(no subject)
Claim: Anya
Themes: NEW - Cold, Sleep, Beginnings, Beauty (AC5), Love
Completed 30/30
I'm finished, and I'm even early! (By, like, three days, but whatever.) The new ones are all at the bottom. I really don't like Sleep, but it's just a bit of a throwaway, and Beauty was something of a commentary on why my favourite versions of Anya are her at the beginning and at the end, when her hair is messy and her clothes are torn, but she still looks pretty. Anyway, this was fun. I probably won't do another claim for awhile, but I enjoyed it and hope the community still stays active!
Snow
Winter is a depressing season, Anya mused, leaning her head against the fogged window pane and watching snow lightly falling in the twilight. This was the chilliest winter in years; it was frigid inside the orphanage.
“Anya?” The voice belonged to a young girl clutching a bedraggled teddy. “Why is it so cold in winter?”
The seventeen-year-old draped an arm around her. “I don’t know.” I wish I knew. Winter is beautiful…so why does it make me feel empty inside? Why is winter unhappy for me?
Why can’t I remember why the sight of falling snow makes me feel lost?
Memories
It was disquieting, walking those dusty halls, feeling that tug of familiarity. Dancing with glittering ghosts that had seemed so real yet had surely been her imagination…how was it so memorable to her, unless Dimitri was right and she truly was - or had been - Anastasia? Why had she felt that the handsome bearded man was someone she knew as intimately as family?
How is this possible? she thought desperately. No Grand Duchess spends ten years sleeping on the floor. She resolved to lock those memories - or dreams - away, at least until Paris.
Things I almost remember, indeed.
Fight
“What are you going to do with a dog in Paris anyway?” Dimitri demanded irritably, hands in his pockets.
“Keep him,” Anya replied promptly. “Royalty are allowed to keep dogs.”
“Not stray mutts,” Dimitri retorted. “Do you want me sneezing the whole way or not?”
“You haven’t sneezed so far.”
She is aggravatingly stubborn. They’d been fighting since leaving the palace. Vlad was no help; he found the dog adorable, Anya’s obstinacy charming.
“I’m keeping Pooka,” Anya informed him, trotting ahead. Out of the corner of his eye, Dimitri noticed Vlad making a tick on a small piece of paper.
Book
“What’s Paris like?”
“Hopefully warmer than here.”
“Dimitri.”
He ignored her.
“Surely you know something about it,” Anya pressed, unperturbed.
“Probably not any more than you.”
“You’re being difficult,” she responded, as if this was nothing new.
Exasperated, Dimitri reached across the seat to his bag and rummaged inside, emerging with a worn paperback. “Here,” he snapped, shoving it at her. “It’s a guidebook to Paris. Instead of pestering us, read that.”
Anya accepted the book with an appropriately regal nod. Satisfied, Dimitri turned away. Anya’s face morphed into a scornful visage before she put her nose between the pages.
Dead
The wind tugging at Anya’s hair brought her back to the sudden, silent reality. Slowly, she pulled away and gently rolled him over, running cold fingers along the rough angles of his face. He was warm, still, but he didn’t stir.
“No,” she whispered, helpless, hoping. She wondered, distantly, if she should feel triumph, or at least relief, but she only felt exhausted, aching with pain and sorrow and the remnants of…what? Fear? Anger? Desperation? No, none of those…only emptiness.
She turned from his still face, pressing her forehead to her knees. Distantly, she could hear Pooka begin to howl.
Hate
By the time she stumbled onto the street, Anya could barely see clearly enough to find her way back to Sophie’s. Her eyes were blinded, by tears of rage and pain and the bitterness of betrayal.
I hate him, she thought viciously, storming past Sophie’s startled maids and slamming her door. He lied, cheated, used me for nothing more than money! Made me think those memories were real, that I could really be Anastasia…I’m nothing more than Anya the crazy, godforsaken orphan, playing pretend in fancy clothes…deluding myself again…
Maybe it wasn’t really him she hated. Maybe it was herself.
