Alright you guys, I can't believe I'm doing this...Sure, I expected to do this someday, but I never thought so soon...My ideas for Anya's in-between story were so dry compared to Dmitri's, I'm still fearing that this isn't going to be as great of a ride. Still, I'm doing this. Ideas are coming to me, new, hopefully exciting...I'm happy.
Anyways. This is a companion story to "Red Blood, White Snow". You do not need to read Red Blood, White Snow first, these stories will be interchangeable. Some parallels will be drawn between the two, however, most of them appear in this first chapter. In short explanation, Red Blood, White Snow follows Dmitri, this story follows Anya, during and after the prologue and before the official movie starts. Four chapters. Nothing more, nothing less.
I extend thanks out to my friend Luna, who helped me keep Margaretta more caring and less strict, and also thanks to fellow user MaxAnyaElphie for kicking my butt and having me work on this somewhat inadvertently. Do keep in mind though that the last half of this is severely unedited - I wanted to get it finished, and I have no time to proofread as well as I usually do because buh-buh-dunn, I have finals this week. Changes may occur in the future.
Two notes before we begin: Margaretta was an Irish governess for the four Romanov girls. She was, however, replaced by 1916, the time the prologue starts, and I believe she was replaced before Anastasia was 8, even. (FYI, Anastasia was 16ish when she was executed in 1916-17. Oops, Don Bluth.) I understand that Margaretta should not be here, but if Don Bluth can screw up history, so can I. Plus, Irish people. Second note: I know in the credits is says "Dowager Empress Marie", but Nicholas's mother's name (or pet-name, at least) was Minny. Ergo, Grandmama Minny. And now, enjoy!
Chapter 1
Three-hundred years! That's what everyone was celebrating today! Not that the young Anastasia could comprehend such a large number with such a long amount of time attached to it, but the contagious excitement had settled into every resident member of the palace, and she was swept up into the dusty cloud of laughter. Everything was decorated in gold, the color of happiness and prosperity. Tonight a colossal dance was to take place in the palace's great ballroom, the grandest Anastasia had ever seen. She, at eight years old, was a ripe little flame full of joy, ferocity, and a hint of mischievousness, a perfect portrait of her departed grandfather. Czar Alexander III would've been proud if he had lived long enough to see his grandchildren.
The nurses that attended to her were rather frustrated. As they tried to dress her in her proper traditional robes she fidgeted and fussed, far too hyperactive to sit in one place for long. At one point she had even tripped one of the nurses, causing a bloody nose. It was at this point that, all things considered, they were going to tie the little girl down until she would be presentable at the ball.
"Goodness, you little shvibzik! Hold still, this won't hurt your pretty little skin a bit!" her governess wailed as Anastasia pretended to dance along to unheard music, always pulling away from the woman's fingers. The entire back of her petticoat was unbuttoned and open, and her Irish governess was chasing her about the room, arms outstretched as she constantly tried to reach for the buttons. It was no wonder that the English-speaking woman called the girl by her Russian nickname, referring to her as an imp. Absolutely no progress was reached until Anastasia ran straight into her older sister, Maria. Maria, two years older than her, watched as her younger sister bounced off and landed on her seat on the carpet.
"Awww," Anastasia complained as she pouted up to her older sister. Their Irish governess, Margaretta, snatched upon her chance and buttoned up the back of the petticoat. Grumpily, Anastasia stood up and crossed her arms at her older sister. Maria was known to the siblings as the goody-two-shoes, the angelic one who never got into any mite of trouble whatsoever and in turn ruined everybody else's pranks. Though she looked apologetic, she gave a quiet, polite little nod to Margaretta as she finished dressing Anastasia.
"Now don't you go complaining, miss. Your sister Maria had her moment of terror, racing through the palace stark naked. Oh yes she did. Stop your giggling, Anastasia, t'wasn't funny!"
Anastasia's red hair popped through the cerulean garb, followed by her grinning face. Margaretta couldn't help but give the tiniest of a smile at the girl's bright features, and smoothed the girl's traditional robe out. The gold thread that had been woven into patterns complimented the blue, shimmering in the light.
