One for My Enemy

by Olivie Blake

We can’t curse all the men in the world, can we?” “Not in a single day, at least,” Marya replied, “much as I try.” She

“We are only witches, Dima. Not gods.”

LEV: this story we’re writing sasha LEV: it’s going to be epic LEV: that, or a disaster LEV: tbd

At best, Dimitri Fedorov was Marya Antonova’s greatest weakness. At worst, she was his.

“I’ll find you, Sasha,” he said, and felt himself swallowed up by sightless, endless volumes of nothing, of everything, as if he’d merely drifted off to sleep.

“Listen, I always knew we were a long story,” he told her neutrally, “but I think I underestimated it. Can you imagine, love after death? Even I couldn’t have guessed that. And I really am an optimist.”

(He is an idiot, as Sasha would likely point out, and thus cannot rule out the possibility that things might go absurdly right.)