Here's what I have so far of my Blood on the Ledger fic. It follows Ilya's niece (who I have name Ekaterina, and her mother Alina) and her troublesome home life. Tragedy strikes more than once, until finally it becomes to much and she needs to seek a way out.
I do not own any rights to the photos used, it is a montage of Google images i found that fit the story im writing. I do not own any rights to the characters either.
⚠️Trigger warnings: Drug and Alcohol abuse, violence, mental/physical/emotional abuse, and homophobic slurs. ⚠️
Always open to any and all feedback, it has been a while since Ive written anything so I'd love some constructive input.
Alina is standing in the corner of the small kitchen, hunched into the phone, her voice barely above a whisper. “Thank you Ilya, thank you so much. Yes, yes I will tell Rina how much her Kum misses her I promise-” she stops mid sentence as the front door slams. “До свидания” she whispers as she hangs up the phone, stifling it into her pocket as Alexei stumbles drunkenly into the kitchen. “Who the fuck were you talking to?” he slurs messily in Russian as he makes his way to her, stumbling atop a small rug on the floor and losing his balance. He nearly topples. His hand shoots out, grabbing Alina’s leg for balance. Gripping at her waist, steadying himself and levelling them eye to eye, they begin sharing heated words in Russian.
Ekaterina, who to this point had been secretly listening from the small hallway, slowly stands and begins cautiously making her way to her room so as not to make a sound alerting her parents. She had been carefully trying to listen to her mother on the phone, dissecting the English words and trying to make sense of them. She knew that it had to be her uncle Ilya on the phone, it was the only time that her mother ever spoke English. She didn’t want to chance Alexei overhearing her, especially not asking for help for his own shortcomings. Her father hates Ilya, he likes to say that it’s because he abandoned the family and because he’s a Пидор. Ekaterina knows better though, her mother made sure that she knew exactly who her uncle was and why she chose him to be Rina’s godfather even before she was born.
Alina used to curl up against her at night when her dad was out gambling, and having his fun. She would tell her stories of how during Ilya’s off season, he would make special trips to the bazaar to collect all of her current cravings just so that she had everything that she wanted. They would spend hours laughing as he teased her about whatever strange food combinations she was concocting. When they weren’t laughing, he played the playlists he made for her over Alina’s belly and sang along off key. Despite being only sixteen at the time, Ilya had bonded with Alina almost immediately after she had confided in him that she was pregnant.
She and Alexei had been together for less than a year and she was terrified because he had already begun showing his true colors. He was constantly high, gambling, and slutting about with whatever woman would have him. She was scared of what bringing a baby into such a dysfunctional family would do, but Ilya had immediately consoled her, and vowed to do everything that he could to help and protect her baby. Ilya knew the habits of his brother as well as the hateful way in which his father ruled their family, he would do anything to protect an innocent child from that.
That was until Grigori finally succumbed to his illness and Ekaterina’s father had his final words with Ilya. Rina was only about nine years old, but she vaguely remembers the warm hug her uncle had wrapped her in, and the salty wetness of his tears that stained her face as he told her goodbye. “До свидания” he whispered as he kissed her cheek and passed her over to her mother. It was their special goodbye, not really a goodbye at all. It was a promise, a promise that they would see each other again.
It was the same promise she would find herself tracing her finger over on a crumpled piece of paper that had welcomed her home a few months ago. It was a Friday, and she’d just come back from school to find her mother’s handwriting scribbled across a pile of past‑due bills from the mail. She read it through tear filled eyes, over and over and over again. The cyrillic script lettering was slanted and slightly blurry, she could tell that it was written quickly, though she wasn’t sure if it was her mother’s tears that blurred the ink, or her own. She curled into a ball atop her small bed and rocked herself, tapping her fingers against her arm in the steady rhythm of her mother’s heartbeat — the rhythm that had always grounded her. She tried with everything that she could to convince herself that it wasn’t real. That her mother had not truly left her, and she wasn’t stuck in this crappy apartment with her sloppy papa. Try as she might though, she knew that it was true, and what hurt more was the fact that she couldn't bring herself to hate her for it.
