.:beyond your peripheral vision:.

So tired. I wonder why I didn't write before, when there was time: Vilém's home, and I'm writing now? But he's tired, too, more tired than he lets on; and walking back to the townhouse took more out of him than he's willing to admit. Later, tonight.

It was a surprise to see Király alive. I told her not to stay at Durmstrang; she told me not to go back to Cséjthe, no matter what Stepa said. In the end we were both right.

I loved her, but I also disappointed her; this much I know. I think Vilém is the only one who wasn't disappointed in that adventure. Stepa knew that without ever once asking.

I haven't bled, I hope I don't.

Stepa and I had some things to get past, discussions to have; we've had them. When something's wrong with Vilímek, that's when Stepa will talk about anything.

I wonder what was on the healer's mind, that last night. He didn't raise a brow when Stepa told him that we were all married; but I think it made him sad, a little. Some man and woman found a way to break his heart once--I'd bet a dragon's heart and half my guns on that.

I'm glad Professor Červenka still wants to see us, to have dinner; I can't blame him for wanting to do it in public, lest somebody here put a fist through his wall, but at least we've another chance to show him that we're not all mad here.

Vilém is absolutely heart-broken and I don’t know what to do for him. Stepa finally got all the splinters out of his arm, and I know he’ll mend my wall, but that’s not what matters. We got this letter from a boy Stepán had a sort of relationship with, a boy who happens to be one of Nadya’s friends too, and Vilímek was all set to just run out of the door to the ruins of his house, and I would have gone along with it, but Stepa pointed out that Magister Kyteler probably has people there, or maybe not, but in either case we should let him know what we’re doing. I’m not used to working this way, of course, but I suppose he would know, especially since the boy in question is involved with Kyteler’s son. So we are waiting for Stepa to write this note. I think maybe we should just go, but stop at the War Bureau first. But I want to go, to move, to get out. After the kind of day we have had I can’t sit still and feel safe.

Táta Zitek’s alive out there somewhere, and maybe he’s looking for us, and maybe he isn’t, but if he’s looking for the same demon Vilém’s looking for, we’ll run into each other eventually, and God only knows what will happen. He always said he knew I’d go wrong. And I did, in a way, but the funny thing about that is that it would never have happened if he hadn’t interfered. If he hadn’t interfered I’d have three children by now, and we would have got married when we were supposed to, and Stepa and he would have figured it out or maybe he’d have married Natalia (I don’t know, but she never did like me, so I rather hope not) or one of his boys, but I would have never gone back to Cséjthe, never been put in the place of having to call upon her or be murdered.

I want to tell him that, but then, I really don’t want to see him at all, because chances are if I do he’ll be pointing a gun at me and Vilímek will have to kill him, and that I don’t want, not at all.

I loved him so much once. I still do. It’s hard to stop loving somebody, even if they do think that you are completely possessed and might just blow your head off if you don’t see them coming before they see you. And even if I didn’t, nobody should ever have to kill their parents. It’s just one of those rules of life.

I feel terrible for Dr Červenka and I hope he doesn’t think that we fight like that all the time. Actually Vilém has always been gentle with me; when we were little he was gentler than my mother. Stepa’s the one with the really horrible temper, like Táta Zitek, and when those two would fight only Vilímek could stop them—I just wanted to hide, but I never told my father because he wouldn’t have let me stay with them any more, and that would have been unbearable. God, I am fucking rambling here.

It's dark and I'm awake and I didn't think I'd wake up until dawn. I think it must be ten o'clock. I didn't think they'd wake up either, but none of us had supper and I don't know about them but I didn't have luncheon for that matter. Suppose when we're all fit to be seen outside of this suite we'll find out if Liisa managed to keep supper edible. I know there's probably not a drop of hot water left in the whole house.

I hope we didn't disturb Nadya too badly, I can't remember if anyone thought to silence the room and I don't think we did. Liisa must surely have fed her.

My God, we have all changed so much and yet nothing has changed~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

They're at St Mungo's, which means it is dire. For all I know Stepán may be dying. I have to go, I have to go there now, because I may not have another chance to tell them. It wouldn't surprise me if Vilímek has my letter, unopened, in the pocket of his coat, if Stepa's ill enough to go to hospital. And he will need me there.

Fuck Joscelin, I may actually owe him thanks for at least telling me. If Stepa has died, I am going to tear Laurens' tongue from his throat for telling everyone we know but me that he was ill. Oh, if he is dead, I will tear Laurens' tongue from his throat and the world will thank me for finally shutting that bastard up.

As for Alexandra, when she has lived through what I have lived through, then she may tell me who can share my bed. I wouldn't wish it on any woman, but I can't believe I ever held her in such high esteem. I don't know what Melina did, and I don't care, to turn her so bitter. She knows, she must, at least a part of what they did to me, because they didn't try to hide it. Fuck her. Fuck her dry. Malevolent old bitch, I'm still convinced that she was the one who poisoned me back when I was sixteen.

