Recognition (WIP)
Fandom: Anastasia
Rating: PG
Pairings: Anya/Dimitri
Comments: WIP. Why am I so infatuated with the idea of the elderly sharing their stories? Hm. Anyway, it's not that great anyway, so it's predictable.
Inspired by 'Paved with Good Intentions' by VampedVixen; actually, it could be a direct sequel. So, call it my homage. I'm sorry I essentially...butchered Anastasia and the fanfic that inspired me. Please bear with me. Also, this is based on the Anastasia (1997) animated MOVIE, nothing real. And no language barrier. (Russian? What's Russian? I never heard of THAT language!)
This is not really how I imagined Anya and Dimitri living their life afterwards, however. I have more ideas of what had happened post-movie; I'll probably start more stories later on them. Hah.
Summary: A young woman learns a shocking secret of her family, and why her grandparents ran away from Russia.
We were paying our respects. For what, I have no idea. The old woman wasn't dead yet, and it has been a long, long time since her husband died. But... it was obvious her time was going to be soon. She had lived out her life; now it was time for it to come.
Of course, I may come off as heartless thinking these things, but it was the truth, and everyone knew it. Though, no one would have the balls to come out and say it, seeing as how nearly everyone of us is related to her. Oh come on! That makes it all the more worth it to talk trash about the situation. Or is that just me? Yeah? OK, OK, fine. I am pretty heartless. But what am I supposed to do? Sit here and act all sympathetic? No. This woman may be my grandmother but it seemed she had already died a long time ago, when my grandfather died. I guess you can call that clichéd, but really, that was the case. Before then, she had always been full of life, bickering with Grandpa, having fun with us as babies and the great-grandchildren. But oldness had finally taken its toll, and it was obvious that her life was much too full.
It seemed to be most apparent now, when she was laying on that bed of hers, eyes drifting into space. My mother, now at 63-years-old, held tightly onto her hand, while my uncle, just five years ahead of my mother stood behind them, his own hand on Grandmother's shoulder. It was...really sad to see. And suddenly a pang of guilt hit me, punishing me of my hurtful thoughts earlier. But I knew I couldn't help it. It was one of those feelings that I got from time to time; I felt that it was in my blood to joke around. Speaking of joking around, I heard a baby's laugh, and I realized it was coming from my own child.
My child was now nearing four years old. Not a baby, but close enough. The fact was, this child, who I named after my mother Tanya, was my child, and she could bring me out of any stupor. But I wasn't here to revel in my child. I was here to pay respects to my grandmother; the one who brought us here to America. Well... to tell the truth, I really don't know if she was the one who brought us here. But whatever the case, I doubt we were all making a point to give her gratitude about it. I mean, my own nephew came to this in bleached jeans and a plaid, flannel shirt. What did he call it a couple years ago? Grunge?
I really came here because Mom told me to; she said that Grandma had been through so much, that we had to actually come here and respect her. So I did. Naturally. With my husband and child in tow. The husband, of course, left right away, though. I knew I should have seen that coming. One of my cousins, who was one of uncle Nick's, reached out to me, so that she could take Tanya outside with the other children. I was thankful for the rest, and I nodded her away. I stayed in the room with my mother, my uncle and his son, my brother, my "grunge" nephew, and, of course, my grandma.
My grandma called out in the air, catching all of our attentions. "I want.. box..." My uncle Nick nodded intently, and rushed out of the room. A few moments later, he was back, with a carved box. I locked eyes with my cousin, and we both shrugged in confusion.
"Mother, I don't want you straining yourself!" my mom said.
"Oh, it's not as if I'm not gonna croak soon," my grandma replied to her. I have to say, what a feisty old lady. "I just want...the box." She closed her eyes, tired from all of this, seemingly. But she seemed to have enough energy to open the box, eyes twinkling with a kind of young delight. I had never seen her this happy since Grandpa died. I had never even seen this box.