Over the last year, her father had only sunk deeper into his addictions. The gambling, the drugs, the lies — they piled up until the man he pretended to be was gone. He had even lost the apartment Ilya had given him years before, thrown away in a single night of high‑stakes poker.
Alina never took it quietly. She met every drunken accusation with the truth, every insult with a reminder of the bills he hadn’t paid, the jobs he’d quit, the promises he’d broken. Her honesty cut him in ways nothing else did. The first time she called him a coward — a man who couldn’t even take care of his own child — he hit her. After that, the violence came easier.
Rina learned to read the danger in the air long before the shouting started. Most nights ended the same: the two of them curled together in the dark of a closet, Alina holding her close, her heartbeat a steady drum against Rina’s back. Rina would tap her fingers to match it, grounding herself in the rhythm. Alina whispered not promises but truths. That Rina deserved better. That this darkness wasn’t her fault. That there were people in the world who loved her fiercely, people who had escaped this family’s poison and built something brighter. She never said Ilya’s name, but Rina felt it in the way her mother’s voice softened.
Morning always came too soon. Rina would crawl out stiff and aching, pulling on her school uniform while her mother tried to make breakfast sound normal. They both pretended it helped. They both knew it didn’t.
It had grown to be too much though — the bruises, the screaming, the never ending bills. Rina didn’t blame her mother for leaving. She couldn’t. Because even in her absence, Alina had left her something: a letter, a number, and a message hidden between the lines. “Don’t lose yourself in this darkness. Your godfather made it out. So will you.”
And god, even knowing that, she felt so unbearably alone.
The blinding rays of sun that invade her room always come too early, the crisp morning air seeping through the busted window only add insult to injury as she paws the sleep from her puffy eyes. Ekaterina crawls from her bed and makes her way to the bathroom, fighting the urge to study her sunken face in the mirror as she brushes her teeth and readies herself for another day. Once breakfast is laid out, she leans into Alexei’s room and calls to the wasted lump on the mattress.
“Kasha and coffee on the bar, Papa,” she offers, bending to collect the empty vodka bottles scattered inside the doorway.
On her walk to morning lessons, she declines a video call from Ilya, but quickly follows it with a voice call so he doesn’t grow concerned. “Good morning, Lya,” she chirps into the phone, forcing as much cheer as she can muster. They trade small talk until he asks whether she got everything she needs for her trip to St. Petersburg.
It was the most recent lie she’d told him when asking for money.
The bills hadn’t stopped since her mother left — if anything, they’d multiplied. She leaned on Ilya for support, but she was always careful to hide the truth of what the money was for. If he knew what was happening, he’d lose it. He’d upend his life and come find her. She couldn’t be the reason he sank back into the life he’d fought so hard to escape.
So she lied. She faked the smiles. And sometimes they weren’t so hard to fake. Ilya always shared stories and photos from his life. She saved every picture of Anya, his dog, and every video he sent — little pieces of a world that felt impossibly far away.
Her lessons blur together until the final bell rings, and her legs drag her through the busy bazaar. She grabs what she needs and makes a few stops to pay down bills, promising to have more soon, before arriving back home. The door creaks open, noisy from the unlevel hinge that barely holds it in place. She reheats leftover blinis from the night before and takes one to her room as she finishes her studies.
Most days, Rina finds herself staring out the window as the sun sinks behind the mountains. Hours pass as she lulls her mind into silence, trying to forget the classmate’s invitation she had to turn down, or the way she hung her head while sliding crumpled bills across the counter to the electrician. Her eyes burn from dryness, yet she can’t will them closed — sleep only brings dreams that remind her how empty she’s become. Moving through the motions, day and day again.