Fear
She was freezing, and she couldn’t sleep. Her hair was damp, with rain and sweat even though she felt like ice. It seemed like hours since Dimitri had gently carried her back to bed, whispering soothing words, though she could feel his heart still racing, its beat in time with hers. He’d said nothing after returning to his floor, but his breathing hadn’t evened out until some time after.
She curled into a ball, her eyes shut tight, trying to banish the horrible images from her mind. The lingering fear clung to her, an icy sheet over her shaking body.
Ring
The drawers glittered, catching the loft lamplight in a thousand bright fragments. Gold and silver shone; many-faceted jewels were sparks of colour. It was more wealth than Anya had seen in her life…that she could remember, anyway.
She trailed her fingers along the fine chains and intricate designs. Her hand paused over the rings as one caught her eye; it was simple, a gold band set with a modest diamond. Trancelike, she slipped it onto her hand.
Unbidden, his face materialised in her mind, and she hastily tugged the ring off and replaced it. Her hands would go bare tonight.
Family
After the young man left Marie’s chambers, the Dowager Empress sat staring at the door for a long time. She had underestimated him, completely misjudging his motives; the realisation was bittersweet.
Downstairs, her granddaughter prepared for the reintroduction celebrations. It was clear that Anastasia was trying her hardest to appear comfortable in this once-familiar role, but Marie could see the young woman was fighting unhappiness.
Anastasia had found what she wanted, Marie reflected sadly, but it wasn’t what she had really been looking for. She’d found her family…but she had lost the young man who could have been her home.
Luck
The little girl curled up in the corner, playing the necklace’s chain between her fingers. Together in Paris. She’d read the phrase a hundred times, wishing it meant something to her, wishing she could remember where it came from.
It had been sheer luck, really, that the necklace hadn’t been taken away when she’d come here. She had no idea if it was really valuable, but any sparkle attracted her sour-faced housemother; only the speculation that she was an abandoned gypsy child with naught more than costume jewellery had saved her.
Anya, she thought. That’s who I am now. Anya.
Endings
In the days after the ruined tercentennial celebrations, the Romanov family lived in fear. Nicholas and Alexandra tried to hide it from their children, but it was clear that worry penetrated the walls of the Catherine Palace. Anastasia lay awake every night waiting anxiously for Rasputin’s curse to manifest itself, listening to her parents’ hushed, fearful voices. It was no secret that behind the glamour of Russia lay discontent. The perceptive eight-year-old knew what it meant; even if there was no curse, their way of life was ending soon, and she had no idea what her future truly held anymore.
Stars
The sky was clear tonight, a strange occurrence for a Russian winter. The constellations glittered, faint illuminations over the fresh snow. Anya watched them from the second-story window, her breath fogging the glass.
The stars never change, she thought absently. The world shifts, but they stay the same. Not like her life. She had already gone through some drastic change, if only she could remember; hopefully her life would change again, for the better this time. But not until I turn eighteen. Until then, I’m trapped here.
Those same stars are shining over Paris tonight…shining over my family. I hope.
Music
The transformation was…extraordinary. Gone was the scruffy hair, the ragged dress, the fiery demeanour. Her hair - longer than he imagined - was gently tamed into a tumble of curls secured by a ribbon; she’d altered the dress to fit, subtly accenting her body. She looked beautiful, radiant…and somehow vulnerable.
He was acutely aware of his hand on her waist, her fingers resting lightly on his. Her face was close, those huge eyes full of some unreadable, powerful emotion, her lips slightly parted. There was no music, but they moved smoothly as one, dancing to some silent rhythm only they could hear.
Kitchen Boy (AC1)
She’d seen him before, scurrying about the palace on one errand or another with a furtive, sneaky look. He was funny, with his long floppy hair and features that seemed just a little too big for his angular face. She’d heard his name spoken, but never could remember it; she’d been brought up to ignore the servants. Still, he caught her with a strange kind of interest, casting longing glances into the ballrooms as the aristocracy celebrated. She wondered at his past sometimes, but never long enough for it to matter much. He was only a kitchen boy, after all.
