The cart creaks under its heavy load as it wheels toward a wide pit. There's no space left on the cemetery grounds.
Young Rubuska: Dad, you can sleep here. Mама on the right. And Kolyo ... I know you'd choose the middle ...
Her small hands clutch a rough branch, digging out a shallow spot in the pit; she can't make it much bigger. But it's enough, just like their old cramped bed in their shabby old home.
But as she lays them down, it feels different. There's no warmth in this bed.
Young Rubuska: It's alright, Mама ... Tonight I'll blow out the candle for you ...
Dirt falls over their faces, and she dutifully wipes it off. Her cracked hands not numb enough to deny the coldness.
Young Rubuska: Oh ... you're freezing.
Young Rubuska: Mама, we should've laid the quilts to dry in the sun ... You always say everyone deserves a warm bed, even vampires!
Young Rubuska: Now ... wait, I know what to do!
She curls her arms into a cradle, gathering layers and layers of fallen leaves and twigs, anything she can use to cover them, until she can't see their wounds.
It isn't a warm quilt. But now at least, they seem peaceful, and the girl nods with satisfaction.
Young Rubuska: Mm-hm! Not cold anymore, right?
Young Rubuska: Mmh ... Ah, I should sleep too ...
Young Rubuska: Mама, Dad, can I be in the middle with Kolyo?
She lies down in the pit, nestling herself into the space between their bodies. Remembering the snowy nights where they huddled together, safe and warm. Mама would tell her stories in her soft, sweet voice until they drifted off.
The night deepens. The girl closes her eyes with a smile.
Kolyo: Buska, the birds are pecking at our crops!
Young Rubuska: Hmph ... we'll see about that!
The girl skips forward, then breaks into a dash over the field, startling a flock of birds.
Young Rubuska: Stay away! Or I'll deal with you myself!
The flock lingers overhead as the child below waves her small fists.
Kolyo: Maybe the birds are just hungry ...
Hunger is a feeling these children know well. They've grown up in the midst of war.
Young Rubuska: But we can't let them eat! They'll leave nothing for us. Maybe once the harvest comes, we can share ...
Young Rubuska: But not now.
Young Rubuska: Go on! Stay away from our crops!
The flock splits into smaller squadrons, diving back to the field. The children run hard, screaming and yelling to drive them away.
Young Rubuska: Kolyo! Swing your arms, don't be afraid ...!
Kolyo: Sister, they're pecking me ...
Young Rubuska: I'll help you!
Young Rubuska: Go away! Go away! Stop eating!
Rubuska scrambles to protect her brother.
Young Rubuska: If only there were four of me ...
Young Rubuska: Hm ... four of me?
Young Rubuska: That's it!
She pulls out her flute and blows a note. Shadows rise up from the ground.
Young Rubuska: Kolyo—don't be afraid! I'm here to help!
Kolyo: Haha ... your shadow is sooo tall!
Kolyo: There's a Rubuska, and a Dad, and a Mама, and even another Kolyo!
Young Rubuska: Hah ... hah ... I can't make that many ...
Young Rubuska: Darn you birds, even pecking at shadows!
A sharp, acrid stench jolts her awake.
Young Rubuska: Mmm ... mm ...
Young Rubuska: Kolyo, Mама ...
Young Rubuska: It was just a dream ...?
Her stomach gnaws with hunger as she adjusts her eyes to the light of day. Only to be confronted by a carrion bird perched on the ridge of the pit, pecking at her family.
Young Rubuska: Ahh!
Young Rubuska: No ... no! Away!
Young Rubuska: Go away! Go away!
She screams, flailing her trembling arms at the bird.
But the bird fights back, beating its wings and stabbing at her with its sharp beak.
Young Rubuska: Ouch!
Young Rubuska: No! No!
Staggering to her feet, she seizes a stone and hurls it at the bird.
Young Rubuska: Don't hurt my Mама!
Young Rubuska: Don't you ever do that again ... Go away! Go away!
The bird dodges the stones and veers away, circling high above the cemetery.
Rubuska stands frozen in place, stunned. Reality presses in, inescapable.
Young Rubuska: Mама ... Dad ...
Young Rubuska: Kolyo ...
Young Rubuska: Wake up ... Please, don't leave me alone ... sob
Corpse Collector: You need to bury them, child.
The old man lowers his cart. Another pile of dead, taller than the last. The old man is hunched over, having exhausted his fading strength.
Young Rubuska: Bury ...?
Corpse Collector: Yes. Their bodies have already begun to ...
Young Rubuska: They're ... they're just sleeping!
She tries again desperately to plead for her family, not wanting to hear that awful word again.
Corpse Collector: Ah, you poor thing. I know it's hard to admit it.
Corpse Collector: They'll never open their eyes again.
Corpse Collector: It's the same for all these others.
Young Rubuska: No, no, no ... they're not the same!
Young Rubuska: They're different!
She leaps up to protest, but her weakness pulls her back to the ground.
Young Rubuska: We're vampires. We can't die ...
Corpse Collector: ...
Young Rubuska: I-I can prove it!
The girl pulls a flute from her pocket. Fingers trembling as she blows the first note.
Following her wavering melody, a shadow slides down to the pit, then rises up from their cold bodies, taking on three familiar forms.
"Rubuska's Mother": Buska, my darling, why do you look so afraid, so sad?
"Rubuska's Father": Lady Rubuska, do you not know this isn't eternal sleep, but only a trial?
"Rubuska's Mother": Of course. A vampire's strength must be tested ... My child, we need you.
"Rubuska's Father": You need to rouse us from our slumber, to rouse us from this darkness.
"Kolyo": Sister ... hurry, free us.
"Kolyo": Don't let these birds peck at us anymore ...
"Rubuska's Mother": Rubuska, my dear Rubuska, my lovely girl ... Mама loves you, loves you most of all.
"Rubuska's Father": Dearest Rubuska, you must not forget us ...
Young Rubuska: Mама, Dad, I promise I won't ...
Young Rubuska: Kolyo! I'll never leave your side. Those birds will never dare touch you again!
She swears each promise in turn, but before her words are even finished, the shadows scatter, melting away.
Young Rubuska: See! They can't be dead. They can speak. They're here.
Young Rubuska: Death can never touch us. Never ...
Young Rubuska: Mама ... Dad ... Kolyo ...
Young Rubuska: I'll find a way to wake you!
Corpse Collector: ...
Corpse Collector: Ah. Child ...
Corpse Collector: If thinking this way helps you bear it.
He looks down at the poor arcanist child who has lost her entire family.
There's no point in trying to comfort her. He just takes up his cart again and trudges away under the weight.