Does Joscelin really think I can hear him speaking German to his pet without flinching inside? He does not love me and he never did, he only wants my bloodline and hopes for my land. He is still in love with Larisa. Let him find another Russian girl to lick his boots for him. But not my Nadezhda, no never. If he touches her I will castrate him. No. I will let Vilém do it.

It’s been years since I could look at myself in the mirror with a straight face and complain that life is not fair, because after all the things I have seen in my twenty-three years, why should I even expect it to be? But I’m about to do it now. Because life is not fair, and it doesn’t make sense, and I wish it did.

I suppose I think like an adolescent again because I am surrounded by adolescence. I am so terribly proud of Nadya, of her ambition and drive and her brilliance. I am worried about Igor. He’s too much like all the Durmstrang boys I used to know, the ones who drove me mad as a girl. I suppose if Stepán were here he’d say there’s nothing wrong with Igoryok, that we’re the ones who are strange, that there’s nothing wrong with normal people thinking their everyday problems are utterly terrible, that it’s a sign of health in young boys to be so undisciplined. He had a taste for pretty rich boys once.

Or maybe it’s because I can’t be more than seventeen when I look at Vilém, even from across a crowded room. Last night all I could do was cry with relief at seeing them both alive, even if Stepán wasn’t well. Tonight, my heart does nothing but race, as I wait for a letter I know in my heart he won’t send. Whatever was wrong it is too wrong. This I know in the depths of my bones. I can feel the phantom pain of the bonds that were torn and frayed but never completely unravelled; I haven’t felt it in years.

I know in my heart that something is dreadfully wrong and my mind plays such games with me, telling me that after all the ways we three betrayed and wronged each other of course they want nothing more to do with me, because even if it was not precisely my fault I was always right at the heart of it. In my head I know Stepán must be gravely ill, because that is the only possible explanation for such a silence from Vilímek. He will need me if anything happens, but I can’t bear the thought of it. No matter how badly Stepán betrayed us, nothing can ever be right between us without him. I ought to hate him, but I can’t. I never could.

Nadya came home directly after the ball last night and sat up with me and drank tea. Igor Arkadyevitch didn't even bring her home; she came in a hansom, and I paid for it, because I do not want my girl to walk the streets alone at night, not even in this neighbourhood. With the streets so dark, it's very dangerous. He dragged himself in, according to my servant, in the wee hours of the morning, shoeless and dishevelled. I asked him where he was, but really, I'm not sure I want to know!

I had my own party to attend, but I didn't stay there long. Septimus Snape and Gloriana Black turned up, and I have no desire to breathe air that has been in Snape's lungs. I saw him with Abelard recently, and I didn't know how I should feel. Relieved that he isn't dead, but there are worse things than dying, and I don't want to hate him, but if he's helping them I cannot help it.

I am sure I saw the Zitek brothers last night. I shouldn't have gone there, but after seeing Snape and his friends I had to go someplace where I could hear familiar languages and have a familiar drink. I almost spoke to them, but there was something wrong and they had a look that warned everyone off them. I've not ever known Vilém to be in a place like that and not be chasing after girls (unless of course he was with me), and Stepán looked hurt, but hunters don't like places like St Mungo's, never have, and I don't think anyone from Eastern Europe trusts hospitals any more. I thought, looking like that, that they didn't want to talk to anyone else, and at least they're alive and here, I can find them again--but I wanted to bring them home, and yet, with Nadya and Igor here, it's not possible, because to bring them here is to bring what they're battling, and I can handle that if I have to, but not my fourteen year old cousins, never. Still. Poor Stepa.

If we all live through this perhaps I'll take them back to Cséjthe when we're done here. If Erszébet and Darvulia have been raised, I'll need their help to take it back, theirs or someone else like them, and hunters don't as a rule like or trust my family; my only hope really is boys who know me from school, and we did love one another as much as our stations and life-paths allowed.

I am quite looking forward to seeing what Nadya has managed to do with her dress; it's my native curiosity, I can't help it.

I think I shall give her the white ballgown; she can wear it for this dance, and then we can charm it pale blue or lavender for next summer. At twenty-three, even unmarried as I am, I'm a bit old for white, even in summer, and it was Dorottya's; the one time I wore it three years ago, I felt like an impostor. It belongs on the body of a fourteen-year-old girl just beginning to blossom, and maybe I won't think of Dorottya in it any more. I'm not sure why I took it, except that I brought crazy things from home, things I didn't need, and so many more practical things I wish I had remembered, but I was half-mad when I ran.

I'm happier in sage or lavender or teal. I suppose it's because I still mourn for Vienna, and even more for Budapest and Pozsony and yes, Cséjthe where I spent my childhood in the country; I expect Grindelwald has turned it over to its haunts and vampires. It would not surprise me, given the things I have heard, if he were to set Erszébet free, or even Darvulia, if he thought he could control them. But I can't allow myself to brood about that, or even on what they've done to Dorottya and what I may have to do to her later.

I really need to have a very long talk with Pavel about Nadya. Cousin Arkady would want that girl to be happy. But there is no time to indulge my fancies just now, the hansom is here and I must be off.