My head still swam with memories as I stood before my Mirror, changing back into my normal form. My darkening hair, growing to its normal length. My cheeks, losing their fullness and rosy color. My long black dress, its silky folds caressing my skin, enfolding me down to my bare feet. Kirill would wonder when he woke up and saw my peasant clothes still heaped at the foot of his bed. I smiled at the thought. There was one more thing I needed to do before I could sleep. Noiselessly, I took the narrow winding stair from my quarters to the kitchens. The damp, salty smell of boiling meat hit my nostrils. My nose twitched. The Mistress of the Solstice did not eat meat. Yet our castle, like any other royal dwelling, had to feed many mouths. Every day the butchers in the back yard slaughtered a cow to feed our household. The meat was cooked throughout the day and all the bones and unwanted cuts were thrown into a giant pot constantly boiling on the stove. The thick soup it became, called ‘varevo’, was the late-night favorite of the tired kitchen staff.