"There you are, love, all nice and pretty for the ball now," Margaretta spoke, combing Anastasia's hair with her fingers. She had raised most of the girls since birth, and in doing so had developed a deep bond with each of them and their feisty personalities. Anastasia's fine hair twiddled over her fingertips as she smiled deeply into the little girl's eyes. Such promise and warmth. So young and impish. Her face turned into a comical frown as she took the girl by her shoulders, shaking her a little, "And don't you eat all those chocolates again, remember what happened last time? Those fancy opera gloves, stained to mud!"
The girl's grin widened as she squirmed away from the governess's grasp. Maria, already dressed her her traditional gown, twirled around as she spoke.
"Don't worry, Nana, Grandmama Minny will look after her," she reassured the governess. Anastasia's great blue eyes shone gleefully at the mention of their grandmother's name. Suddenly remembering something important, she stumbled over the trails of her robe to the back of her and Maria's bedroom. Nearly tearing apart a shelf of papers, she ignored Maria's audible complaining until she gave an "aha!" of joy, holding a drawing out in front of her.
"You're going to give that to Grandmama, aren't you?" Everyone in the room looked to see Olga, the eldest daughter of the Czar, poking her head in, "That drawing of a pig riding a donkey?"
Anastasia brought the drawing protectively to her side, glaring viciously at her sister. Before the governess or Maria knew what was happening, the two girls had shouted at each other, and in the blink of an eye Anastasia gave rageful chase to Olga, who was flying down the hallways, laughing at her deeds. Margaretta followed them belatedly, calling after the youngest daughter.
"Your headwear, my dear! You've forgotten your headwear!" The governess sighed, following the girls at an odd little run, "Oh bollocks, what a day!"
The festivities of the upcoming new year were royally lavish. Buzzing with frantic activity, the kitchens and the servant's quarters ran to and fro to prepare everything, spongy, delicate cakes, roasted, seasoned poultry, breads of all grains, buttered fish from the sea, steamy vegetables springing earthy aromas and complimenting the sweet fruits about them, all on silver and gold platters ferried everywhere to the hungry mouths of the nobles. The food was exceptional and seemingly unending, entertaining the guests with sweet smells and robust flavors. The warm colors of the palace heated the atmosphere by simply being gold, chasing away the cold flecks of snow in the icy blues outside. People everywhere were dancing in time with the festive music, laughing jovially and clapping their hands whenever they pulled away from their partners. Lace and Romanov diamonds wrapped around the pillars and hung from the ceiling, gleaming on the great chandelier that hung above everyone's heads, helping to wash the room in the golden glow. The floor was polished to a sheen, reflecting the gold and allowing Anastasia and her sisters to slide across the floor in great fun. Holding contests with Tatiana, Anastasia and her older sister made faces at the floor, giggling and laughing at their reflections. Tatiana and Olga had returned home along with their father from the western edges of Russia for this feast, temporarily retiring from their nursing at the front lines of the war that everybody was saying was ravaging the western earth. Anastasia had no comprehension of such things, and with the warm glow from the light and happiness wrapping her in perfectly fitting clothing she could not believe that all the terrible things she had eavesdropped to hear were ever a history in the world.
Her father, a quiet man that had inherited his bulky strength from his father, swept her up after she stuck her tongue out and crossed her eyes at the sight of the head cook. Not very long ago she had thrown the temperamental man in the river due to his needless outbursts, and she made every available attempt to never let him forget it, too.
"Hello, darling!"
"Oh! Papa!" Anastasia cried in glee as Czar Nicholas spun her around high in the air, seeing her grandmother wave to her, a smile on her wrinkled face. Nicholas set her down as she laughed in excitement.
"Grandmama Minny's here, Papa!" Nicholas smiled at his youngest daughter and watched as she pulled a drawing from her sleeve and lifted her robe up to clamber the stairs up to his old mother. Climbing the stairs himself, he gave a smiling nod to his mother, and moved to where his other daughters and only son sat. Kneeling next to his son, he spoke softly to him, touching his soft cheek sympathetically. His son, Alexei, a hopelessly sick little boy who could only bleed and bleed more, could not join in the dances for the chance that he might tumble and bruise himself, but the Czar wanted him to know that if he smiled more, the happiness would come to him anyways. Alexei needed no second reminder, ever since his healer and caretaker left he felt layers upon layers of happier, and it was not an effort for him to smile on that night, dressed just as his father was with the exception of the royal blue sash that followed his father's broad shoulder to his hip.
