Disclaimer: I do not own these characters. This story is a fictional non-profitable work.

First Chapter

La Gare des Invalides

Friday. Late afternoon. The sun was rapidly drowning down into the blurred horizon. The streets of Paris, usually crammed and lively at this hour of the day, were now endued for a few straggling people who rushed their ways towards a shelter. Dimitri, for his part, locked inside himfelf, hadn't notice the flurry until he stumbled violently onto a little man. That was enough to shake him up into reality again. While he mumbled something as to apologize, not really interested about the man's welfare , he noted his improper open umbrella. It would rain. If that was another day, in another city, Dimitri would certainly laugh to himself before spitting a jesting comment to his friend Vlad, but all he could do this time was to keep walking down the dim streets. The lamp lights started to glint. The empty magasins were now stroking a mysterious light from their interior, making the falling night even more ghostly. All of a sudden he remembered the gracious moment when Anya came out of a luxury store wearing a beautiful lavender dress. Her pure and childish smile returned amuckly to his mind, and he had to acknowledge again she was already becoming Anastasia. He sensed a bitter flavour bulking in his mouth. Remembering that made him feel sick. She danced, she laughed, she grabbed his arm affecttively as if they both were feeling the same. Anya wasn't aware of the troubles he was in. At that time her heart was wide open, whereas Dimitri's was completely broken. He knew something she didn't. They couldn't be together. They couldn't enroll themselves into love. The bitter liquid became thicker. Anya is happy now. She is ready to start a whole new life. She has finally returned to her real home, she has finally found her grandma. She is fine! Dimitri tried to ease his grieve down, but the pain just got worse. So he stopped roaming in order to recover from that sudden sickness. He lowered his head a little bit and took a deep breath. After a couple of seconds he felt better. Then he recalled the comical umbrella man he had crashed onto. He peeked the heavy sky above and instinctively looked down to his old watch. It was five fifteen and the sun had already disappeared between the dark clouds. He knew it would rain sooner or later, and he wasn't holding an umbrella. That wasn't like he cared about his clothes being soaked anyway. Actually, a rain washing could do good for him.

After two long hours wandering through unknown streets, his clothes so wet his body started trembling from the cold touch, Dimitri decided that was time to be a man on the run. The rain had stopped some minutes ago. There was no reason left for him to stay. He had to be a grown up man. Roving was a thing for a boy. Walking under the rain was a thing for a stupid boy. Dimitri was definitely not a boy. Since he was only eight, he's been working hard and restlessly, so he knew life toughness better than men three times his age. He was definitely not a boy. Why would he keep losing himself in Paris narrow streets, avenues and boulevards? The night was utterly settled. He shoudn't be there anymore, but Paris was so sightly shining he found it hard to leave. The City of Light. He would miss it. He would miss its charm, he would miss its promises. And he knew deep inside once he left the city he would never find the key to his heart again. It would remain there eternally, lost on some the Opera stairs, or forgotten inside a glass of champagne. Or secretly kept in the swell of Anya's tiny breasts . There would be no way back. He shook his head as to vanish away any trace of fear in his mind. He had to be brave. He could not divert from his mission.

Paris needed to be left forever.

He took his way through the Rue de Sevres, turned to the right and passed by the monument of Pasteur Breteuil, another name he couldn't even read. He sped up his pace and the Avenue de Segur was nothing but a blur to his eyes. No, he could not succumb; he could not let Paris cast its spell upon him. He had to be out. He had to leave. That wasn't place for a man like him- a man dressing the same set of clothes for the thousandth time. He was a filthy mess. The servant boy had grown up to be a loathsome conman. He sold stolen goods, he tricked innocent people, he lied to naïve young women… Luckily someday the soviet police would find him at shady quarters of St. Petersburg and ravish his existence out of Earth. Or his destiny was to die alone in bleak Russian winter. Indeed he should wait for this to come. Winter would snow down only nine months later. He would live in the meantime. What would he do during the other seasons? Vodka! Shlyukhi! One liter of alcohol a day would be enough to obliterate Anya's slender figure. A women a day would be enough to make him forget Anya's strong scent. That wouldn't be bad at all. He still had a few good friends in Russia. Mikhail, the whorehouse manager. Vyacheslav, the opium dealer. Anton, the foul theater owner. Good friends. Good friends, what a joke! They could kill him if that was necessary.