"Grandma," I felt my voice pipe up. I didn't even know I was talking. "What is that?" I wanted to pardon my rudeness, my interrupting of her remembering, but I couldn't bring myself to. I was thankful she was just smiling back at me.
"Why, these are of my family..." she said slowly. Family? Never, ever, had I heard her mention a hint of her past; she and Grandpa were quite the opposite of most grandparents, it seemed, since they never talked of their lives ever. "My family... back in Russia." I stared straight at her, taking in the old woman's delight. I tried to pull my gaze away from her, but it was difficult. I had to admit, I wanted to know more.
She closed her eyes and breathed in. Let a small smile grow on her face. And then back to work. Grandma was looking around in the box, taking out photos, and letters, and locks of hair. I was amazed by how much that little thing could hold! She stopped at one photo, however, and took it in. She turned to my uncle and my mother, and whispered, "That was your great-grandmother. I'm afraid... I was only there to see her for just... that one day." What did that mean?
Furrowing my brows again, I raised my voice to ask another question. But my nephew beat me to the punch. In a loud voice, he asked, "Why only one day? What happened?"
She smiled at him, seemingly not caring about what he was wearing. Maybe I was the judgmental one. "Well... All my life... I was searching for her. Eventually, I... had went on a journey. The journey eventually got me to my only family -- her, my grandmother. And, upon my finding her, I found something else..." She coughed slightly. "Love. It was unexpected. And my grandma gave encouraged me to go after what would make me happy, even if I was reunited with her for just a day... I ultimately chose love, and here I am."
Something about her story was more than intriguing. Maybe because it was part of my past, maybe because it was just interesting in itself, even without all the details. Something in me knew it were the details that made the whole story. Her life was much more than that; I mean, my mom had been stressing that for as long as I could remember.
Her laugh broke me out of my thoughts. She continued, "How different my life would have been had I stayed! But I know I ultimately wouldn't have liked it... I mean, what would happen after Grandmama would pass on? I would have to take control; I guess you could call it running away. But I was encouraged, right?" She seemed to be rambling now, and no one other than my uncle and mother understood what she was talking about. "Then the Cold War came, and we had to move, yet again. We changed our names; especially my name. I had to erase my past. And I realize I couldn't keep up my heritage."
"Grandma, why was it so important for you to erase it all?" I found myself saying, louder than my normal timid voice, so that she could hear.
I braced myself for something long, something intricate, but never would I have expected her to utter the next few words, "I am Anastasia."
My brother coughed, wide-eyed. My nephew tried to help his dad, but he too was in shock. We all were. What was Grandma talking about? How can she be Anastasia? I was a little shaken. OK, more than a little shaken. This was all too much. Anastasia's legacy was almost a legend; she was a mystery. A far away tale. Nothing more. And suddenly my grandma has the balls to call herself Anastasia?
But somehow, it all fit. There was always a mystery floating around Mom and Uncle Nick, the whole generation of them agreed on that. Mom had tensed up, a long time ago, when I was learning of Russian history, and eventually learned of the Revolution. She refused to help me. Mom was also particularly testy on me whenever I was disrespectful around my grandparents, even though the both of them were worse than me. But I guess that was just normal parenting. And Grandpa would always joke around saying "Your Highness" and "Your Majesty" to her, sometimes treating her like royalty. Usually there was a retort, a glance at the children, or a continuance of their joking. Really, I never got it. But I guess now I do.
I really didn't fully believe it just yet. I think I let out a scoff, because most everyone in the room glanced at me. So what? I didn't believe my grandma, despite how stable her mind was. She didn't dwell on it, and almost immediately did she start sifting through the box once more.
"This," she said to us younger generations. "Is my family. All five of us siblings. Quite a lot more than you guys, hm?" She winked. "Well, as... busy as we were, we couldn't afford it, so we made it a point to not have more children."