Young Man (AC2)
He looks familiar, she thought suddenly as the young man whispered with his friend. She couldn’t imagine how she knew him, but that artfully mussed hair, and those dark eyes…
“Are you Dimitri?” she asked, hiding her confusion behind exasperation.
“Perhaps,” he responded cryptically. “That all depends on who’s looking for him.”
Just a nameless nobody. “My name is Anya. I need travel papers.” She leaned in conspiratorially to whisper; he did the same, his bangs falling across his forehead. Familiarity twinged again…but it was as if a wall had appeared in her mind. There was nothing there to remember.
Sisters (AC3)
Anastasia ducked behind the snowman, lobbing another snowball. Mashka turned just in time to receive a faceful of wet; she darted after her little sister, mock furious. Stumbling over her own boots, Anastasia tumbled into a snowbank. Several feet away, Tatiana and Olga worked primly on their own snowman, too mature to play like babies; Alexei sat mournfully inside the gazebo. Alexandra would be furious if boisterous Anastasia played with him, but her sisters…
She darted behind them, a pair of slushballs soaking her mittens; with a triumphant cry, she stuffed them down their coats and bolted for the gazebo.
Pain
The sunlight was bright behind her eyes. She opened them, once; the world was blurry. Her head throbbed, a dull ache, gentler than the white-hot pain from before. She brought a tentative hand up to the bump under her hair and winced when the touch sent a shooting dart through her skull.
She couldn’t remember how she’d gotten here, or where the bump had come from. She forced herself to stand, fighting the dizziness, and looked uncomprehendingly at the slushy street. Where was she? She vaguely recalled something - a woman shouting. Her name? But what was that? She didn’t know.
Night
The darkness seemed to press on her, filling the huge, elegantly unfamiliar room. She couldn’t remember a night where she’d ever slept alone, not in her whole life. At the orphanage there had always been a dozen other children around; as a child she’d shared a room with her sister Marie. Even on their journey from Russia she’d never been alone; she’d always slept between the two men, listening to Vlad’s grunting snores on one side, Dimitri’s deep breathing and occasional mutterings on the other. Alone, she felt a new, unfamiliar fear.
Who would have thought I’d get scared now?
Time
Watching Dimitri walk away, Anya felt a curious sensation of loss. Not just loss of him, but loss of part of herself too. He was her last connection to the world she’d known for the last ten years, her last link to that part of her that had been Anya. How could that orphan stand up to the role of Anastasia, the lost Grand Duchess, without something to keep her rooted in that time? How ironic that she had been searching for her past for so long, only to find she didn’t want to lose the one she still remembered.
Rain
He didn’t know how long they stood there. Maybe it was hours. Maybe it was only a few minutes. All he knew was that he held her tightly, waiting for her shuddering sobs to subside. Her heart was pounding against his chest…or was that his?
Until he’d seen her balancing on that slippery rail, he hadn’t realised what it would mean to lose her. She wasn’t just a tool in their “brilliant” plan; somehow, he’d genuinely come to care for her.
His heart blurred with hers, the rain blurred with her tears, and his feelings rolled tumultuous as the sea.
Mail
As a child, Anya always listened attentively in the mornings when the mail arrived. Sometimes, when a child’s name was called, it meant a family in the city was looking to adopt, and they were leaving. Every morning, Anya listened carefully in the hopes that her family were coming for her, and every morning she was disappointed. Now, at eighteen, she didn’t listen anymore. It was rare for anyone’s name to be announced these days.
So when Phlegmenkoff called her name that morning, Anya’s heart leaped. Could it be…?
“You’re leaving,” the woman said raspily. “I got you a job.”
