A/N: Alright, so this story is pretty basic in the summary. Basically about a Russian girl-turned-vampire during the Russian Revolution/World War I, and this is one of my first Historical Fiction works, so I apologize if its inaccurate! (Though some of it it supposed to be). Anyways, I hope you enjoy and review.

~V.M.R.

My last day as a human was one of the most unsuspecting and normal days of my life.

I got up in the blue-black coldness of the morning and heaved chunks of wood from the cellar to the fireplace in one of the many parlor rooms in the Winter Palace. I stood watching the flames crackle and snap the splintering wood and reveled in the glow the warmth cast across my face. After that, I decided to look out the large floor-to-ceiling window that let in all the early morning light. I had always been the earliest riser in my family. They said that when I was a baby I would be up and blabbering before the clock struck five thirty.

I looked at the large longcase clock and saw that it was indeed before five thirty. I put my hand up against the cold glass of the window and stared as the midnight blue moon shone off the snow. I crouched in front of the fireplace for a few more moments before rising and walking into the Rotunda and staring up at the oculus that let the dim moonlight pour through and illuminate the vestibule. I walked in circles around the Rotunda, running my hands along the pillars that kept it up, humming a soft lullaby to myself that my grandmother sang to me when I was a baby.

I walked around the Palace and when the clock struck six I went up to the room I shared with my sister and my aunt to slip on the warmest boots I could find and a hat and scarf across the bottom half of my face. I arrived in the Winter Palace's gardens and strolled, admiring the snowflakes that dripped in tiny crystals from the barren trees, creating small frozen puddles on the cobblestone ground, sleeking the pathways over with a lustrous sheen.

When I turned a corner, I saw my brother, Matvey, leaning against a tree, looking almost catatonic as he stared off into the distance and back up at the sky.

Like me, Matvey loved waking up early in the mornings. Although he usually did that to be by himself. I'm not sure why, but Matvey liked being by himself and was the quietist out of all my siblings. He was a brooding and lurking figure, usually shielding away in the shadows. I tip-toed away from the gardens, leaving him in the quiet of the early morning. I walked back into the Palace and up the main staircase before glancing outside the tall windows. The sun had risen.

At nine o'clock, my entire family began to cook alongside the other servants who had stayed in the Winter Palace long before we came here. We cooked stacks of blini—a thin Russian pancake made from buckwheat—and once it was served, I smeared mine entirely with sour cream, just as I loved it. My sister Mildred wrinkled her nose at me and spread hers with jam while drinking her tea.

Nearing the afternoon, I did small chores around the Palace. I cleaned, dusted, arranged flowers, and kindled the necessary fireplaces with coke to make the rooms warm. I organized the rooms and helped my sister and my aunt fix up our own room.

When the sun began to leave its center point in the sky, I was in the library, clearing the dust away from the glass cabinets which held the thick assortments of books. I opened one cabinet after another and flipped through pages of books from different places. I found one in English, which I could proudly read, and was surprised to find one in Latin.

Unfortunately, I can't read Latin.

At around three o'clock, I began to study. I went straight into mathematics with my sister studying by my side. As I scowled at the numbers in front of me, my older brother named Andrei came and flicked Mildred's pin, the diamond and sapphire brooch our grandmother gave her. She threw him a glare as she harshly slapped his arm.

Despite Andrei having been the oldest out of our sibling unit, he was the happiest and the most immature. It was a trait he shared with my other brother, Alexei. Shortly after Andrei left, Matvey came and chatted with my sister. Mildred was the only one who could really make Matvey comfortable and smile.

After studying, the sun began to set, meaning dinner was to be served.

It was simple. Borsch with pirozhki. Beetroot soup and stuffed buns. We all ate together. I remember it clearly. My sister was on my left, like she always was, and my brother Alexei was on my right. Matvey was next to Mildred and Andrei was next to Alexei. My mother and father sat across from us with my grandmother and grandfather on their left and my aunt and uncle on their right. The other servants seated themselves around the table randomly.

Despite the turmoil in Russia in 1917, we attempted to seek a sort of sanctuary in the Palace. We shut our windows to the city of Petrograd and busied ourselves with chores for the Tsar we knew would never return. Nicholas and his family had been gone for a considerable amount of weeks and I missed his daughter, Anastasia, who had been my best friend during our young years.

I had been with her in the Alexander Palace when the family and their servants were placed under house arrest in February and I had been with her when they were supposed to leave to safety to Tobolsk in Siberia. She had hugged me and tears were on her face and mine as well. We said nothing, but what was there left to say? Only to hope that one of us would live through this and tell our children. When she left, I cried the entire night, somehow knowing I'd never see her again.

I remember reading a letter she wrote to me. "Goodby. Don't forget us."

I smiled silently, ignoring the spelling error. She was at Yekaterinburg now and I hoped that she was safe. I knew someday the Bolsheviks would near here, but I always thought we'd be out of the city by that time. My family's stay in the Winter Palace was supposed to be secret, and, just like the Romanovs, we were also supposed to be transported to safety. Alexander Kerensky, the man who moved Anastasia and her family to Siberia, had promised us a safe location as well. He said that us being near the Romanovs was dangerous, which is why he had us transported to the Winter Palace for temporary residency. We have been here for eight months now.

That last day, I remember looking out a window, growing weary of the sad-looking water of the Neva River, and turning into various corridors before reaching the Armorial Hall.