"Look, Grandmama Minny!" Anastasia presented the drawing proudly, "It's for you!" The old lines that followed the Dowager Empress's face creased as she smiled, crow's feet following the corners of her eyes back to her temples.
"What a beautiful little girl!" The Dowager exclaimed as she looked at the drawing, "Did you draw this all by yourself?"
Anastasia nodded brightly before her face darkened with a cute little pout, "Olga said it looked like a pig riding a donkey. I chased her but she hid in the kitchen and I can't go there."
Her grandmother laughed merrily and pressed the drawing to her chest. Beckoning her grand-daughter closer, she dipped a knobby, jeweled hand into her purse.
"This is for you, my dear," She whispered with a smile, bringing a delicate little box out and lying it flat in her warm palm. Anastasia gasped and glanced up at her grandmother to receive confirmation that yes, this little work of art was hers. Gently using the tips of her fingers, the young girl lifted the quaint trinket off of her grandmother's hand. It was gilded, set with Romanov diamonds and topped with rich jade and a deep, royally forest green velvet. Carvings in the gilded sides depicted figures dancing amongst the majestic travels of wild horses. For once in her life, the young duchess was struck speechless as she examined the gift.
"For me? Is it a jewelry box?" Anastasia wondered breathlessly. The head cook's gravelly voice yelled in the background, accompanied by a distraught cry of a young troublemaker who had been caught. She saw it happen in her very far peripheral vision, but paid it no attention nor did she retain the memory of the event.
Her grandmother's smile turned cunning and knowing though it remained soft and motherly. Taking a fine gold chain from her purse, she gently pinched a flowery pendant between her fingers and inserted it into the side of the box.
"Look," she simply said.
A small click was barely heard above the joyous din, and her grandmother gently turned the pendant in the keyhole. As Anastasia watched in child-like awe, the jade top opened and dolls the likeness of her parents rose up on a platform, spinning and waltzing with a crowned swan cresting the inside of the box as a memorized, familiar memory played on delicate, jeweled notes.
"It plays our lullaby!" Anastasia gasped in wonder. Her grandmother's smile widened with joy and grasped Anastasia's little hand.
"You can play it at night before you go to sleep, and pretend that it's me singing!" The soft melody played between them, encompassing their universe and pushing the festive waltz music away to make room for the magic of the song the two generation-spanning friends shared. Swinging her arm back and forth, Anastasia's grandmother began to sing as the young girl waltzed along with her.
On the wind, cross the sea,
Hear this song and remember,
Anastasia's eyes deepened at the sound of her grandmother's voice, and sang along.
Soon you'll be home with me,
Once upon a December
The young girl twirled and bowed as the song finished and the music box closed. Handing the pendant to her, her grandmother whispered softly in happiness.
"Read what it says,"
It was engraved in English and small. Crossing her eyes slightly as she read, Anastasia brought the pendant up to her face and read the words aloud as she turned the pendant slowly in her fingers.
"Together...in Paris...," Joy overwhelmed Anastasia as she read the words, draping her face in smiles and shock, "Really? Oh Grandmama!"
Throwing her arms around the warm old woman, she buried her face into the Russian fur of her grandmother's shawl, humming contently as the woman's arms wrapped around her. Her grandmother laughed, gently rocking their bodies from side to side. Relishing in the softness and kindness of her grandmother's robes, Anastasia breathed deeply, clutching the music box in her small hands. The evening was precious and gilded, just as the music box was. Yes, there was commotion and complexity that could make her head spin, but this night was golden and nothing, nothing, nothing could happen that would change it.
The gold about them faded to a dark, forgotten purple. Anastasia could see it through her closed eye lids.
