Struggle: The Path to Power - Владимир Андерсон
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Natasha spit on all their attitude nonsense and would have forgotten, but no. It concerned her, because five years ago she'd thought the same thing. She had seduced so many people with her beauty that she couldn't even count now. Now she was offended, and most importantly ashamed of it. For that self of hers back then.
— I should have been such a fool too. — Natasha thought, moving away from the hospital, not hearing and forgetting about those nurses, but thinking only about her past. — Fucking everyone she liked… Not even thinking about relationships. Not even thinking about stopping. Just trying everyone. It's so stupid. And useless! This youthful promiscuity… After all, someone could love her, not just desire her. Why couldn't God make it so that we wouldn't do these stupid things, so that we wouldn't have this dirt on our backs when you remember yourself and feel like some bitch who didn't think about the consequences of what she did?
Natasha raised her eyes to the sky: the clouds, cumulus and different every time you looked at them; the heavens, a bulky bluish firmament, mighty and omnipotent.
— It's beautiful. — the cloud spoke from on high.
— And you're beautiful. — said the inner voice to the girl.
— Immaculate. — the cloud continued.
But no one inside has spoken — inside they only say what they are sure of.
Natasha stopped, her head lowered. The braid, black as a moonless night, was now just the tips of her hair falling around her neck, curving just a little higher. Elastic and strong hair, it was beautiful, but there was something missing.
The cloud said, but in Old Slavonic: "A girl ruins her beauty by fornication, and her husband ruins his honor by tatboy".
— I know all this already! — Natasha shouted at them. — If you've all known it for centuries, why don't you tell me at once!!!.. Why should everyone know it too late!
***
When Natasha returned to her house, she found that she didn't have to wait a bit — Misha was back. He was asleep without even taking off his boots, and his breathing was so heavy that it seemed to grip all the air walking around the room.
Natasha sat down next to me. And it felt so good. He was there, alive. What was there to think about?
He's alive!
And I hate to lose him! What if he can't even look her in the eye after hearing all this? What if he doesn't understand at all? Losing him over something so stupid?!
She lay down beside him, pressed herself against him. And closed her eyes.
So much fatigue had accumulated that sleep came almost immediately.
Thunder and lightning. Rain everywhere. And a forest so dormant that neither drips hardly drip nor even sparkles from Heaven.
And it is even incomprehensible how she can walk through the foliage, not seeing the road and not seeing the end of the way. And not knowing what will be there at the end of the road. Another forest like this? Or another storm like this? Only slumbering and darker.
Somewhere deep down inside is the desire to go. It doesn't matter where, it doesn't matter how, it matters how. And her feet carry her either forward or backward. Past the trees, without stumbling or stopping for a single step.
And time passes. And it begins to seem that it is not a forest at all, but a thousand, "darkness" warriors, frozen at some point. And the thunder is the battle that rattles in their souls and is so strong that you can hear it only after it reverberates from the heavens. And it becomes frightening what you might hear in the next moment, because you know what you will hear has already happened, and what you can't see now is too dark.
And this fear grips Natasha, telling her that she will always be in the past, that she will always hear only what has already passed. But it doesn't stop her, she strives to go on — only to move; you get up and you won't move, because fear will take hold of you.
In time she begins to hear them whispering, the whispering of warriors. Natasha feels the difference between them, feels that one is light, the other dark, but so dark that it is impossible to tell who is who. And they whisper differently, each in their own language, but they seem to understand each other. She doesn't understand them, but she can clearly distinguish one word among them: "Natasha.
And then somewhere in the distance. It is unclear how it can be seen through so much darkness, but it can be seen. As two, exactly different, but outwardly indistinguishable, warriors approach, either right and left, or front and back — towards the middle. They are not the leaders of these armies, but of high rank. And declare from their forces.
One: "Partuhu."
Another: "Portudy."
And sighing, her eyes opened. Natasha woke up, startled. Misha was lying next to her. What was it
about? — Natasha said quietly. — What are they haggling about?
Metropolitan
It was not the first time Guzokh had been to the location of the resource extraction column. He was supposed to be here more often, but the opinion that he could see better from above sometimes prevailed in his thoughts. And with each new appearance, it was happening more and more. He didn't want to see that all the efforts of the Sacred Sejm to bring about the correct faith of Zha'zhah were producing results he didn't want to see.
On the one hand, it seemed that people just obeyed, and it was easier for the plagues to live at their expense. But in reality, ordinary plagues had the need to be clean before the