I shivered, and my nephew let out an audible moan. Yes, no one wanted to hear that from Grandma. Instead of being offended, however, she laughed at us, and told my uncle to see it and pass it along to us. When it got to me, I was a little taken aback. This actually looked legit. For a second, I thought I was looking at a photo from my European history text book from high school. From what I remember, there were all the Romanov children alright, with the hemophiliac boy and Anastasia to his right, and three sisters following. It was a peculiar feeling, one I couldn't shake off, as I stared at it. Then I passed it onto my mother to the left of me.
"To think that my young life had been driven on the hope that I'll be with them..." she continued sadly. "But their fate was... unfortunate..." She looked down at her palms, sadly, and suddenly I had a newfound adoration for her. "Grandmama really was the only one left."
Just like history recorded, I thought. But I still had to wrap my brain around this. I had to gather what I knew. My grandma's name wasn't even Anastasia, it was Anya. My grandpa's name was Dimitri, and he mentioned being a kitchen boy once. I smiled to myself. Was it childhood love? No, she said she found love on her journey to her grandma. I had to ask.
"What...was that journey?" I croaked out.
"Honey, I don't know if she has strength for that story," my mom told me, a look of sadness and stubbornness in her eyes. It wasn't hard to figure where she got that willpower from.
"Tanya, shh," Grandma said to her. "I have strength for whatever I need to say. They need to know their heritage too. I can't deprive them. You don't know how long I wished for such a thing." I knew I never longed for such a thing, because here in America, I felt like my culture was the culture here. Though, I could say I was more than interested in where my family came from; especially now, since my grandma claimed I was of royal blood!
Timeline of this reality: Anastasia "Anya". Born 1906. Missing 1916 (10). Returned and missing 1924 (18). Gave birth 1927 (22). Gave birth again 1933 (27). Earned first grandchild 1948 (42). Earned more grandchildren through the years. Earned last grandchild 1965 (59). Had first great-grandchild 1976 (70). Husband died 1988 (82). Many more great-grandchildren until 1991 (86). Died 1996 (90).
Rating: PG
Pairings: Anya/Dimitri
Comments: WIP. Why am I so infatuated with the idea of the elderly sharing their stories? Hm. Anyway, it's not that great anyway, so it's predictable.
Inspired by 'Paved with Good Intentions' by VampedVixen; actually, it could be a direct sequel. So, call it my homage. I'm sorry I essentially...butchered Anastasia and the fanfic that inspired me. Please bear with me. Also, this is based on the Anastasia (1997) animated MOVIE, nothing real. And no language barrier. (Russian? What's Russian? I never heard of THAT language!)
This is not really how I imagined Anya and Dimitri living their life afterwards, however. I have more ideas of what had happened post-movie; I'll probably start more stories later on them. Hah.
Summary: A young woman learns a shocking secret of her family, and why her grandparents ran away from Russia.
We were paying our respects. For what, I have no idea. The old woman wasn't dead yet, and it has been a long, long time since her husband died. But... it was obvious her time was going to be soon. She had lived out her life; now it was time for it to come.
Of course, I may come off as heartless thinking these things, but it was the truth, and everyone knew it. Though, no one would have the balls to come out and say it, seeing as how nearly everyone of us is related to her. Oh come on! That makes it all the more worth it to talk trash about the situation. Or is that just me? Yeah? OK, OK, fine. I am pretty heartless. But what am I supposed to do? Sit here and act all sympathetic? No. This woman may be my grandmother but it seemed she had already died a long time ago, when my grandfather died. I guess you can call that clichéd, but really, that was the case. Before then, she had always been full of life, bickering with Grandpa, having fun with us as babies and the great-grandchildren. But oldness had finally taken its toll, and it was obvious that her life was much too full.
