Joseon, 1910s
"do you give up, koschei?" she smiles in his dreams, her row of teeth sharp, her fingers long as they press together. "do you wish to finally beg for me to consume that soul of yours?"
koschei looks at baba yaga's greedy face, and he shakes his head, even though he can feel the rot in in his body, even though he can feel how weak he is, lying in his wife's bedroom, even though he hates the mixture of phoenix tears used to keep him alive. "never."
baba yaga smiles wider. "good. i hoped not."
Buyan, 1910
it begins with a cough. a wet, hacking cough that should not be coming from koschei.
he cannot die. he cannot get ill. and yet, he begins to cough wetly every so often, when he is talking to ash, when he emerges from a swim in a hot spring, when he resurrects after a shot to the face. he is coughing and coughing, and every time he coughs, there is a worry.
it isn't until he collapses at a dinner, crumpling to his knees, blood coating his fingers, that they finally believe that he is truly ill.
it won't be until ash is presented with dying crops and a herd of dead cattle, that they begin to think of the word curse.
Joseon, 1910s
the domovoi — human looking, only for the ease of the humans who came in and out now — bow and keep ash updated as best as they can. koschei doesn't move from his spot on the bed, eyes fluttering, feeling his body shift unnaturally around his form. all he wants to do is get up, to roam like he had, to look ash in the eyes again without needing to rely on him. he's never had to be reliant like this, was always the one who did the heavy work.
and now, now he was reduced to this, to making his wife have to do any and everything.
and that wasn't the worst part. the worst part was the worry. the way that ash came to his side, trying to mask how much he was scared for him, trying to have strength enough for them both. he hates that the most, that he's caused this when he never, ever has before.
if that was one thing that he truly despised about what baba yaga had done, it was this.
Buyan, 1910
one last time he looks over buyan: over the way that it has began to rot from inside out, at the bodies that lay in snow, at the carcasses of dead creatures, of the utter stillness that exists now. koschei feels the curse growing stronger and stronger, and he boys his head and allows ash to lead him away.
"cure?" her smile widens. "oh, koschei. there is no cure. i only want you to suffer until you give me exactly what you know i want: your soul."