Tags: Character study style writing, Hurt/comfort, Happy Ending, Heated Rivalry from Ilya's POV, Everything in chronological order, Irina Rozanova haunts the narrative, Ilya Rozanov is obsessed with Shane Hollander, Fuck AI.
TW: Suicide mentioned (NOT any of the main characters), Dealing with grief
Chapter: 1 / 4
Word count: 2297
This is also on AO3 by roianamustang (me).
In a corner of Russia, a life was born. Bundled up in blankets and rags, the walls of the house soaked up the cries of a newborn baby girl. When put in the arms of her mother, peace fell across the room.
Quiet, calm peace.
Quiet, calm Irina.
It may have been cold in Russia but the sun pushed through the fog and the clouds just in time to reflect against soft, blonde curls and stark green eyes.
When Irina turned 7, her papa decided to treat her to something new. Hand in hand they walked across the city and stumbled upon a small frozen lake. It was filled with people. They had shoes made of blades and they flew across the water. Like princesses, she thought.
That day she tried ice skating, and Irina glided on ice. Her little heart kept beating in excitement as she felt the wind blow her curls away.
She fell, she got up, she tried again and she skated.
Like a princess.
When Irina was 14, she won the gold medal in the local ice skating tournament. People applauded, her teacher reached for her hand bringing her on the makeshift podium as she was given the medal and a small trophy. Her cousin, Alyona was there, a small bouquet of flowers in her hands as she smiled and ran to hug her. While her family had stopped coming to support her in her “little hobby”, as they often called it, Alyona had never stopped pushing her to go.
Irina had a big family. Brothers and sisters differing in age, a father that grew older by the day and a mother too busy with family to spare her attention throughout all of her children. Her father was a military man through and through, pride, legacy and reputation was what kept him going. He had no plans on stopping now.
Pushing these thoughts away, she breathed in and out. That was a problem for future Irina.
When Irina was 18 she was promised to a renowned officer by the name of Grigori Rozanov. Grigori was 45 years old when he entered her family home asking for her hand in marriage. Asking for her hand was a generous way of putting it, he demanded for the most beautiful daughter with the promise of legacy and respect to her father. Her father hadn’t hesitated in saying her name and agreeing. Irina didn’t speak that day, she looked at the ground, tears threatening to fall and when the deal was agreed upon she braved a look at the man who entered her home and would soon make her leave it. Cold blue eyes briefly turned to her, before turning to her father with a nod and a handshake.
The Rozanov’s are a strong family. A good family, worthy of keeping our bloodline.
Or so her father said. She didn't understand what their bloodline had to be so important that they needed to perserve it, her father just worked for the government. It did not matter however. It wasn't her choice.
When Irina was 19 she had her wedding. Both families had gathered at the church awaiting for the assembly to start. Alyona was helping her pin her unruly curly locks, that seemed almost dimmed. The room was quiet as she got ready for her big day. She was quiet as she got ready for her big day. She was tired.
A pair of arms surrounded her. “Irinka,” Alyona was calling her name, she thinks. Tired greens locked with brown orbs in the mirror. “You look beautiful, Irinka.” Her eyes seemed almost gray. Outside the clouds had been pouring rain since the early hours of the morning.
“You will be ok. It’s going to be ok.”
Soft hands wiped her eyes, as a stray tear fell on her white dress. She didn't even get to pick it.
When Irina was 20 she was with child. Her first one.
And she was so, so very scared. A year into the life of a wife, now she was being thrown into the shoes of a mother. But Grigori seemed elated, as capable as he was of showing this joy of course. So she thought she could have this one thing, before her body grew to accommodate a new life, she wanted to ice skate. She missed it.
Irina still kept her skates, in a little box she took with her when she moved in. Opening her closet, she reached to the back where the box was laying. A layer of dust had fallen on it, which she wiped as she opened the lid. There they were, stark white and shining silver. Her heart clenched as a small smile pulled at her cheeks. Skates in hand she left the house, following trail to the little lake that started this journey so long ago.
When she arrived there, she quickly shed off her shoes and laced up her skates. The second her feet touched the ice, Irina felt her shoulders relax. She moved along the lake, wind blowing, the smell of snow filling up her lungs, a sense of calm getting to her head.
She skated and she felt free.
Like a princess. She thought.
Minutes passed or maybe even hours, when her calm was shattered.
“Irina!” a yell pierced through the wind, her heart skipping in fear as a cold feeling washed over her. Shoulders tensing she followed the sound to an angry Grigori standing near the ice. Before she knew it her feet led her to her husband. She doesn’t remember much of that night, an arm yanking her out of the ice as she wobbled from the speed with which she was pulled from on normal ground. She felt as if she was stuck in place as water lapped up her legs quickly.
