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Red fogs my vision.

Hatred boils over and I must lash out.

Nothing has ever stood in the way of my rage. I focus it, guide it, control it.

It has fueled me through my entire life. Seeing me into my position of power, getting Matvey and I through our parent’s deaths. For all the love I have for my brotherhood, my people, I must use my anger to protect them.

And when I fail…

The walls of my world are crumbling.

So the only thing I know to do is use that anger for revenge. Or it will consume me and I will burn myself out.

“I won’t fight you,” Ciro rumbles, squaring off with me, blocking my path.

I know he understands this about me, sees into my heart. So why is he doing this?

He of all people must know that I need blood, that killing my enemies is the only way to bring my soul peace. To quell my anger, even if it kills me.

My first punch grazes his cheek, feigning and kicking for his side. He dodges, blocks, twists, avoiding another strike.

My fists become a flurry of violent motion, flying for his face, his ribs, into his stomach. I am a storm of fury.

Yet he manages to deflect every blow, every kick as I intensify my assault, throwing myself at him with reckless abandon. I realize I am screaming with each strike, snarling as I claw at him, slamming my shoulder into him in my dash to get past.

But at some point my goal fades from my grasp.

I just want to lash out.

To take out my energy and helplessness and bitterness on someone, anyone.

“It’s all gone! Everyone is gone!” I shout at the top of my lungs, launching myself at Ciro, knees first. The blow sends him rolling back, head over heels, back onto his feet in a crouch. It knocked the wind out of him, I can tell.

But I do not care.

I rush in, not seeing the danger, the look in his eye.

Or maybe I do.

My kick swings wide and he swoops under me, lifting me off the ground, soaring around and down. He tries to lessen the fall, but my attempts to grapple his arm loosens his grip.

The earth hammers into my back, blasting the breath from my lungs.

Still, I try to rise, slapping his hands away, gasping.

I am an animal.

But I am tiring, the small meal I was able to keep down and the vodka I shared with my brother leave me weak and tired. My punches flash out, but Ciro does not block.

He simply accepts them, letting me take all of my frustration out on him. Slamming my fists into him over and over. Until my arms are heavy, my knuckles chafed and cracked. He just stands there and takes it.

This man who knows my pain. My struggles.

Something inside me cracks. Splits. Shatters.

The first sob wracks my body with the final hit to his chest. My head shakes back and forth in denial, but it is too late. The dam is broken.

I have not cried in years, decades. Since I was a little girl.