Alive
As they trudged through the snow, lugging suitcases and mumbling the occasional oath, Anya reflected on their recent flirtation with death. Despite their dogged pace and the frigid air, the adrenaline continued to course relentlessly through her body. To be alive now, alive and unscathed as the train exploded in the ravine behind them, seemed extraordinary. What a strange yet comforting feeling.
Ahead, Dimitri shouted; he’d found an abandoned hut to spend the night in. With renewed energy, Anya hoisted her bag and trotted ahead, earning surprised looks as Vlad and Dimitri wondered what had made her so suddenly happy.
Day
Anya rose at dawn the next day. It had taken hours to get to sleep, and when she finally had, she was restless. Every time she closed her eyes, she could see the demons reaching for her. Finally, she gave up, silently tossing back the blankets and creeping out of the room.
Climbing the stairs to the upper deck, Anya realized she was not alone. He was there, leaning on the rail, his face emotionless. Quietly, she turned and darted down the stairs again. Talking about last night would only lead to awkwardness, and she didn’t want that. Not today.
Sky
He’d come up to watch the sunrise, unable to sleep. With the sky pink in the east, staining the wispy clouds that were all that remained of last night’s storm, he thought broodingly about the night before. It was like a moment out of time, not quite fitting in with the rest of their journey…despite the near-death experience, anyway.
He heard soft footsteps on the stairs, and didn’t have to turn his head to know it was her. She didn’t stay, descending as quickly as she’d come. He didn’t blame her. Being alone with her now was a daunting prospect.
Skates (AC4)
Dimitri stared at her incredulously, cold hands gripping hers. “You don’t know how to skate? How did you live through eighteen Russian winters without learning to skate?”
Wobbling uncertainly on the ice, Anya could only shrug. The skates felt awkward on her feet, like two knives. She promptly lost her grip on his hands and tumbled into a powdery snowbank; he raised his eyebrows at her.
“You think it’s funny?” she demanded, lobbing a snowball. Knocked off balance, he toppled forward into the snow. It was several minutes before either of them could stop laughing enough to get up again.
Cold
For someone who lived in a place that was practically on the Arctic Circle, Anya strongly disliked being cold. Unfortunately, she was used to it. Hot baths were rare in an orphanage this size, and to finally be the first one into the tub was a treat. She sunk low in the water, letting it slosh around her face and soak her long hair.
When I get out of here, she vowed, ’m going someplace warm. I want to see Paris, and England, and the Americas. I want to see the world beyond these freezing winters, this poverty and turmoil.
Beginnings
Anya studied herself in the long mirror. The dress glittered extravagantly, as regal as anything her mother had ever worn in the glory days of Russia. With her hair pinned back and the tiara perched atop it, she looked more than ever like the princess she’d once been. Finally, her dreams and the promises of others had been fulfilled, for here she was as guests congregated downstairs, waiting to meet her again, waiting for her to graciously begin her new - or old - life as royalty. Forget the orphan Anya. Become the Grand Duchess Anastasia. A new life. A new beginning.
Beauty (AC5)
“Why don’t you ever wear your hair down?” Katia complained, carefully working the comb through her friend’s thick curls. Anya shrugged, watching herself in the mirror. She’d learned early on that long hair was a prime target for pain in a fight, but her vanity had kept her from cutting it, so she always left it up.
“Here,” Katia said, tugging a faded pink ribbon from her own hair and swiftly tying it into a bow around Anya’s. “You could be beautiful, you know, if you didn’t hide it.”
Maybe, Anya thought absently, but then I wouldn’t look like me.
Love
The captain gazed solemnly out of his window at the two young people. What an odd pair they made, a man and woman in clothes that had once been fine but now were torn and dirty, accompanied by a scruffy little dog. Before, when he’d seen them dancing, it was as if they were the only people in the world, so joyous and carefree and so obviously in love. Now he held her close, his chin on the top of her head, which rested against his shoulder. The captain shook his grizzled head, smiled, and quietly returned to his cabin.