Breaking away from her grandmother in confusion, she looked out into the great hall in perplexity and soon in fear as the crowd of once-happy people parted to make way for a man—not out of respect, but out of the gut-wrenching fear of pestilence and plague. If there was any disgust it was hidden deeply, for the only emotion anyone was brave enough to show was fear. A glass dropped and shattered, further crushed by the man's pointed boots. A knot formed in Anastasia's throat as she watched the hooded man draw closer, his black beard giving off no natural gleam as it swung back and forth with each step. She could recognize that beard anywhere, the man who their mother forced them to call 'Our Friend', the man who was supposed to be there for Alexei and heal him but seemed to be there for her mother instead, the man who had insisted on seeing the girls to bed, dressing into nightgowns and all until Margaretta found out and chased him forever away from the girls' rooms. The man that, no matter how much her mother would ever try to convince her, seemed to be the pinnacle of evil to Anastasia.
Grigori Rasputin.
The only reason why he was banished from the royal family's presence was his madness for power and his false truths and remedies for her dear baby brother. Once the Czar had gotten wind of this and with eager persuasion from Margaretta and Grandmama Minny, Rasputin disappeared from the palace forever.
Until, of course, he stood before the royal family now. The Czar, in a rare fit of anger marched down and addressed the wretched man in a thunderous voice.
"How dare you return to the palace!"
Rasputin removed his hood, revealing his sunken, crazed face, "But, I am your confidant!"
"Confidant, hah! You are a traitor! Get out!" Anastasia shivered. Never before had she seen her father so assertive, so angry, so powerful and dominant. And yet somehow, Rasputin knew that this was not the normal Czar that ruled Russia, and continued on unfazed, his voice gaining rage and a lust for vengeance.
"You think you can banish the great Rasputin? By the unholy powers vested in me," he held up a twisted reliquary, swathed in a greedy snake and topped with a skull that had eye sockets that burned a deadly green, green as the chlorine gas Anastasia had overheard the generals talk about with such fear. Swinging the reliquary in his gnarled, bony hands, he continued, his voice growing more and more insane as he raised his tone, "I banish you with a curse!"
Everyone gasped. There was even a small gasp of fright behind Anastasia and her grandmother, what sounded to be another child near them, though Anastasia could not see. Her grandmother had gripped her hand and tightened her hold around it, desperate and frightened. Anastasia's wide blue eyes glanced up at her grandmother, afraid and lost to see her Grandmama Minny so fearful and distraught. Burying her small body into her grandmother, she shut her eyes as the man continued to bellow rotten words into the echoing hall.
"Mark my words...You and your family will die within a fortnight!"
The Czar turned around, his pale eyes sweeping over his family. He too was frightened, and now Anastasia could only squirm and hope that this was all a nightmare. She'd soon jump off of the boat from dream to reality and wake up and none of this would've ever have happened. Yes, all just a nightmare, just a nightmare...
"I will not rest until I see the end of the Romanov line, forever!" The craggy man raised the swinging reliquary, turned about, and from the skull's smooth jaw a fiery beam of hatred, bright and green, cut through the darkness, striking the chandelier. Bolts of green and white sparked, and the great chandelier in all its lace and diamonds plummeted to the ground and crashed. People screamed. Anastasia herself shrieked in terror and buried her face into her Grandmama's shoulder. Debris scattered everywhere over the cracked, polished tiles, reflecting sick green light and masking the exit of the mad monk, Grigori Rasputin.
Anastasia felt the presence of her sisters, mother, and brother as they swarmed about her and Grandmama Minny. She only turned away from the comfortable fur of the shawl when her father approached them, eyes wide and darting. Whispering urgently to the Czarina, his soft hands gripped both Maria and Grandmama Minny's shoulders. Everyone was paralyzed and unable to move, but the Czar, through some magic that he didn't even know possessed, managed to pull everything together. Whimpering, Anastasia stared off into space as her father's pale eyes flicked up and ordered a kitchen boy to fetch them water. Dazed, Anastasia watched the boy scramble away, unable to decipher the comforting words her parents and grandmother whispered to her and her siblings. The boy did not take long to return, though it looked like he spilled a lot of water when he did. Her father took the cup from the boy's hands and let each of his children take a small sip. By the time it got to Anastasia the water tasted funny and she wrinkled her nose, but drank it anyway. The kitchen boy was soon carried off by the head cook, and Anastasia cuddled closer to her grandmother, shivering.
She had not woken up.
Which means that everything the little duchess just witnessed was real.
