A Dreamer's Waltz [Francis/Katyusha]

[Katyusha Chernenko]

велике спасибі Madeline was awake. She could tell. Katyusha had spent many hours awake long past the changing of the dates, doing her unfinished duties. She mastered the way to walk with silence as her only companion, as her patients had the most sensitive hearings and liked to sleep uninterrupted by the slightest noise. Therefore, noises coming from her niece's bedroom was not suspicious. (A part of Katyusha, who wished Madeline to be deep in her slumber, was disappointed when she opened her eyes and hopped down from the bed) Even though her hair was slightly tangled, she looked as beautiful as usual. The kind of beauty Katyusha only saw in children: untainted, pure and innocent. And with her father (damn, she never realized that word could be so heavy to be spoken, especially when she was not thinking of her own father) standing in the same room with them, their resemblance became clear for the nurse. The same radiant locks, the same azure irises. (Madeline was passable to be her own daughter, but no. No. Katyusha knew the difference in their hair colors-- hers was paler, resembling silver more than gold. No matter how much her neighbors commented on their physical similarities as aunt and niece, the truth was undeniable.) Once the little girl ran to Francis-- oh boy, he cried. He was happy indeed. The heartwarming reunion tasted bitter in Katyusha's heart, filling it with envy and jealousy. That's not allowed, she told herself, he's her father; he has a right to be with her and watching her grow and tending her hopes and dreams... "No more boo-boo." Cold fingers met plump lips as the Ukrainian looked away, as if she tried to hide a smile that was slowly worming its way past the wall of jealousy. How many times she consoled a crying Madeline? Pride bubbled up in her chest. She must had been watching her calming too many people since she used a similar technique like hers. Katyusha crossed the bedroom in two long strides and cleared her throat, reminding the French about her presence. About under whose roof he was now. Her house, her rules. "Madeline, this is an old friend of mine." The woman crouched down. "He will be visiting us often. Very often," Katyusha added, her lips curved upwards. "But it's way past your time to sleep. Perhaps we can continue our chat again... tomorrow? Or weekend?" Her eyes met Francis'. "If your schedule allow it, we can go somewhere together." The words were spoken softly, yet her tone was firm. He undoubtedly knew what was unsaid. It was not hard to read between the lines. This way, Katyusha would have time to prepare herself for the inevitable.

MADE BY MINNIE OF BACK TO NEVERLAND