(diverging right after season 1/assuming S&S never happened) Alina's heel breaks unexpectedly, and she swears--about the only thing she likes about fashion these days are the skirts that stop conveniently at her knee and her hair, dashingly bobbed--but the rest of it is as much as a damned nuisance as ever, this time without Genya to help navigate murky waters. For decades she's stayed far away from Ravka, long enough that the streets would seem foreign even without Fabrikator contraptions crowding the streets; but now, at least, it seems long enough that she might return, long enough that she might yet escape the notice of--
Well. The Darkling inclines his head to her across the street, and before Alina can decide if she means to run or fight, he has crossed to join her. His breath gleams white in the cold air; his eyes are creased with quiet amusement.
He is every bit as beautiful as she remembers. Alina adds that to her reasons to resent him.
"Pleasant weather we're having these days," says the Darkling. "Though I can't say as much for the clutter."
"What do you want?" Alina grumbles, and he laughs.
"A thank you would be appreciated," he says. "A lifetime left to your own devices--I challenge any man to offer you a better love-token."
Mal could, Alina thinks furiously. Mal had. Mal was lying buried beside of a cottage in Novyi Zem, full of memories and great-grandchildren she can no longer face. Alina turns her face away from him.
Alina does not run. Not anymore.
"What now?" she says instead, pointedly ungrateful. It's not like he should be fool enough to expect any better.
"Now," he replies, and she can hear the smile in his voice, "now we turn this world as we turned the last."
Sentence limit? I don't know her. *facepalm*
Alina's heel breaks unexpectedly, and she swears--about the only thing she likes about fashion these days are the skirts that stop conveniently at her knee and her hair, dashingly bobbed--but the rest of it is as much as a damned nuisance as ever, this time without Genya to help navigate murky waters. For decades she's stayed far away from Ravka, long enough that the streets would seem foreign even without Fabrikator contraptions crowding the streets; but now, at least, it seems long enough that she might return, long enough that she might yet escape the notice of--
Well. The Darkling inclines his head to her across the street, and before Alina can decide if she means to run or fight, he has crossed to join her. His breath gleams white in the cold air; his eyes are creased with quiet amusement.
He is every bit as beautiful as she remembers. Alina adds that to her reasons to resent him.
"Pleasant weather we're having these days," says the Darkling. "Though I can't say as much for the clutter."
"What do you want?" Alina grumbles, and he laughs.
"A thank you would be appreciated," he says. "A lifetime left to your own devices--I challenge any man to offer you a better love-token."
Mal could, Alina thinks furiously. Mal had. Mal was lying buried beside of a cottage in Novyi Zem, full of memories and great-grandchildren she can no longer face. Alina turns her face away from him.
Alina does not run. Not anymore.
"What now?" she says instead, pointedly ungrateful. It's not like he should be fool enough to expect any better.
"Now," he replies, and she can hear the smile in his voice, "now we turn this world as we turned the last."