–
There was a tense but quiet period within the palace after that. Though the Czar had tried to convince Grandmama Minny to return to Paris where she lived most of the year with the exceptions of any special holiday that she wished to celebrate with the royal family, she would not hear any words of her leaving the family in a time of crisis. While Anastasia was hiding from her governess, she eavesdropped on a conversation between the two, fascinated at the knowledge she had previously been so protected from for her own good and confidence.
"Mama, please, go back to Paris," her father pleaded, unaware of his smallest daughter curled behind the curtains.
"I won't, Nicholas. And you know I won't. I was married to your father, I am much more stubborn than you can imagine,"
"Mama, I would not go against you, but you must return to Paris—I don't feel it's safe here anymore."
"Safe? Here?" her grandmother's tone narrowed, and each step took an accent onto the quiet between them, "Is this really the first time you noticed that here is not safe? After all, how did you return from the front lines? Surrounded by angry guards who were not on your side, Nicholas. Yes, I heard. You, yourself, cannot even leave the palace anymore if you wanted to. Here, it is not safe. Let the children go to Paris if you can, but I will stay here."
"Mama, that's not right," the Czar rebutted softly, "You should go with the children,"
"Perhaps," her grandmother mused though it was obvious that she had not been convinced, "But only if that is the final choice. Nicky...," Her stone-like tone softened lovingly as she put a hand on her son's shoulder, but it soon turned colder than before to drill her words in, "You were never good at being assertive. Blame your father, or blame me, but if you could learn to broaden your shoulders and walk with confidence, we wouldn't have this predicament to talk about,"
The Czar looked at his mother, though it was impossible to tell how he truly felt—there was a glint of defeat within his eyes, but also some rebellion for he did have some strength to his name. His mother's deep green eyes bored into his pale ones, and it was all he could do to not look away. After a fit of cold silence, the Dowager Empress looked past the Czar's shoulder, and calmly but sternly spoke to the curtains when she saw the small, quaint little slippers dipping just past the tails of the curtain.
"That's enough now, Anastasia. Return to your room, there is nothing more for you to hear."
Turning around, the Czar gave a small frown as the curtains shuddered and his red-haired, red-faced daughter cautiously stepped away from her hiding place, slinking low to the ground in embarrassment. Neither adult said anything, and simply watched her escape into the depths of the palace, returning to where Margaretta was fretting over her whereabouts. Anastasia calmly let Margaretta bathe her, humming noncommittally every time her governess's expressive voice scolded, asked, or laughed at her. Margaretta had been much more antsy than normal, sometimes even requiring the help of Grandmama Minny to keep her and the children calm. Despite the absence of activity since Rasputin's appearance at the ball, everyone was uptight and nervous about the cruel possibilities that could soon come to the palace.
Dressing her in plain clothes (or rather, they were plain as far as the royals were concerned) after she was thoroughly dried off, Margaretta sent her off to the palace, for dinner was to be served within the hour. The sky was an unusual shade of earthy orange, strange for a winter's evening, but pretty nonetheless as Anastasia wandered to the dining hall, finding her family there. It was strange—the fiery lighting had all the qualities and luxury of gold, but there was something deeper in the color, something bolder and, dare she think it, angrier than the happiness that had wreathed the palace not days before this. She had barely touched the chair situated next to her forgiving grandmother when a distant, hellish gunshot shook the air, followed by a maddened, frantic guard bursting into the room.
"Revolutionaries, Your Highness! The palace is under siege! They'll be here any moment, you've got to flee!"
Just as when she was swept up into the dusty cloud of laughter before, so too was Anastasia swept into the smog of fear that settled into everyone's panting lungs. Suddenly the orange skies seemed to be dyed a horrifying bloody color, and before she knew it her father had thrown a warm coat about her shoulders and her Grandmama Minny had grasped her hand, and they were racing, racing, racing through the many halls, twists, and turns of the palace, following the guard to a safer place than this. Maria began to cry as they ran down the halls, Olga and Tatiana hiding their fears behind stone-petrified faces. Her little brother, Alexei, struggled to keep up with the constant tugging and pulling as their mother hurried him along faster than his stubby legs could take him. He too was crying, partially from confusion, partially from the pain his mother was causing him as they escaped through the hallways.
