The glass in his hand felt heavy as Ivan stared at the door, waiting for the arrival of a guest who would certainly show.
The people were chatting lightheartedly near him; their topics of discussion were so simple and mundane. They were like bright, short-lived fireflies, eager young things. Ivan, on the contrary, did not feel particularly eager, and was definitely not young.
A flash a flaxen silver hair caught his eye. Ivan glided his way to the door with surprising agility for his height, preparing his mandatorily polite greeting.
Natalya's pale hair was held back in a severe psyche knot, an elegant velvet ribbon sitting on the comb, sailing through a sea of turquoises and amethysts cut en cabochon. The skirt of her empire silhouette swirled and danced as she walked, as light as the wind. Her dress lingered tastefully on the borders of Persian blue and indigo, giving her the aura of professionalism and distance.
"Natalya," Ivan stated awkwardly. There was a pause when her eyes pierced him with her dagger like gaze. She gave off a cold feeling of unapproachability. Perhaps it was in the genetics.
"Russia," she replied stiffly. Her fingers picked at the hems of her gloves as she met the Ivan's eyes with a foreign air, as if they were strangers. They were not on the best terms at the moment. Were they ever?
"Ah," He struggled to find a conversational topic to lighten the atmosphere, "How is our sister?" He has not seen Yekaterina in a long time, a few decades, at least. Natalya shrugged and gave a non-committal hum.
"We're not here to say pretty things, Russia," She said matter-of-factly, turning her head to stare at the paintings on the wall. She looked like the way she used to, more gentle and docile. She almost looked like a little girl again. "I did not come all the way simply to have idle chat. Why have you asked me to come here?" Her voice wasn't particularly malicious, more factual that anything else.
This was extremely depressing. Ivan could not invite one of the few people who he felt was family without a motive, apparently. Everything that happened these days seemed to be political in some way or the other.
"On the contrary," Ivan started, "I thought that we could just talk, as humans. We haven't spoken in a few years, and I thought it would be a nice time to reconcile with each other. How have you been, Natalya?"
"Is that all?" Natalya asked with disbelief, and the slightest shade of disappointment, "Then I am afraid I can't stay for long. I have work in Minsk I must attend to." She fidgeted uncomfortably as she stared at the extremely captivating depiction of shiny green grapes, refusing to meet his gaze. What work did she possibly have, Ivan thought to himself bitterly, if Belarus is already part of the Russian empire? The addition of so many new territories was great news for his leaders, but more work for Ivan himself to shoulder.
Besides, Natalya wouldn't be able to stay awake for the entire ride back. With her bloodshot eyes and slightly bowlegged walk meant anything, she must be absolutely exhausted from the trip.
"I wonder," Ivan said suddenly, causing Natalya's violet eyes to snap back to him. When had her eye's turned from a naïve blue into the cool, collected violet? "I wonder why we can no longer just meet, like brother and sister."
"So do I," Natalya said quietly, eyes glazed over and distant, "So do I."
She turned and walked towards the door, the skirt billowing behind her. Her hand hesitated on the door for just a fraction of a second, before marching away with determination.
Then she was gone.