By the time she would return to that house, she would be drowning in it. She thought.
You are of no use to me if you cannot bear my children-
Irina wanted to close her eyes and let it pull her under.
Nine months later a boy was born, strong and healthy. Grigori was proud, a son is all he wanted. A son bears your legacy and your name.
Alexei cried and so did Irina.
When Irina was 24 she was pregnant with her second child. Alexei was growing into a fine young man. She loved her son, but most days Grigori took him along to teach him about his role young. Tutors, schools, anything to ensure he turned into the man Grigori wanted him to be, so Irina wasn’t able to see him as much.
However with her husband handling Alexei, Irina had more free time than ever. She hadn’t skated since that fateful day, hadn’t been brave enough to try.
But something was pulling her today. With Grigori out of the house she took out her little box, gathered her skates in a bag and trailed to the lake.
Take off your shoes, put on your skates. Lace. Get up on wobbly legs and skate.
Skate and skate and skate. For the first time in years Irina smiled for herself as she felt her curls flailing in the wind. The cold air hugged her.
Maybe I’ll meet up with Alyona today.
On the 15th of June in 1991, in a corner of Moscow, a life was born. Bundled up in blankets and sheets, the walls of the house soaked up the cries of a newborn baby boy. When put in the arms of his mother, peace fell across the room.
Quiet, calm peace.
Quiet, calm Irina.
And bright, beautiful Ilya.
It may have been cold in Russia but the sun pushed through the fog and the clouds just in time to reflect against soft, blonde curls and stark green eyes.
A boy may be the son of Russia, but you Ilya Rozanov, you shall be mine.
Irina Rozanova smiled when green eyes pierced hers as she brushed their noses together. Cooing spread across her room and her heart kept beating.
When Ilya was 7 years old, he remembers waking up to the sound of his mama’s voice. Gentle hands pet his head as a tranquil voice urged him to wake up. He remembers the innate joy he would get whenever Irina would be in the same room. His little body barely contained it, felt it seeping out of his pores. Ilya hopes that on those days his mama also felt it.
“Come on, mama’s gonna show you her third favorite thing ever.” Irina was already walking up to the closet to pick an outfit for her son. She bundled up that baby as if he was planning on skating to Antarctica, not a small lake near the neighborhood.
Ilya remembers his brain catching onto the words. “What’s number one mama?” Irina leaned down, smiled as she pressed a big wet kiss on his forehead. As soon as Ilya had started squirming with echoes of ewws and nos, Irina brought him into a hug, blowing raspberries on his tummy.
“You-” another kiss followed, as giggles surrounded the air. “and-” soft hands touched feathery, tightly coiled curls “Alexei, of course.”
She helped him quickly get his shoes on and they started their walk towards the lake. Irina held his hand on one side and a small, pretty bag on the other.
The first time Ilya saw people ice skating, he thought they were flying. The blinding white of the snow on the ground, the trees and the smell of it in the air made it feel like magic was involved. His mom confidently walked towards a small stand with a man inside and started speaking to him and he would’ve quickly noticed that she was renting a pair of small skates for him, if he wasn’t mesmerized by everything happening. By the time he turned around to look at his mom, Ilya was led onto a small ledge as Irina took off his small boots and exchanged them for skates. As soon as she was done with him, Irina started putting on her own skates, hands lacing quickly in a familiar manner, as if she’d done this many times, he realizes now.
That day Ilya Rozanov learned how to skate, and seeing the joy it brought his mama, he learned what it meant to love something with your whole heart.
Like a prince, Irina had thought.
When Ilya was 12 years old, he found Irina Rozanova on the bathroom floor of their mansion dead. In the moment, he didn’t really understand what was happening.
Having realized the raw talent Ilya held for skating, Grigori had quickly put him into hockey programs, where tutors and trainers whispered praise and a promising career. So that day his father was supposed to be meeting with a good friend to discuss Ilya’s future. That day he was supposed to be going with them, but Ilya had learned how to fake a cold young. A cough here and there, a runny nose faked by a bit of crying and a few convincing sneezes were all it took for him to be told to stay at home to get better, as he had a match in the following days. He hadn’t seen his mama since yesterday, already missing her calming hand pushing back on his hair and holding the nape of his neck, so he had a plan. Act sick and you’ll have the whole day with mama. It’d be a surprise.
When Grigori’s and Alexei’s voices had lowered to the first floor and he could hear them put on their shoes and coats and make sure they had everything, he had forgone his slippers for his thick socks in order to maximise speed and silence to reach his mom’s bedroom.
