43. New Ally

Anya

Three weeks have flown by in a blur of preparations and forced smiles. Each day, a monotonous parade of decisions and smiles, each more strained than the last. Today is no different, or so it seems at first.

The room buzzes with the chatter of wedding planners, a symphony of superficial enthusiasm. They flutter around us like a flock of overeager birds, discussing floral arrangements with a passion I can’t muster. Roses, lilies, orchids... the names and colors swirl around me, scenes of irrelevance.

As I sit at the breakfast table with my father and Dmitry, my betrothed, a man more statue than flesh, his presence both commanding and eerily detached. We’re surrounded by wedding planners discussing floral arrangements and seating charts, a wave of nausea hits me unexpectedly.

It’s a visceral, jarring sensation that cuts through the facade of normalcy. I stand abruptly, the chair scraping against the floor, an abrasive sound that mirrors the turmoil within.

“Aniya?” my father s