Themes: NEW - Cold, Sleep, Beginnings, Beauty (AC5), Love
Completed 30/30
I'm finished, and I'm even early! (By, like, three days, but whatever.) The new ones are all at the bottom. I really don't like Sleep, but it's just a bit of a throwaway, and Beauty was something of a commentary on why my favourite versions of Anya are her at the beginning and at the end, when her hair is messy and her clothes are torn, but she still looks pretty. Anyway, this was fun. I probably won't do another claim for awhile, but I enjoyed it and hope the community still stays active!
Snow
Winter is a depressing season, Anya mused, leaning her head against the fogged window pane and watching snow lightly falling in the twilight. This was the chilliest winter in years; it was frigid inside the orphanage.
“Anya?” The voice belonged to a young girl clutching a bedraggled teddy. “Why is it so cold in winter?”
The seventeen-year-old draped an arm around her. “I don’t know.” I wish I knew. Winter is beautiful…so why does it make me feel empty inside? Why is winter unhappy for me?
Why can’t I remember why the sight of falling snow makes me feel lost?
Memories
It was disquieting, walking those dusty halls, feeling that tug of familiarity. Dancing with glittering ghosts that had seemed so real yet had surely been her imagination…how was it so memorable to her, unless Dimitri was right and she truly was - or had been - Anastasia? Why had she felt that the handsome bearded man was someone she knew as intimately as family?
How is this possible? she thought desperately. No Grand Duchess spends ten years sleeping on the floor. She resolved to lock those memories - or dreams - away, at least until Paris.
Things I almost remember, indeed.
Fight
“What are you going to do with a dog in Paris anyway?” Dimitri demanded irritably, hands in his pockets.
“Keep him,” Anya replied promptly. “Royalty are allowed to keep dogs.”
“Not stray mutts,” Dimitri retorted. “Do you want me sneezing the whole way or not?”
“You haven’t sneezed so far.”
She is aggravatingly stubborn. They’d been fighting since leaving the palace. Vlad was no help; he found the dog adorable, Anya’s obstinacy charming.
“I’m keeping Pooka,” Anya informed him, trotting ahead. Out of the corner of his eye, Dimitri noticed Vlad making a tick on a small piece of paper.
Book
“What’s Paris like?”
“Hopefully warmer than here.”
“Dimitri.”
He ignored her.
“Surely you know something about it,” Anya pressed, unperturbed.
“Probably not any more than you.”
“You’re being difficult,” she responded, as if this was nothing new.
Exasperated, Dimitri reached across the seat to his bag and rummaged inside, emerging with a worn paperback. “Here,” he snapped, shoving it at her. “It’s a guidebook to Paris. Instead of pestering us, read that.”
Anya accepted the book with an appropriately regal nod. Satisfied, Dimitri turned away. Anya’s face morphed into a scornful visage before she put her nose between the pages.
Dead
The wind tugging at Anya’s hair brought her back to the sudden, silent reality. Slowly, she pulled away and gently rolled him over, running cold fingers along the rough angles of his face. He was warm, still, but he didn’t stir.
“No,” she whispered, helpless, hoping. She wondered, distantly, if she should feel triumph, or at least relief, but she only felt exhausted, aching with pain and sorrow and the remnants of…what? Fear? Anger? Desperation? No, none of those…only emptiness.
She turned from his still face, pressing her forehead to her knees. Distantly, she could hear Pooka begin to howl.
Hate
By the time she stumbled onto the street, Anya could barely see clearly enough to find her way back to Sophie’s. Her eyes were blinded, by tears of rage and pain and the bitterness of betrayal.
I hate him, she thought viciously, storming past Sophie’s startled maids and slamming her door. He lied, cheated, used me for nothing more than money! Made me think those memories were real, that I could really be Anastasia…I’m nothing more than Anya the crazy, godforsaken orphan, playing pretend in fancy clothes…deluding myself again…
Maybe it wasn’t really him she hated. Maybe it was herself.
