was either mocking her, arranging her marriage or discussing her worth. The idea twisted her gut further. "Father," she spoke with a smile, carefully chosing each word. "Might I request something ?" I need air. "I would like to show Nikolai the marvels our estate holds," she continued. "I believe he would appreciate the history these walls carry. Could we be excused ?" Upon his slight nod, she turned towards the broken mirror reflecting her inner agitation. "Shall we ?"

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