Led by her grandmother, Anastasia was the last of the long line of royals. Up at the head of the line, her father urged everyone along next to his wife, followed closely by Olga, then Tatiana and Maria. Grandmama Minny, fear creased into her usually calm and content features, forced her old legs to move as quickly as they could down the carpeted halls bordered by windows. Outside white snow blazed fiercely in the orange light, shape-shifting into malicious specters and deadly omens. Anastasia could not think as her slippered feet padded down the cushy carpets, she could only hear the frantic screams of her siblings, the confusion of the servants behind the walls, and her father calling out to comfort them all while the angry roars of insane men drew closer and closer in the background.
"Hurry, children!"
The hall was long and foreboding, scaring Anastasia until her toes shook in her slippers. She shut her eyes tightly and began to sing to herself in her head. It was only the lullaby that she and her grandmother shared that could possibly calm her at this moment, but as she began to hear the dreamy notes in her head ice gripped her small heart and she stopped dead in her tracks, wrenching her hand away from her grandmother as she turned around and began to run back through the twisting, orange-tinted corridors of the palace.
"My music box!" She cried as she ran, pushing away the crowd of servants and nobles that were following the royal family out of this forsaken place.
"Anastasia!" Her grandmother cried in shock and fear, "Come back! Come back!"
Anastasia could hear the tears form in her grandmother's voice, but she merely picked up the folds of her coat and skirt and ran, back through all the familiar doors, back to the room that held her toys and possessions, most notably the model castle from Moscow that kept her treasure safe from any wandering intruder. Soon after she had crouched in front of the castle, her grandmother followed her into the room, shutting the door behind her.
"Anastasia—,"
Grandmama Minny was going to say something more, she knew. But a sound, a horrible, wretched, booming sound that shook the floors and forced the little duchess to momentarily duck her head as though she herself was being attacked resonated within the panicking halls of the palace, and though Anastasia did not know what had just happened she had only to look at the hopeless death in her Grandmama's eyes to puzzle it together.
Those were gunshots, multiple gunshots.
And suddenly, the calls of her family seemed very silent.
A small door creaked open as her grandmother swept her long coat around Anastasia, opting for a different route out of the castle. The old woman knew that there was no turning around now. Her son, her Nicky was gone now, she could feel it in her shriveled heart the moment of pause before the gunshots ripped through the palace halls. And though the orange and the angry colors blinded her, she could only see her grand-daughter in front of her, and she knew that, grieving for her son or not, her grand-daughter was now relying on her to save her life and keep her close. The music box in her grand-daughter's hands and the gold pendant around her neck only strengthened the adrenaline and drive to save the little girl, and save her was what her grandmother was going to do.
"Please, hurry!" she pleaded, not unlike her son had only hours earlier.
If, of course, hands just a size larger than her grand-daughter's would let her go and stop tugging at her coat. She looked down to see a down-trodden boy pulling them away from the far door and to an opening in the wall.
"Go this way, out the servant's quarters!" He cried, tugging until the grandmother ushered Anastasia forward, allowing herself to be herded by the boy into the small door. A small thud hit the floor, miniscule enough to be completely ignored and forgotten.
"Anastasia, hurry," The Dowager Empress urged, ducking her head down so she could crawl into the cramped space between walls. As she pushed her grand-daughter forward, she glanced back at the boy, the grandest of thank-yous she could muster shining in her eyes.
The boy looked frightened. Tired, and obviously left alone, he had no one else to turn to and yet he was sacrificing his time that could've been better spent escaping to help the remaining royals flee from the horrific revolution that was gripping their once awesome city of Petrograd, the capital of all Russia. And yet, through all the sadness and how pitiful he looked, his eyes burned with a determined expression, trustworthy and fiercely loyal. The Dowager Empress, milestones higher than the lowly servant rat, wanted to pull him with them, but he was already closing the door between them.
Then her grand-daughter, panting shrilly, pushed past her and up to the boy. The Dowager Empress hissed in urgency and mentally thanked the boy again when he barred her way.
"My music box!" Anastasia cried. The boy, afraid and desperate as he heard the approaching thunder of footsteps, pushed the duchess back into the Dowager's grasping fingers.
"Go, go!" He called, shutting the door tight before the thunder broke into the very room they were standing in only moments before.