Fear
She was freezing, and she couldn’t sleep. Her hair was damp, with rain and sweat even though she felt like ice. It seemed like hours since Dimitri had gently carried her back to bed, whispering soothing words, though she could feel his heart still racing, its beat in time with hers. He’d said nothing after returning to his floor, but his breathing hadn’t evened out until some time after.
She curled into a ball, her eyes shut tight, trying to banish the horrible images from her mind. The lingering fear clung to her, an icy sheet over her shaking body.
Ring
The drawers glittered, catching the loft lamplight in a thousand bright fragments. Gold and silver shone; many-faceted jewels were sparks of colour. It was more wealth than Anya had seen in her life…that she could remember, anyway.
She trailed her fingers along the fine chains and intricate designs. Her hand paused over the rings as one caught her eye; it was simple, a gold band set with a modest diamond. Trancelike, she slipped it onto her hand.
Unbidden, his face materialised in her mind, and she hastily tugged the ring off and replaced it. Her hands would go bare tonight.
Family
After the young man left Marie’s chambers, the Dowager Empress sat staring at the door for a long time. She had underestimated him, completely misjudging his motives; the realisation was bittersweet.
Downstairs, her granddaughter prepared for the reintroduction celebrations. It was clear that Anastasia was trying her hardest to appear comfortable in this once-familiar role, but Marie could see the young woman was fighting unhappiness.
Anastasia had found what she wanted, Marie reflected sadly, but it wasn’t what she had really been looking for. She’d found her family…but she had lost the young man who could have been her home.
Luck
The little girl curled up in the corner, playing the necklace’s chain between her fingers. Together in Paris. She’d read the phrase a hundred times, wishing it meant something to her, wishing she could remember where it came from.
It had been sheer luck, really, that the necklace hadn’t been taken away when she’d come here. She had no idea if it was really valuable, but any sparkle attracted her sour-faced housemother; only the speculation that she was an abandoned gypsy child with naught more than costume jewellery had saved her.
Anya, she thought. That’s who I am now. Anya.
Endings
In the days after the ruined tercentennial celebrations, the Romanov family lived in fear. Nicholas and Alexandra tried to hide it from their children, but it was clear that worry penetrated the walls of the Catherine Palace. Anastasia lay awake every night waiting anxiously for Rasputin’s curse to manifest itself, listening to her parents’ hushed, fearful voices. It was no secret that behind the glamour of Russia lay discontent. The perceptive eight-year-old knew what it meant; even if there was no curse, their way of life was ending soon, and she had no idea what her future truly held anymore.
Stars
The sky was clear tonight, a strange occurrence for a Russian winter. The constellations glittered, faint illuminations over the fresh snow. Anya watched them from the second-story window, her breath fogging the glass.
The stars never change, she thought absently. The world shifts, but they stay the same. Not like her life. She had already gone through some drastic change, if only she could remember; hopefully her life would change again, for the better this time. But not until I turn eighteen. Until then, I’m trapped here.
Those same stars are shining over Paris tonight…shining over my family. I hope.
Music
The transformation was…extraordinary. Gone was the scruffy hair, the ragged dress, the fiery demeanour. Her hair - longer than he imagined - was gently tamed into a tumble of curls secured by a ribbon; she’d altered the dress to fit, subtly accenting her body. She looked beautiful, radiant…and somehow vulnerable.
He was acutely aware of his hand on her waist, her fingers resting lightly on his. Her face was close, those huge eyes full of some unreadable, powerful emotion, her lips slightly parted. There was no music, but they moved smoothly as one, dancing to some silent rhythm only they could hear.
Kitchen Boy (AC1)
She’d seen him before, scurrying about the palace on one errand or another with a furtive, sneaky look. He was funny, with his long floppy hair and features that seemed just a little too big for his angular face. She’d heard his name spoken, but never could remember it; she’d been brought up to ignore the servants. Still, he caught her with a strange kind of interest, casting longing glances into the ballrooms as the aristocracy celebrated. She wondered at his past sometimes, but never long enough for it to matter much. He was only a kitchen boy, after all.
