It was cold. Deadly cold.

The kind of cold that cut into her lungs when she breathed. The kind that raked claws down her exposed skin and cracked the inside of her nose. 

Olesya's eyes opened, a frosted breath gushing from between her lips. Snow fluttered down from the black sky, blanketing the glossy needles of the pines surrounding her. She lurched upright with a scream that cracked her throat.

Pain ripped its claws through her belly, hot and vicious. Olesya curled over herself, clutching at her stomach, trying to breathe. It hurt. It hurt. More than anything she'd ever experienced. Tears fell down her cheeks, splashing onto her arms.

Arms coated in blood. Olesya blinked, staring at the dark red splashed over her sleeves. Staining her dress. The once white wool was now crimson, splattered down her front and soaking the top of her skirt.

Whose blood was it?

There was so much drenching her. Olesya didn't think anyone could survive losing so much.

Why was it all over her?

Shivers wracked her. The tips of her nose and fingers were starting to tingle. The tips of...her toes. She peered down at her bare feet, realizing she had no shoes. Her teeth started clattering together, obscenely loud in the snow-hushed clearing. Flakes continued to drift down, catching in her dark hair, dusting her shoulders, melting on her skin.

She needed to leave.

She needed to leave before she froze to death. Olesya looked down at her bloody hands again. Then she looked around the clearing. There was no one but her. No other body. No trace of blood except for what was on her and swirled in the snow beneath her.

Gritting her teeth—she could taste copper in her mouth—Olesya rolled to her hands and knees. Pain slashed through her again, sending waves of nausea rolling up her spine. Blood and bile heaved its way up her throat and splattered the snow beneath her.

"I have to get up," she muttered. "I have to get up."

She was not going to freeze to death out here. She refused to freeze to death out here. Not before she got the chance to leave this blasted place on her own terms.

Olesya spat, adding more blood to the churned snow. She pushed to her feet in one monumental heave of muscle. Now she was on her feet. Shaky. Knees threatening to give out. But she was on her feet.

"Now walk," she ordered.

It took a moment before her body obeyed. Her numb feet started shuffling through the powdery snow. The clearing passed in a greyish blur. Then she was surrounded by forest.

Olesya only had the vaguest notion she might be moving in the wrong direction. The forest stretched out around her, the night dark and silent around her. Not even the wolves were out tonight. A storm must be coming.

The only sound she could hear was her whimpering breaths and the shuffle of her frozen feet through the thin coat of snow that had managed to sift down to the floor beneath the boughs. Every now and then a branch would sway, releasing a plume of snow that flurried to the ground. The blood on her dress began to crack and flake to the white ground.

Hands clutching her stomach, Olesya continued forward, stumbling and swaying her way through the trees.

"You can't stop," she said, words slurring. Her feet stumbled forward a few more steps.

The world washed brilliant white. When she opened her eyes again, she was facedown in the snow. Olesya blinked the flakes from her eyes, pushing up on shaking arms.

Tears burned down her numb cheeks. In the valley below, a familiar city sprawled. 

Straga.

She was almost there. She could see the street that would lead to an alley that spilled out onto a crooked lane. She could imagine her house, warmth still banked in the coals from this morning's fire.

Nothing was more lovely than the idea of warmth.

The pain was slowly draining away. Keeping the image of a cheery fire crackling away in its grate in her mind, Olesya shoved to her feet. She took a few steps, stumbled, dropped to her knees, got up again.

She made her way down the slope. More tears spilled when she felt cobbles instead of dirt beneath the snow. Olesya stumbled and fell and wobbled her way through the streets. The entire world seemed to have fallen asleep, everyone tucked away against the bitter northern wind whipping between the buildings.

A latch was beneath her hands. She didn't remember using her key. The door gave with a happy creak and Olesya staggered inside, slamming the door behind her.

Blessed warmth engulfed her.

Shivering and crying, Olesya stumbled into her shabby parlor. She collapsed in front of the fireplace, staring down at her hands. Beneath the blood they were bright red and painfully swollen. The first signs of frostbite. 

A fire. She needed a fire. Heat and light and life. Her shivering muscles coaxed her into laying down beside the empty grate.

Again, the world faded around her. It was a long time before she was aware of herself again, and she stared into the blue heart of the flames in front of her. Olesya sat up, letting out a long sigh.

She didn't remember starting a fire, but the human will to survive was a marvelous thing. Her will to survive was a marvelous thing.

The pain in her middle had faded to a barely-noticeable ache. New pains were making themselves known. Cut, bruised feet. Her throat hurt. Her muscles ached.

All she wanted was a hot bath.

Her body protested the movement, but the idea of sinking into warm water was too delicious to resist. Olesya used the uneven stones of the fireplace to pull herself to her feet. Then, she managed to cross the parlor and crawl up the stairs.

Stripping out of her bloody dress, Olesya moved in a haze to the tub. A twist of the knob had steaming water gushing from the brass faucet. She turned to the mirror, twisting her head in an effort to find the jeweled clips she'd donned for the first time in years.

A sharp pain grabbed at her throat, her fingers slipping from her hair down to her neck. Her breath rushed out in a gush of horror.

There, beneath her fingers was a thick, ridged scar.

Olesya blinked, wide-eyed at her reflection. Then, slowly, she turned to her ruined dress, laying on the floor like a corpse. Blood spilled down the bodice, down the front of the skirt. She turned her gaze to her hands, coated in blood. Like hands that had been pressed against a deadly wound.

They pressed to the remnants of that wound now.

Slowly, Olesya sank to the floor, hands still clutching at her throat. Eyes unseeing, she understood the scene in the clearing now.

Whose blood was it?

It was such a silly question now. The answer was perfectly obvious.

She stared at her dress. Covered in her blood.

Evidence of her murder.

Word Count: 1145