Dear followers, I have returned with an exciting project—Life Rattle Press has published my debut novel about a young woman escaping the Russian Empire.
Saint Petersburg, 1905. Amid civil unrest, Margarita boards the train to Paris, escaping the claws of the Russian Empire’s ruthless regime. At war with its neighbours, her homeland collapses, leaving millions of broken lives in its wake. Recounting her past to the woman who saved her, Rita takes the readers to the icy gates of Siberia, the colonnade of St. Isaac’s Cathedral, and the stage of the Mariinsky Theatre.
The Dawn of Eternal Winter is the debut novel by a Russian-Canadian writer, Veronika Sizova. A daring psychological thriller with romance, fantasy, and suspense, this text synthesizes past and present, beauty and terror, insurgence and war. Set in a fictionalized version of pre-revolutionary Saint Petersburg, this tale of loss, grief, and betrayal becomes a window into the cold authoritarian world where love and freedom are against the law, but the fire of hope burns.
P.S. If you love LGBTQ+ historical fiction, you won’t be disappointed!
When I let go of your hand many moons ago, deep down, I knew I would never hold it again. I still see your ghost, now and then, hovering over the cliffs and mingling with the mist between the mountains… At sunset, your shadow haunts the valley where we used to dream. We made up stories; we gathered berries and laughed; we conjured up entire lives, intertwining our thoughts like grapevines and drinking their mellow nectar until we were intoxicated with passion.
Azure hills near Moscow linger,
Tar and dust — in the lukewarm air.
I sleep all day, all day I laugh — let's say
I am recovering from winter.
I am walking home in utter silence:
For unwritten poems — no remorse!
I prefer, to every single verse,
The rattling wheels, the smell of fried almonds.
When the mind is beautifully empty,
Always blame the heart — it is too full!
As though little waves, my days unfurl;
From the bridge, I watch them fall aplenty.
Someone's gazes are too soft and tender
In the tenderness of lightly heated air...
I am falling under summer's spell,
Barely recovered from winter.
(March 13, 1915)
Midnight—over the coffee grounds
She cries, looking toward the East.
Her mouth is innocent and unbound,
Half—a flower, and half—a beast.
Soon a crescent—young and slender—
Shall replace the scarlet dawn
All my combs I will surrender,
All my rings - to you alone!
Waxing moon between the branches
Did not shelter anyone.
I will give you all my bracelets,
All my chains - to you alone!
As though under a heavy mane
Your luminous pupils shine!
Are your comrades jealous in vain? -
The full-blooded horses stay light!
(December 6, 1914)