Ylösnousemus I

The novel opens with a litany of gospel verses, framing a world where forgiveness is measured by endless repetition. Outside the prison walls, spring bursts into life—grass pushing through cracks, birds nesting, children laughing—while city adults cling to power. Inside, the western prison’s corridors smell of tar, rot, and stale authority, a stark counterpoint to the season’s renewal. Through this juxtaposition the story asks what true mercy looks like when law and cruelty sit together.

At nine o’clock on April 28, the prison’s grim bureaucracy summons three detainees—two women and a man—to stand before a court. The wardens escort a pallid, gaunt young woman in a white dress, her pale skin and sharp black eyes marking her as the central figure, known only as Maslova. Her deliberate stare meets the chief warden’s, and the oppressive hallway seems to hold its breath as the officials prepare to hear her alleged crimes. The scene sets a tone of moral ambiguity, inviting listeners to question how justice, faith, and survival intertwine in a world where even the season’s beauty is contested.