Young Man (AC2)
He looks familiar, she thought suddenly as the young man whispered with his friend. She couldn’t imagine how she knew him, but that artfully mussed hair, and those dark eyes…
“Are you Dimitri?” she asked, hiding her confusion behind exasperation.
“Perhaps,” he responded cryptically. “That all depends on who’s looking for him.”
Just a nameless nobody. “My name is Anya. I need travel papers.” She leaned in conspiratorially to whisper; he did the same, his bangs falling across his forehead. Familiarity twinged again…but it was as if a wall had appeared in her mind. There was nothing there to remember.
Sisters (AC3)
Anastasia ducked behind the snowman, lobbing another snowball. Mashka turned just in time to receive a faceful of wet; she darted after her little sister, mock furious. Stumbling over her own boots, Anastasia tumbled into a snowbank. Several feet away, Tatiana and Olga worked primly on their own snowman, too mature to play like babies; Alexei sat mournfully inside the gazebo. Alexandra would be furious if boisterous Anastasia played with him, but her sisters…
She darted behind them, a pair of slushballs soaking her mittens; with a triumphant cry, she stuffed them down their coats and bolted for the gazebo.
Pain
The sunlight was bright behind her eyes. She opened them, once; the world was blurry. Her head throbbed, a dull ache, gentler than the white-hot pain from before. She brought a tentative hand up to the bump under her hair and winced when the touch sent a shooting dart through her skull.
She couldn’t remember how she’d gotten here, or where the bump had come from. She forced herself to stand, fighting the dizziness, and looked uncomprehendingly at the slushy street. Where was she? She vaguely recalled something - a woman shouting. Her name? But what was that? She didn’t know.
Night
The darkness seemed to press on her, filling the huge, elegantly unfamiliar room. She couldn’t remember a night where she’d ever slept alone, not in her whole life. At the orphanage there had always been a dozen other children around; as a child she’d shared a room with her sister Marie. Even on their journey from Russia she’d never been alone; she’d always slept between the two men, listening to Vlad’s grunting snores on one side, Dimitri’s deep breathing and occasional mutterings on the other. Alone, she felt a new, unfamiliar fear.
Who would have thought I’d get scared now?
Time
Watching Dimitri walk away, Anya felt a curious sensation of loss. Not just loss of him, but loss of part of herself too. He was her last connection to the world she’d known for the last ten years, her last link to that part of her that had been Anya. How could that orphan stand up to the role of Anastasia, the lost Grand Duchess, without something to keep her rooted in that time? How ironic that she had been searching for her past for so long, only to find she didn’t want to lose the one she still remembered.
Rain
He didn’t know how long they stood there. Maybe it was hours. Maybe it was only a few minutes. All he knew was that he held her tightly, waiting for her shuddering sobs to subside. Her heart was pounding against his chest…or was that his?
Until he’d seen her balancing on that slippery rail, he hadn’t realised what it would mean to lose her. She wasn’t just a tool in their “brilliant” plan; somehow, he’d genuinely come to care for her.
His heart blurred with hers, the rain blurred with her tears, and his feelings rolled tumultuous as the sea.
As a child, Anya always listened attentively in the mornings when the mail arrived. Sometimes, when a child’s name was called, it meant a family in the city was looking to adopt, and they were leaving. Every morning, Anya listened carefully in the hopes that her family were coming for her, and every morning she was disappointed. Now, at eighteen, she didn’t listen anymore. It was rare for anyone’s name to be announced these days.
So when Phlegmenkoff called her name that morning, Anya’s heart leaped. Could it be…?
“You’re leaving,” the woman said raspily. “I got you a job.”