Ilya quietly pushed the door handle, hoping the creaking of the door didn’t reach the voices downstairs. He bypassed clothes and small pieces of paper that littered the floor to look into the bed, where his mama had been staying more and more of the last few years. When he didn’t find her there, he ran to the bathroom, excitedly opening the door, forgetting to knock, something Irina and Alyona had been trying to grill into his head.
However, when he walked in he didn’t see his beautiful mother getting ready for the day. He saw her laying on the ground. Maybe in the moment he wasn’t thinking, but sometimes Ilya is sure that in the back of his mind, he already knew right then and there, that his mother was dead. He remembers flying to her side. She was so cold, and limp and unresponsive. His eyes quickly reached up petting her hair that looked dull in the lighting of the bathroom. He thinks he might’ve been shaking but he didn’t know.
“Mama.” his left hand went at the nape of her neck. Her eyes had a wet sheen to them, almost like she was crying, but now the light didn’t reflect like it used to.
“Mama. Mama, wake up. Wake up.” he fuzzily remembers slowly losing his composure. Little hands shaking her. He recalls vaguely, a loud noise, almost like an alarm surrounding him and tears obstructing his eyes. The sound of footsteps rushing upstairs, soon enough, filling his view.
Distantly he remembers thinking ‘Huh, they hadn’t left yet.’
He remembers with a heart cleaved in two, that the thing that was screaming was him.
She fell, she didn’t get up, she couldn’t try anymore. She never skated again.
On January 24 2003, Irina Rozanova had an accident. She accidentally swallowed a bottle of pills.
Maybe only one life was lost that morning in Moscow, but two hearts stopped beating.
1. Netflix's The Witcher - come on, all they have to do is put Andrzej Sapkowski's description into visuals and his dialogs should be transfered into script unchanged. I watched it only for Henry Cavill out of respect to fellow fan of this story.
2. Amazon's Rings of Power - the Middle Earth is a blueprint for fantasy world and if you want to create a coherent new story you should apply the blank page rule - you create new story in places original author didn't develop
And in general... if the anything you're watching is offending your intelligence, devotion to the story or anything else you have one job to do - tell that as loudly as possible to the creators.
My note about The Witcher's lore was based on my (short) memory of the books and all I wanted to show was how many mistakes were made in 'Blood Origin'. So thank you all who forced me into deep check.
If you're intrested in the book version of the lore check this YouTube channel
I know... I know.
This channel is in polish, but most of the vlogs have subtitles. And the essays are great.
BTW: The linked one is the story of origin of Hen Ichaer (based on the books)
About ‘The Witcher: Blood Origin’ from the lore perspective
This - probably extremely poor-attempted - quick analysis contains spoilers from the books’ version of the witcher lore by Andrzej Sapkowski and latest Witcher-verse abomination from Netlix
So you’ve been warned.
Let set the stage of the drama.
ACT ONE:
The entirety of ‘The Witcher’ saga is a story based on relations between races and relations beetwen them.
(In one word the book’s version story is about racism)
At the beggining these said races are mostly gnomes, dwarves, elves and human. In the books there are always unicors - but about them later.
Gnomes and dwarves were - as was said in the books - indigenous inhabitants of the Continent.
I’m gonna talk about monsters in further part of this analisys or maybe in another note.
ACT TWO:
Elves originated in ANOTHER WORLD. Before the Conjunction of the Spheres elves were able to travel between worlds. How? Enter unicors. Elves couldn’t open Ard Gaeth - The Doors/Gates of the Worlds - on their own. To do that they needed help. And unicorns had the ability to easely open/close those Gates.
At this time there were one single tribe of elves. During the Conjunction elven abilities slowly faded and they devided themselves in to groups or tribes! Aen Seidhe had stayed in the Continent world. The other tribe had become Aen Elle - which later turned into The Wild Hunt.
For regaine the ability of between-world-travelling elven scientists created Hen Ichaer, The Elder Blood. The Elder Blood’s the genetic material ceated by mixing of the genes of elves and unicorns.
ACT THREE:
Conjuction of the Spheres
This huge cataclysmic long-lasting event brought elves, human and monters into the Continent. This event forced elves into magical science experiments with the mix of the genes of elves and unicrorns (Hen Ichaer) and brought people and other creatures into unending war. And human to create first monster hunter known as The First Witcher
ACT FOUR:
THE BLOODLINE
Far before the main story there were four important caracters in the books. The Elven mages - Aen Saevherne - Avallac’h, Auberon Muircetach, Shiadhal and Eredin Breacc Glass. All of them were injected with genetic mix that turned later into The Elder Blood, Hen Ichaer.