Vlad has decided to stay in Paris with Sophie. After all, he deserved to be happy. Vladimir was a good man. The sweetest one Dimitri knew, actually. How life would be without him? Vlad has been a friend and a father to Dimitri since they met in 1920. At that time, Dimitri was only a fourteen-year-old bony chit laying on a filthy floor, resting after a hard day of work. He was almost losing the battle against sleepiness when he felt someone smoothly approaching. He lost his breath for a while. Surely something bad would happen if he let his guard down. Thus he lugged a thin knife from his pocket and waited for the man's first move...

Are you hungry, my boy? Dimitri then lift his face up to meet Vlad's chubby one and noticed a kind smile on his face. A good man: Vladimir Vanya Voinitsky Vasilovich.

At that memory Dimitri's chest distended with an odd warm feeling. He almost let a grin half grow on his face. He would miss Vlad very much. Very much! Well, maybe dying under stinging snow was excessively dramatic, he confessed to himself. He was young; he had an entire lifetime ahead. He could work as most of Russian people; he could even find a nice woman and have children. And Vlad would come once a year to visit him and his family.

Maybe.

At the Avenue du Quesne he quickened his pace even more. He was decidedly heading back to St. Petersburg, even though he didn't know how to get there. Rushing was not enough. He needed a map or someone to tell him his way. He didn't speak French, but he knew gare meant station. He had an idea. Oui! La gare, la gare! La gare! He first asked a man wearing an elegant overcoat, who turned away before grunting cursing words Dimitri couldn't understand. Next he stopped a drunk young man who wasn't even capable of minding his own way. His third attempt succeeded. A gentle old lady understood what he wanted and explained the way to the station by body gestures.

He followed the woman's instructions.

Tourner à la gauche; Avenue Breteuil; Boulevard des Invalides; Rue des Constantines...

… la Gare des Invalides.

After ten minutes he arrived.

There wasn't too many people there. He first saw a group of French men talking cheerfully, and after he peeked a young mother trying to quiet her baby's cry down. At the opposite side of the station, a happy couple studied attentively the landscape paintings on the wall. Right behind them, three people were sitting on a large brown bench, two of them reading magazines; the other one just waiting for something he wouldn't know. Dimitri didn't take longer on his observation. He had something important to do. Fortunately, there were only three people standing in the line he mentally chose. Soon he would be out. He went towards the line when some blurred images began to form in his mind against his will.

Anya at the ball dancing with graceful gentlemen, swaying and whirling across the enlightened ball room. Anya grinning! The royal crown on the top of her red head, a sparkling diamond jewelry.

She doesn't need me.

A blonde young lady bought her ticket and left the line.

Anya eating all the food she can swallow, sucking her luscious fingers, letting out a satisfied groan. Anya happy!

She doesn't need me.

A mustached short man bought his ticket and left the line.

Anya cheerfully playing with Pooka, giving him the rest of her licked chicken thigh, laughing when Pooka barks in contentment at her.

She doesn't need me.

That was now the turn of a long nosed man to buy a train ticket.

Dimitri would be the next. He looked at the station box office and gasped painfully. He knew all he had to do was to buy a ticket and he would be out. Therefore he calmly dug his left hand in his overcoat pocket to fumble with his money and…

She doesn't.

He felt something frail between his fingers. That was not cold as the metal. His heart stopped. He knew what it was. He knew where it had come from. He knew what it meant. He pulled it out of his pocket.

It had already blossomed.

He couldn't help but smile genuinely at that vision. Anya's flower in his hands, a rose. Une rose. He suddenly realized what he wanted.

He wanted a chance in life. He wanted happiness. He wanted love. He wanted Paris. He wanted light. He wanted tenderness. He wanted Anya.

Vous êtes le prochain.

Dimitri woke up from his reverie by a soft touch of a feminine hand. He stared at her blankly, not yet recovered from his epiphany. After figuring out what was happening, he squeezed slightly the woman's shoulder and babbled a couple of incomprehensive words as he guided his body out of the line.

He left la Gare des Invalides.

Author´s notes:

Hello, everyone!

This is the first story I write based on Anastasia's fictional universe. I'm so glad I made it! I've been planning this for so long! Cheers!

Well, now I think I owe you some explanations. Firstly, the names of streets, monuments and places found in this story are real. I wrote this story based on a 1920 Paris' map. Still, in order to create a more realistic French ambiance, I also chose to use French words and expressions sometimes. Here you find the meanings to them:

"Gare des Invalides" means " "Invalids' station".

"Touner à la gauche" means "Turn to the left".

"Vous ètes le prochain" means "You're the next".

There is only one word in Russian, "shlyukhy", which means "sluts".

If I forgot something, please tell me. I also ask you to correct me when necessary. English is not my first language. Thank you very much for reading this so far. I hope you guys enjoyed it!

Next chapter will be released soon!