Alive
As they trudged through the snow, lugging suitcases and mumbling the occasional oath, Anya reflected on their recent flirtation with death. Despite their dogged pace and the frigid air, the adrenaline continued to course relentlessly through her body. To be alive now, alive and unscathed as the train exploded in the ravine behind them, seemed extraordinary. What a strange yet comforting feeling.
Ahead, Dimitri shouted; he’d found an abandoned hut to spend the night in. With renewed energy, Anya hoisted her bag and trotted ahead, earning surprised looks as Vlad and Dimitri wondered what had made her so suddenly happy.
Day
Anya rose at dawn the next day. It had taken hours to get to sleep, and when she finally had, she was restless. Every time she closed her eyes, she could see the demons reaching for her. Finally, she gave up, silently tossing back the blankets and creeping out of the room.
Climbing the stairs to the upper deck, Anya realized she was not alone. He was there, leaning on the rail, his face emotionless. Quietly, she turned and darted down the stairs again. Talking about last night would only lead to awkwardness, and she didn’t want that. Not today.
Sky
He’d come up to watch the sunrise, unable to sleep. With the sky pink in the east, staining the wispy clouds that were all that remained of last night’s storm, he thought broodingly about the night before. It was like a moment out of time, not quite fitting in with the rest of their journey…despite the near-death experience, anyway.
He heard soft footsteps on the stairs, and didn’t have to turn his head to know it was her. She didn’t stay, descending as quickly as she’d come. He didn’t blame her. Being alone with her now was a daunting prospect.
Skates (AC4)
Dimitri stared at her incredulously, cold hands gripping hers. “You don’t know how to skate? How did you live through eighteen Russian winters without learning to skate?”
Wobbling uncertainly on the ice, Anya could only shrug. The skates felt awkward on her feet, like two knives. She promptly lost her grip on his hands and tumbled into a powdery snowbank; he raised his eyebrows at her.
“You think it’s funny?” she demanded, lobbing a snowball. Knocked off balance, he toppled forward into the snow. It was several minutes before either of them could stop laughing enough to get up again.
Cold
For someone who lived in a place that was practically on the Arctic Circle, Anya strongly disliked being cold. Unfortunately, she was used to it. Hot baths were rare in an orphanage this size, and to finally be the first one into the tub was a treat. She sunk low in the water, letting it slosh around her face and soak her long hair.
When I get out of here, she vowed, ’m going someplace warm. I want to see Paris, and England, and the Americas. I want to see the world beyond these freezing winters, this poverty and turmoil.
Beginnings
Anya studied herself in the long mirror. The dress glittered extravagantly, as regal as anything her mother had ever worn in the glory days of Russia. With her hair pinned back and the tiara perched atop it, she looked more than ever like the princess she’d once been. Finally, her dreams and the promises of others had been fulfilled, for here she was as guests congregated downstairs, waiting to meet her again, waiting for her to graciously begin her new - or old - life as royalty. Forget the orphan Anya. Become the Grand Duchess Anastasia. A new life. A new beginning.
Beauty (AC5)
“Why don’t you ever wear your hair down?” Katia complained, carefully working the comb through her friend’s thick curls. Anya shrugged, watching herself in the mirror. She’d learned early on that long hair was a prime target for pain in a fight, but her vanity had kept her from cutting it, so she always left it up.
“Here,” Katia said, tugging a faded pink ribbon from her own hair and swiftly tying it into a bow around Anya’s. “You could be beautiful, you know, if you didn’t hide it.”
Maybe, Anya thought absently, but then I wouldn’t look like me.
Love
The captain gazed solemnly out of his window at the two young people. What an odd pair they made, a man and woman in clothes that had once been fine but now were torn and dirty, accompanied by a scruffy little dog. Before, when he’d seen them dancing, it was as if they were the only people in the world, so joyous and carefree and so obviously in love. Now he held her close, his chin on the top of her head, which rested against his shoulder. The captain shook his grizzled head, smiled, and quietly returned to his cabin.