I've been wanting to try an Anastasia piece for a while now, but never got around to it. "Quartet at the Ballet" is one of my favorite scenes, so it was fun to explore a little bit of their musings. Anyway, thanks for reading and as always, I'd love to hear your thoughts.
Somehow, she ends up holding his hand.
Of course, it is such an unconscious action by now, that she has not even realized what she has done.
Her attention has been wholly elsewhere all night long. After all, this is a moment that had only existed in the wildest dreams and fastansises that she could have ever imagined.
Until now, that is.
Now, she nearly needs to pinch herself to make sure every magical moment is real Her, the Little Orphan Anya,attending the Royal Ballet in Paris- Paris!- any mere hours away from possibly discovering the answers her heart needs.
Home. Love. Family.
The words cycle endlessly through her mind, echoing back and ricocheting through the channels and corners until they can no longer be ignored. These are all of the things she ever wanted. So simple, but always out of reach.
Her eyes flicker around the grand theater, stopping for a moment to appreciate the luxury in which she has been suddenly immersed. Before her, the dancers twirl and leap, bringing a fairy tale to life before her very eyes. She remembers the stories told in the orphanage of such things, but never imagined she would see them herself. It is more than she ever dreamed, this enthralling and wonderful world she s now a part of.
She wishes she could remain forever.
Movement below suddenly catches her attention and she looks up to finds herself matching glances with the Dowager Empress. Suddenly, she forgets how to breathe and it is only Dimitri's concerned whisper that startles her into doing so again. She attempts to discreet draw his attention to what she has seen, but his focus has already returned to the stage. Exhaling, she returns her attention to the elderly woman who could hold her future in her hands.
If she were a braver soul, she would have openly acknowledged the fact that the older woman had been studying her quite intently, at least for a brief moment. Now, she is speaking to Sophie in hushed tones, quickly losing interest in the performance and with just a touch of agitation. Sophie attempts to calm Her Majesty appear fruitless, even as she seems to indicate Anya from across the room. The Dowager Empress barley spares her a blink before settling back into her seat, turned away.
Be patient. Dmitry promised you an audience.
Once again, her attention falls on the man at her side. He seems to truly believe she is the lost princess, bolstering her own faith in the same. The program in her hands is wrung practically to confetti and she knows he notices. Instead of scolding her, he simply chuckles and weaves his fingers through her own, offering the steady comfort she has come to expect of him.
Past and future hinge on tonight. If she needs something to hold on to, she can certainly think of worse things.
He's not sure when she became so comfortable around him.
He knows she is frightened about what might transpire after the ballet, but he also knows she is in fact who he believes her to be: The Grand Duchess Anastasia. He has known she could pass since he met her, suspected she might be real when she knew things she shouldn't, was certain only the night before when they spoke of parades.
She is who she is and so is he.
A pity they are worlds apart.
The fiery girl who fought with him at every opportunity, who became suddenly she as he taught her to dance has gained a quiet strength that she doesn't even seem to know she has yet. Her hand tightens around his arm as her eyes graze over the Empresses's box and he pats her other hand with a comforting smile.
Passing his program to her, she smiles, thankful for the distraction and appears to become absorbed in that for a few precious moments of diversion. He himself sees what transpires between the Dowager and Sophie and cuts a sharp glare to Vlad, who only shrugs in returns.
It will be up to him then, he realizes, to gain an audience with the doubtful Dowager. Fantastic.
But this was his plan all along, wasn't it? Get the girl in front of her and convince her that she is, in fact, Anastasia. This is what he came to Paris to do and he will do it.
He just never expected to be this hopeful that Anya was Anastasia. And never expected that hope would have nothing at all to do with the reward.
He allows his eyes to return to the ballet for a moment, just a brief one, and simple watch as they whirl in perfect synchrony. Each of them know the part that they must play and can execute it with perfect precision.
Just as he has always been able to do. As he must do now, no matter how much the frightened girl seated beside him has come to mean.
He chances a glance at her, catching her eye and she gives him a radiant smile. He manages a small one of his own before she turns her attention back to the performance and he feels the knots in his stomach tighten.
Because it only takes one touch of her hand and he immediately knows he would follow anywhere she led.
The thought scares the hell out of him.
But there would be time for that later. Right now, he is in Paris with a beautiful girl on his arm and about to pull of the greatest con of his career.
His programme has become confetti under her nerves and he can't help but chuckle to himself because it such such an Anya action, lacking any grace that Anastasia is said have possessed. So, he does the only things that matters in this moment.
He ignore the voice gnawing on his conscience for now that insists this can't end well and decides to enjoy this while it lasts.
Right now, there is no con and no Grand Duchess Anastasia. Just Anya and Dmitry. In this moment, it is that simple.
Lacing their fingers securely together, he lifts her hand to his lips for a kiss, returns her nervous smile.
And simply holds on.