Slawa’s gods are at war, and I am the prize they fight for.
I am broken. A piece of my soul burned away, leaving me hollow and unfeeling. I wander the caverns of Nawie, the only place that’s not entirely unsafe.
When I can’t stand the boredom of a life with no meaning, I amuse myself watching Woland’s pitiful attempts to atone. He grovels. He begs. He brings me gifts.
His despair grows deeper with every shake of my head. Oh, how well he lies. Little does he know, nothing will make me trust him again.
And if that broken part of my soul ever heals, I will rip it out and destroy it. Because Woland was right. Love is a terrible weakness.
