maryamorvena:

“What are you made of?” she asked, her bitter anger softening.
“Not meat,” Koschei said softly. “Not even blood.” He took up her fingers again, passing them over his lips so that their bloody stains left smears there. “I put on blood for you like a cosmetic, just like I put on this face, and this body all full of leanness and litheness. It is to please you, only to please you, my human girl, my volchitsa. Didn’t you know? Didn’t you guess?”