"Anastasia!" Dmitry called, shielding his eyes from the burning sun.
"Anastasia!"
The young princess did not move, instead remained talking to her little brother who sat across from her. She couldn't hear him. He had to get closer, she had to see him.
A trail of guards marched to the side, following the caravan in which all the royals sat. Even at ten years old, Dmitry was small enough to slip through them. Ever since his father had died, he'd been forced to learn how to hide in plain sight, how to sneak his hands into pockets unnoticed, how to run fast enough to steal and get away.
He balled his fists. He could get through. He'd have to be quick, that was for sure, but that wasn't a problem. Taking a breath, he ran and ducked under the guards.
"Anastasia!" he yelled once more, daring to hope.
The girl turned her head, looking for the sound of the voice. As her eyes met his, she stopped, staring at him.
A glowing smile spread across her face, and he instantly returned it. She's smiling at me, he thought distantly. On a whim, he spread out his arm and bowed, just like he had seen others do for the royals. When he straightened, her smile was bigger than ever, and he gazed back at her, his smile so big it made his cheeks ache. The world seemed to freeze in that moment, a Russian princess smiling at him, the warm sun heating the top of his head, the clear blue sky. His breaths were slow in his chest, the world's movements as slow as syrup. Suddenly, he blinked and the world's pace rolled along again. The sun caught his eyes and forced him to squint against its light. When he was finally able to see again, the caravan had moved significantly forward, almost out of sight.
No! he thought, running after it. Suddenly, someone had grabbed his arm and yanked him back.
"Get out of here, rat!" they yelled, tossing him to the ground. He hit the dirt hard, coughing. His palms had rolled across gravel, they were skinned raw now. Shaking, he stood and saw that the road was now abandoned. She was gone.
When his father had died, an emptiness had filled him, like a piece of coal in his chest. Seeing her smile, it had made that emptiness vanish, even for just a moment. But now it returned, and he dreaded the feeling. He looked down at his bloody palms and tried to wipe them on his clothes. Sighing, he set off for home, a small hideout he'd made for himself. As he brushed past people, he heard them muttering.
"Stupid.."
"What a foolish thing to do..."
"Idiot child..."
The words followed close behind him, but Dmitry did not mind them.
She had been worth it.
1917
Dmitry sat back against the wall and pulled his hat over his eyes. His nap was disturbed by a tap on his shoulder.
"Go away," he groaned.
"Dmitry, have you heard what happened?" the voice said.
Angrily, he shoved his hat back up onto his head.
"Natalie," he said, looking up at her.
She quickly sat next to him.
"Well?" he asked expectantly.
"It's the Romanovs," she exhaled.
Dmitry stared at her. "What about them?"
She didn't look at him, just kept staring down at the ground.
"They're dead," she finally said.
Dmitry was on his feet before he'd even realized he'd moved.
"What?" he asked.
"They're gone. All of them," she replied. He collapsed back into a sitting position next to her again.
"What about… what about Anastasia?" he dared to ask.
"Her too," Natalie said.
She was gone.
Natalie stood and said something else, but he could not hear her. There was a ringing in his ears. He stared at the wall across from him. Natalie left.
There it was again, that feeling. That emptiness in his chest. He had not felt it for years, but it was back again, just as prominent as before. What had once been the treatment for his pain was now the cause of it.
He thought briefly of the smile she'd given him, and buried his head in his hands.
She was gone.
For the last eight years, she had been a beacon to him- one of hope, escape. That moment had been one of the only things he'd had for ages. And now, it was gone too. Just like everything else.
He swallowed hard, tightened his jaw. She didn't matter anymore.
He stood, shaking his head.
She didn't matter anymore.
The Grand Duchess Anastasia Nikolaevna Romanov was dead.