It seemed to be most apparent now, when she was laying on that bed of hers, eyes drifting into space. My mother, now at 63-years-old, held tightly onto her hand, while my uncle, just five years ahead of my mother stood behind them, his own hand on Grandmother's shoulder. It was...really sad to see. And suddenly a pang of guilt hit me, punishing me of my hurtful thoughts earlier. But I knew I couldn't help it. It was one of those feelings that I got from time to time; I felt that it was in my blood to joke around. Speaking of joking around, I heard a baby's laugh, and I realized it was coming from my own child.
My child was now nearing four years old. Not a baby, but close enough. The fact was, this child, who I named after my mother Tanya, was my child, and she could bring me out of any stupor. But I wasn't here to revel in my child. I was here to pay respects to my grandmother; the one who brought us here to America. Well... to tell the truth, I really don't know if she was the one who brought us here. But whatever the case, I doubt we were all making a point to give her gratitude about it. I mean, my own nephew came to this in bleached jeans and a plaid, flannel shirt. What did he call it a couple years ago? Grunge?
I really came here because Mom told me to; she said that Grandma had been through so much, that we had to actually come here and respect her. So I did. Naturally. With my husband and child in tow. The husband, of course, left right away, though. I knew I should have seen that coming. One of my cousins, who was one of uncle Nick's, reached out to me, so that she could take Tanya outside with the other children. I was thankful for the rest, and I nodded her away. I stayed in the room with my mother, my uncle and his son, my brother, my "grunge" nephew, and, of course, my grandma.
My grandma called out in the air, catching all of our attentions. "I want.. box..." My uncle Nick nodded intently, and rushed out of the room. A few moments later, he was back, with a carved box. I locked eyes with my cousin, and we both shrugged in confusion.
"Mother, I don't want you straining yourself!" my mom said.
"Oh, it's not as if I'm not gonna croak soon," my grandma replied to her. I have to say, what a feisty old lady. "I just want...the box." She closed her eyes, tired from all of this, seemingly. But she seemed to have enough energy to open the box, eyes twinkling with a kind of young delight. I had never seen her this happy since Grandpa died. I had never even seen this box.
"Grandma," I felt my voice pipe up. I didn't even know I was talking. "What is that?" I wanted to pardon my rudeness, my interrupting of her remembering, but I couldn't bring myself to. I was thankful she was just smiling back at me.
"Why, these are of my family..." she said slowly. Family? Never, ever, had I heard her mention a hint of her past; she and Grandpa were quite the opposite of most grandparents, it seemed, since they never talked of their lives ever. "My family... back in Russia." I stared straight at her, taking in the old woman's delight. I tried to pull my gaze away from her, but it was difficult. I had to admit, I wanted to know more.
She closed her eyes and breathed in. Let a small smile grow on her face. And then back to work. Grandma was looking around in the box, taking out photos, and letters, and locks of hair. I was amazed by how much that little thing could hold! She stopped at one photo, however, and took it in. She turned to my uncle and my mother, and whispered, "That was your great-grandmother. I'm afraid... I was only there to see her for just... that one day." What did that mean?
Furrowing my brows again, I raised my voice to ask another question. But my nephew beat me to the punch. In a loud voice, he asked, "Why only one day? What happened?"
She smiled at him, seemingly not caring about what he was wearing. Maybe I was the judgmental one. "Well... All my life... I was searching for her. Eventually, I... had went on a journey. The journey eventually got me to my only family -- her, my grandmother. And, upon my finding her, I found something else..." She coughed slightly. "Love. It was unexpected. And my grandma gave encouraged me to go after what would make me happy, even if I was reunited with her for just a day... I ultimately chose love, and here I am."
Something about her story was more than intriguing. Maybe because it was part of my past, maybe because it was just interesting in itself, even without all the details. Something in me knew it were the details that made the whole story. Her life was much more than that; I mean, my mom had been stressing that for as long as I could remember.