Two of them - Shiadhal and Auberon Muircetach - had a baby girl, Lara Dorren, first in line of ‘Lara’s gene’, a natural born carrier of powerful magical genetic material. Lara was supposed to marry Avallac’h, but she’d fallen in love with human mage - Cregennan of Lod.
Their doughter was Riannon, born with the last breath of her mother, adopted and raised by queen Cerro of Redania. She was queen of Temeria during Falka’s uprising. Mother of Fiona (only survivg childand first queen of Cintra with Lara’s gene) and Amavet (father of the next Cintra’s queen). Foster mother of Adela, Falka’s bastard doughter.
As a result of many generation of Royal Family of Cintra princess Cirilla was born.
Fun Fact: The Lara’s gene is active in the female-only-line. Males could be carriers, but the gene is inactive and became extinct in two, maybe three generations. The grandparents of princess Cirilla were Calanthe (with barely exinting activator in her genetic material) and Roegner (who in this case was the carrier of almost extinct remnants of the Hen Ichaer genetics).
ACT FIVE:
Creation of the first Witcher
The people responsible for creation of The First Witcher were Alzur and his lover Lylianna, renegade mage from Temeria and sorceress intrested in mutation. They’d tried to create monter hunter but failed multiple times, most of the were spectacular. The First Witcher was a young orphan boy adopted by said mage. That boy was put into a series of magical Trials and Changes. And this time it was a success. the key element of the witcher cretion was youth.
And now crème de la crème - the comparison of the Lore and ‘Witcher: Blood Origin’
1. There was no clans in the elven society. They were devide into classic society structure. And ther’re the first occupiers of the lands that previously belonged to gnomes or dwarves.
2. Ithlinne was Aen Saevherne (The Knowing Ones) - a high-born and elven powerful mage. Not a peasant girl working in the inn in the middle of nowhere in far north of the Continent.
3. The First Witcher were createed out of a young orphan boy with magic and a lot of mutagenic herbs, not an adult elven-male warrior and other-worldly monster’s heart.
4. WITCHERS ARE STERIL!!! That means they cannot have kids. And the show impled that Eile and Fjall’s child was conceived after him changing into the witcher.
5. The elves travelled between worls WITHOUT monoliths. this addition to the main show was the most outrages thing ever happened in the fantasy plot.
6. In the main show Vesemir needed special magical flowers, Ciri’s blood and Tris help with incantation to even attempt to create that mutagenic potion and in the ‘Blood Origin’ all they need was two mages and monter’s heart
TL;DR: The showrunners of the Netflix’s Witcher-verse graduated Stephen Moffat’s Show Writting University. And in comparison to other Witcher’s properties this is the biggest pile of dragon shit I’ve ever seen.
Ok. I' ve watched almost everything related to 'Saint Seiya' a.k.a. 'Knights of the Zodiac':
- Original series from the '80 was my introduction to Shōnen genre (I'm probably that one person who don't like 'Dragon Ball' you're joking about in your talks with friends);
- It took months - if not years - for me to watch all movies realesed as the companions to the story of main series;
- I love the ' Lost Canvas'! It's the best prequel EVER. Sirously, go watch it!
- Even commonly hated 'Omega' anime series was a blast to me.
And nów, to the latest project from 'Saints' universe - the live action movie:
I know it's only a trailer (watched on smartphone screen) but to my taste it doesn't look any good - even worse than last 'MK' movie.
Agentka W.A.N.D. i Łowcy - Głęboko w las! (on Wattpad) https://www.wattpad.com/1050392956-agentka-w-a-n-d-i-%C5%82owcy-g%C5%82%C4%99boko-w-las?utm_source=web&utm_medium=tumblr&utm_content=share_reading&wp_uname=Arwen_Winchester&wp_originator=oOdjd2bzBAbapUsS3pxOdvd3E%2BZ4f6cYm8bQeoDQ1DHB6G29UvP5s4bF%2BHRo1pXf0LCO1vyArRTWnlEaY8ChwRtmmJ%2FkEETlZnAertE21OhWlSdBylpZm4OSI7w6eCSF Minął niecały rok od Bitwy o Manhattan. W S.H.I.E.L.D. odebrano tajemniczy sygnał. Jego źródło znajduje się w Lebanon, w stanie Kansas. Dyrektor Fury, kontaktuje się z Pandorą Peters, szefową W.A.N.D. (Wizardry Alchemy and Necromancy Department), która wysyła na miejsce najlepszą agentkę sekcji - Emily Janovych. Uwaga! * Opowiadanie rozpoczyna się wraz z odcinkiem "Everybody hates Hitler" (sezon 8 odcinek 13, aired: 06.02.2013) serialu "Supernatural".