I had been in here once during my childhood. I was thirteen and working in the kitchen as a party ravaged through the Hall. I peeked through the hall and was amazed to see the hall filled with beautiful lights, a plethora of multi-colored dresses that sparkled across the dance floor, men in well-pressed uniforms, and people laughing.

Laughing.

I remembered those laughs so clearly, as if I would go insane if I let go of that memory. It was a reminder that not everything was sad, not everything was falling apart. People still laughed in this world, people still joked and smiled. If I didn't remind myself of that small fact every dark morning I woke up, then I might as well be miserable for the rest of my life.

I walked into the Hall and looked at the vast emptiness. Glancing out the windows, I looked into the night sky that loomed in the trees in the courtyard and the entrance to the Palace Square that lay beyond it. I looked up at the clean white ceilings which held two large chandeliers of immense ornate design with two smaller chandeliers hanging on either side. The golden pillars that surrounded the room glowed dimly in the chandelier's light and seemed to cast a glare on the majority of the windows, making it a tad bit difficult to see past my own reflection.

I cocked my head to the side and stared at myself a while.

I was small, a bit smaller than the average fifteen-year-old, with long brown hair that had a slight wave to it as it spilled past my shoulders and lay loosely around my head. My eyes were the same as my grandfather's: strikingly blue against the light skin and dark hair. My eyes seemed a bit dim, as if I hadn't been sleeping well, and my face retained the same sleepy quality. I tried to animate my face by scowling at my reflection, sticking out my tongue, making outrageous faces.

I heard a soft laugh and turned to see my grandfather, Kol, near the entrance. Kol was my father's father, his wife being my father's mother, and along with his wife were the only grandparents I had left. My mother's parents died when I was young and I didn't remember them all too clearly.

As I looked at my grandfather, I started to notice the similarities he and my father held. His skin was light like his, though his hair was dusted with gray, streaks of brown found under the well-treated hair. His eyes were still young, but held a wisdom that I hoped mine would someday. He looked younger than his age and at times, people often confused him and father for being brothers. He always laughed and said they were only trying to flatter him.

He seemed tired, just like me, though the laughter still slipped from his lips.

I frowned at him and he tried to press his lips in a hard line. He came forward and squeezed my shoulder.

"What are you doing, kisa?" he said. I shrugged, smiling at the pet name he always addressed me by.

"I don't know. I'm thinking."

He raised an eyebrow. "About what?"

I shrugged again. "How we ended up here. So secluded."

He gave me a sad smile and put his arm around my shoulder. "Come. Walk with me, talk with me."

He led me to the edge of the room and we began walking the perimeter of the Armorial Hall.

"Things aren't the same," I said.

"No, they aren't."

I furrowed my brow. "You're supposed to say 'Don't worry, Kira, it will all change.'"

"Kisa, you know I am a man of honesty. Especially towards his granddaughter."

He suddenly turned his head and coughed violently into his arm. I narrowed my eyes, hating the sounds of his lungs viciously clearing themselves. Usually, after one of these coughing fits, he would excuse himself and would go out for a walk. He'd come back completely refreshed, but the worst part was watching him go.

Despite his youthful look, I knew he was getting old. I knew that by the time I was forty, I wouldn't have my beloved grandfather by my side anymore.

"Are you alright, dedulya?"

"Da, I'm fine. Don't worry about me."

"Maybe you should go for one of your walks—?"

"No, no." He shook his head and frowned. "It's much too late. I can't now. I'll go in the morning."

Another hacking cough interrupted him. I slapped his back and his coughs turned into strangled laughs.

"You hit me any harder, you might break my back!"

I solicited a small smile and his coughs eventually cleared. He took my hand softly and squeezed it reassuringly. I felt like a little girl again, when he used to ask me to accompany him to the market to buy food for the kitchen and we would walk hand-in-hand into the streets. Even then, things had begun to grow wry and stressful. The look on everyone's faces was colder than the fiercest winter and I felt guilty about how people were dying of hunger, and here I was buying the food people couldn't afford or had just simply ran out of.

But now, in the light of the Hall, I was here with my grandfather, talking with him of small things that seemed to crowd the silence in the room.

"Why didn't we go with the Romanovs?" I asked. He sighed.

"You know very well that it's dangerous for us to be near them."

"So? We went with them when they were in the Alexander Palace, and it was dangerous then. Why couldn't we go to Siberia with them?"

He looked at me harshly and his voice took on a biting tone.

"Kira, Alexander Kerensky has gone through a great deal of sacrifice and trouble to hide us here in secrecy. He is trying to protect us and he knows that we being near them will only put our family in more danger."

I let go of his hand and only shook my head. "I think being here is more dangerous," I mumbled.

He looked at me for a moment. We had reached the other side of the room and we stood near a large window, the light of the chandeliers bouncing off the glass. His lips pressed into a hard line.

"I believe you're right."

Those four words struck a hard core in me. Whenever an adult agrees with you, you feel either two things: elation or fear. And you never feel them at the same time. I only stared up at him.

"Why?"

He smiled softly and ruffled my hair. "Why are you asking 'why'? I'm only saying I agree with you."

"But—"

"Don't fret so much, Kira." He patted my shoulder. "We'll be in a safer place soon. All Mr. Kerensky has to do is arrange a place for us and we will be safe in no time."

I nodded and we slowly started walking again, coming closer to the next window.

"So, when do you think—?"

BAM!

The deafening sound of bullets shooting through the glass window in front of us resounded through out the whole Winter Palace.

*kisa—pet name in Russian meaning "kitty."

*dedulya—meaning "granddaddy" in Russian.