Deathless

by Catherynne M. Valente

The man in the black coat held up one hand to her, as if he could not believe she was real. “I look at you, Masha, and it is like drinking cold water. I look at you and it is like my throat being cut.” “Get off your knees.” Her chest hurt. She felt old, and the wind off the river smelled sweet, but impossible. “I do not tolerate a world emptied of you. I have tried. For a year I have called every black tree Marya Morevna; I have looked for your face in the patterns of the ice. In the dark, I have pored over the loss of you like pale gold.” “Everyone endures hard things.” I endure them. There was never any choice because it is hard here and hard there. Hardness everywhere. “I refuse,” he whispered “No one can refuse.” “Is life here so filled with bliss?” Marya Morevna sank to her knees, her dress spreading out over the threshold like a pool of blood. She pressed her forehead to Koschei’s. “What about the war?” “The war is going badly.”