Nova There’s a black altar situated in front of a gushing waterfall and lake; on top of the altar is a thick woven red rope, black and red candles with obsidian crystals. A simple black blanket is placed to the left of the altar, undoubtedly where Nikolai would claim me. Marle indicates for us to stand in front of her, and when we do, she offers us familiar smiles and stands with her palms up, facing the sky. “Tonight, we’ve come to witness and bless this union between two souls that have been fated since their birth. Two hearts which will beat in synchronicity from this day forward, two beings becoming one now forevermore.” Marle starts, and then she takes both Nikolai and my left hands in hers, placing them on top of one another. “Nikolai, Nova, *these are the hands of your best friend, young, strong and full of love for you as you promise to love each other today, tomorrow and forever. These are the hands that will work alongside yours as you build your future together. These ar

Arya /“There comes a time when you look into the mirror, and you realise that what you see is all that you will ever be. And then you accept it, or you kill yourself. Or you stop looking in mirrors.”/ J. Michael Straczynski was correct when he said this; it is the only quote that resounds in my head as I look at myself in the mirror in front of me. Gone are the days of Arya, the beautiful; now I’m simply Arya, the monster. Four years ago, I was the most beautiful mafia princess; engagements came aplenty, and gifts scattered my bedroom floor often. But I only had eyes for the handsome Dante DiMaggio. An older mafia boss based in Chicago, and as luck would have it, he wanted me as his bride. Life was easier back then. Compliments were my prayers; I fed off the attention men would bestow on me and craved the dirty looks their women would shoot my way. Even at nineteen, I knew how beautiful I was and used my beauty as a weapon. But, oh how far the mighty have fallen. Vanity is a sin,

Arya Dimitri Volkov. It sounds weird, but I have dreamt of this guy with the silver eyes before. Everything about him seems familiar and warm, like sunshine after a rainstorm. I didn’t want to act like a brat, I wanted to talk to him more, but then the pity replaced the amusement in his eyes and I backed off.The pity always pops up, and I hate it.Why did he have to be there? Why did he have to save my life when I was just about to end it? Of all people, it had to be the beautiful man who plagued my dreams when the nights got bad. He’s cocky as shit and when he grabbed my arm, I nearly jumped at the warmth of his touch.My mind drifts to him even as my father is shouting at me for making him worry and the whisky on his breath is palpable. I allow him to get out his anger and worry; he’s the only one who cares about me anyway.Besides being Russian Mafia, who is Dimitri Volkov?That’s when I remember something and turn to my father who is leading me inside the mansion.“What did you

AryaI didn’t see Dimitri again after I sent those cringe texts, and he didn’t even respond after my last one. What the hell possessed me to send him texts about the stars? He must think I’m crazy now, right? The fact that I have scars going down my face doesn’t leave him running for the hills, but talking about stars does.What the hell.I walk out to my balcony and welcome the cold night air over my skin. After five hours of nonstop painting in my studio, I needed a breather. As much as painting is my beloved hobby, I can only do so much; my hand cramps up, and my brain becomes mush after a while. The cold air usually helps with that.It’s getting chillier out, but I couldn't stay inside as my room felt too stuffy. It felt too empty with all the materialistic shit in there; I should really consider donating the things I don’t use. Maybe someone else will have better use for my 50 pairs of Jimmy Choos.Leaning over the stone balustrade, I wonder if I should text him again to ask how

AryaAfter not being able to sleep last night, being on this motorcycle behind Dimitri is waking me right up and making me feel all hot and bothered. The vibration of the bike, coupled with his heady Cedarwood scent is driving me crazy and leading me to imagine all sorts of scenarios.God, I need to stop this. After a while, I wondered where he was taking me; he didn’t exactly elaborate on that while I just hopped on behind him. Hopefully, he’s not taking me somewhere to get murdered. We’re still in the city, however, it seems he’s heading towards Manhattan - his playground.A few minutes later, he brought us to a stop in front of the building I always begged Dante and my father to bring me to, but neither have.The Met. He’s brought me to The Metropolitan Museum of Art!I jump off from behind him and remove the helmet, staring in disbelief at the large building in front of me. Then I look back at him with wide eyes, unable to form my thoughts into coherent sentences.“How… How did y