That was the last they saw of him.
Half-blind and tripping over unkempt floorboards, the two royals, the last of their kind, navigated the dusty walkways of the servant's quarters, finding nothing but the occasional moth or spider on their way, for all the servants (save for the one boy) had fled already. Anastasia did the best she could to keep pace with her grandmother, tears streaking across her cheeks, blown to the tips of her ears from the wind opposing her. Truth be told, they didn't know where they were going. But somehow, some way, they guided themselves through the impossible labyrinth of hidden corridors until they broke out into the fading light of the evening, placing footprints in the snow as they escaped the prison that they had once called a home.
"Grandmama," Anastasia panted in fear as they neared the frozen river that had served as a moat for so many long years.
"Keep up with me darling," her grandmother could only say this in response as they ducked underneath a bridge, confidence building until Anastasia felt a great weight drop upon her slender legs, pulling her down onto the ice. She screamed.
"Rasputin!" Her grandmother gasped at the sight of the mad monk, falling to her knees to help pull her grand-daughter away.
"Lemmee go, please!" The girl pleaded, kicking her legs and tearing her stockings as she slid on the ice, the crooked holy man grinning madly and climbing his way to her body, shaking her legs and gnashing his teeth.
"You'll never escape me, child," he growled in hideous triumph, "Never!"
Flopping about on the ice, Anastasia began to cry, the tears burning coldly on her cheeks. Then, in an upheaval beneath them, a great, unwelcome noise complimented the whistling wind as the ice gave way underneath Rasputin. The grin from the ragged man's face disappeared, and he began to claw at Anastasia's legs in desperation rather than malice. Kicking his face, her heel smashing into his eye, Anastasia scrambled away with the help of her grandmother, slipping as they ran to the far shore before the cracks in the ice could pursue their footsteps. Freezing water clung to Rasputin's clothes, and Anastasia glanced back to watch as she ran, seen as he pawed frantically at the snow and ice to no avail. The Neva River, the river that had served as a small protection for the palace, breathed its last breath of loyalty to the Romanovs, using its icy fingers to grasp at the traitorous Rasputin, dragging him down into the frozen depths and currents beneath the serene ice, forcing him under and filling his lungs with water. The wretched man had time to scream just one thing before he disappeared from sight, his voice carried away by the wind.
"Bartok!"
Anastasia shut her eyes and forced her freezing, bruising legs to keep running behind her grandmother.
The sun had dipped below the horizon, carrying the angry orange away and replacing it with a bitter blue. The young duchess was out of breath by the time they finally reached the streets of Petrograd, her grandmother weaving their way in between the crowds to find the train station, and then to find the proper train that would lead them out the country, to Paris, to their new home.
"Anastasia, hurry, hurry,"
Against her better judgment, and to Anastasia's dismay, her grandmother let go of her hand. Reaching for the train that was departing without them, her grandmother found the helping hands of some strong men that pulled her up onto the train car. Though relief filled the grandmother's heart, knowing that she now was safe, she looked back and cried in despair as she saw her little grand-daughter scrambling and stumbling for breath and speed as the train's wheels began to slowly click-clack faster and faster and faster.
"Grandmama!"
"Here!" Her grandmother called, frantically waving her hand and catching her grand-daughter's, "Take my hand! Hold on to my hand!" Gripping with all the might her arthritic fingers could muster, the old woman desperately tried to pull her slipping grand-daughter to her, aching to feel the girl's warm body shivering against hers, safe and sound.
"Don't leg go!" Anastasia whimpered as their cold fingers slowly slipped from each other.
The bond broke.
"Anastasia...," her grandmother whispered in horror as, in a moment of slowed time, her grand-daughter's small hand broke away from hers. She saw the wide-eyed fear of an innocent little girl stare at her, betrayed, and then the girl screamed as she fell back into the crowd of people, down onto the train station, forgotten, trod upon, and lost.
"Anastasiaa!"
The hands of men pulled her backwards before Grandmama Minny—before the Dowager Empress Minny, for she had no grandchildren now—committed suicide by jumping off to join her grand-daughter. Back into the relative safety of the train, back to Paris and away from the frozen hell of Russia.
She never saw her beloved grand-daughter again.