Where the Dark Stands Still

by A.B. Poranek

His is a treacherous beauty, a rusałka’s beauty—enthralling and deceitful, good for nothing but tragedy.

“All changes in the world but the ways of men,”

Ain’t that the truth

“If I look like a monster,” he says roughly, “then no one will be surprised when I do monstrous things.”

The corner of his mouth pulls up in that laughing half smile. “I do so love when you command me.”

Liska, Liseczka, the worst thing of all happened.” His voice cracks, and he looks away. “I fell in love.”

(Of women, he’s heard it said: “She will be the end of me,” or “She will be my undoing.” None of that is true for Liska Radost. She is not the end of anything, but the beginning of everything. He has been dead a long time, and she is his resurrection.)

There can be no winter without summer, no shadow without the sun. You are my soul, Liska Radost. I lived seven hundred years to find you.”

“It’s yours now. It has always been yours, every part of me.”