Perhaps a fairytale can't be woven around an enigmatic person unless one is ready to plunge headfirst into the murky depths of a dark soul. Such people always evoke unease and caution—and sometimes, a genuine dread of the unknown.

  A few weeks later, Alexander invited us to a café, saying he really wanted to reveal the story of his mysterious Anzhelica. However, he asked his former classmate to pick the place, as he barely knew his way around the city.

  Yuri suggested a spot where he often went for lunch or after work - a place where we would catch up on the latest news or reminisce about the past over a cup of coffee.

  It was a small chess-themed café called The Ladya, with multicolored pawns standing in the corners and a queen at the center. Despite its clever decor, the place had a completely unremarkable menu.

  We arrived on time, just a bit earlier than Alexander and Anzhelica. Having settled at a table by the window, Yuri asked, 'Do you really think Anzhelica is that strange? Knowing Pika for all these years, it's fair to say he’s quite the storyteller; embellishing facts is second nature to him. Even at university, he was famous for his tales.

  "I don't know, but his story has me a bit intrigued. If I were writing a novel, this would be the start of a mystery in the style of Agatha Christie.

  “Yeah, or Hitchcock!” he laughed. “One where Anzhelica turns out to be a charming and sexy maniac!”

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  “And why not? Mysteries with beautiful villains are all the rage now.”

  “Even trendier are the ones where the victim squeals like a pig the whole time, running aimlessly, falling, getting up, and just continuing to squeal and run.”

  “No, well, not that extreme - something a bit simpler...” I laughed.

  “Simpler is boring. Something like... sleeping with men and then killing them, hiding their heads in the fridge in jars of formaldehyde. Collecting trophies, so to speak."

  "No, under the bed is better. You know, I recently saw a show about a psychopath who collected the bodies of children. He would go to the graveyard, dig them up, and then mummify them at home, dressing them up in various clothes. They sat in his room on chairs, in armchairs, and some on an old sofa. Every evening he read them fairy tales and put them to bed. When guests came over, they thought they were just some creepy wax dolls."

  "Ugh, you’re so morbid!" Yuriy exclaimed.

  "Morbid?"

  The door swung open, and Anzhelica was the first to enter.

  Seeing the girl's startlingly pale face and those burning dark eyes, it felt as if they were about to incinerate everything in their path. Many years ago, when I tried to imagine true beauty, the image of a woman just like her would arise in my mind.

  We had never met before that evening. And yet, that phosphorescent skin, the Marilyn Monroe profile, and the even white teeth had been familiar to me for a long, long time. She was whimsical, fantastic, highly strung, and seemed to be burning with a feverish intensity.

  Alexander appeared right behind her. Compared to her, the young man seemed to wither instantly, while she bloomed, radiant with her strange and magnetic beauty.

  'Good evening!' the woman said with the arrogance of a Hollywood diva who had just stepped off the screen. She took a seat beside us. 'Perhaps we should order something to drink? My day has been, oh, so very difficult. Alexander, sunshine, be a dear and go buy me some IQOS. Do you have any money left from the trip?'