Her laugh broke me out of my thoughts. She continued, "How different my life would have been had I stayed! But I know I ultimately wouldn't have liked it... I mean, what would happen after Grandmama would pass on? I would have to take control; I guess you could call it running away. But I was encouraged, right?" She seemed to be rambling now, and no one other than my uncle and mother understood what she was talking about. "Then the Cold War came, and we had to move, yet again. We changed our names; especially my name. I had to erase my past. And I realize I couldn't keep up my heritage."
"Grandma, why was it so important for you to erase it all?" I found myself saying, louder than my normal timid voice, so that she could hear.
I braced myself for something long, something intricate, but never would I have expected her to utter the next few words, "I am Anastasia."
My brother coughed, wide-eyed. My nephew tried to help his dad, but he too was in shock. We all were. What was Grandma talking about? How can she be Anastasia? I was a little shaken. OK, more than a little shaken. This was all too much. Anastasia's legacy was almost a legend; she was a mystery. A far away tale. Nothing more. And suddenly my grandma has the balls to call herself Anastasia?
But somehow, it all fit. There was always a mystery floating around Mom and Uncle Nick, the whole generation of them agreed on that. Mom had tensed up, a long time ago, when I was learning of Russian history, and eventually learned of the Revolution. She refused to help me. Mom was also particularly testy on me whenever I was disrespectful around my grandparents, even though the both of them were worse than me. But I guess that was just normal parenting. And Grandpa would always joke around saying "Your Highness" and "Your Majesty" to her, sometimes treating her like royalty. Usually there was a retort, a glance at the children, or a continuance of their joking. Really, I never got it. But I guess now I do.
I really didn't fully believe it just yet. I think I let out a scoff, because most everyone in the room glanced at me. So what? I didn't believe my grandma, despite how stable her mind was. She didn't dwell on it, and almost immediately did she start sifting through the box once more.
"This," she said to us younger generations. "Is my family. All five of us siblings. Quite a lot more than you guys, hm?" She winked. "Well, as... busy as we were, we couldn't afford it, so we made it a point to not have more children."
I shivered, and my nephew let out an audible moan. Yes, no one wanted to hear that from Grandma. Instead of being offended, however, she laughed at us, and told my uncle to see it and pass it along to us. When it got to me, I was a little taken aback. This actually looked legit. For a second, I thought I was looking at a photo from my European history text book from high school. From what I remember, there were all the Romanov children alright, with the hemophiliac boy and Anastasia to his right, and three sisters following. It was a peculiar feeling, one I couldn't shake off, as I stared at it. Then I passed it onto my mother to the left of me.
"To think that my young life had been driven on the hope that I'll be with them..." she continued sadly. "But their fate was... unfortunate..." She looked down at her palms, sadly, and suddenly I had a newfound adoration for her. "Grandmama really was the only one left."
Just like history recorded, I thought. But I still had to wrap my brain around this. I had to gather what I knew. My grandma's name wasn't even Anastasia, it was Anya. My grandpa's name was Dimitri, and he mentioned being a kitchen boy once. I smiled to myself. Was it childhood love? No, she said she found love on her journey to her grandma. I had to ask.
"What...was that journey?" I croaked out.
"Honey, I don't know if she has strength for that story," my mom told me, a look of sadness and stubbornness in her eyes. It wasn't hard to figure where she got that willpower from.
"Tanya, shh," Grandma said to her. "I have strength for whatever I need to say. They need to know their heritage too. I can't deprive them. You don't know how long I wished for such a thing." I knew I never longed for such a thing, because here in America, I felt like my culture was the culture here. Though, I could say I was more than interested in where my family came from; especially now, since my grandma claimed I was of royal blood!
Timeline of this reality: Anastasia "Anya". Born 1906. Missing 1916 (10). Returned and missing 1924 (18). Gave birth 1927 (22). Gave birth again 1933 (27). Earned first grandchild 1948 (42). Earned more grandchildren through the years. Earned last grandchild 1965 (59). Had first great-grandchild 1976 (70). Husband died 1988 (82). Many more great-grandchildren until 1991 (86). Died 1996 (90).