The stars shine brightly over white hills, covered in powder, glittering and shimmering. Not kitschy, not a winter wonderland, but a Siberian expanse. Tracks in the snow, someone is out stalking. And it’s her: the Russian beauty, her cap pulled low over her face, her hair wild, her cheeks flushed with excitement. In the dark, you can see the highlighter on the forehead, bridge of the nose and cheeks, subtle and beautiful like fairy dust. The lips shimmer slightly, not pink, not red, but transparent and innocent. Yet this being is not a saint, but a huntress. The wild boar suspects nothing and stands there calmly, nibbling and sniffing. Then the shot, a scream. And immediately afterwards, becomes quiet again.