Part One

A man with deep, intelligent, brown eyes stared intently at the girl on the other side of the white french door. That girl, he thought. That girl. Her name is Anya, and yet that was something she now refuses to believe. She let that thief trick her into thinking that she was truly the Grand Duchess Anastasia Nikolaevna Romanova- a person that he knew was long dead. Dead and buried with the rest of her vile family.

Though, a small part of him doubted that was true.

Regardless, this Anya was driven to trouble like a moth is driven to a flame. But this time, the flame is purely, and undeniably lethal.

This girl was now a threat to Mother Russia, and her children. For while there's a chance that the Romanov line can continue, the invisible chains shackled to each and every man, woman and child within the borders of his homeland will never be broken. They will continue to be violated, mistreated, and malnourished. And they will never be free. Her death is the key to freedom.

He would never allow himself to believe it, but she also was the key to his heart.

But by this point, the man has enough courage and anger pent up inside him, that he strides to the door, slowly twists the polished, golden knob, and steps inside. After realizing that he doesn't have Anya's attention yet, the man takes it upon himself to quietly close, and lock the door behind him.

When he finds that she still doesn't take notice of his presence, he delights himself by ever-so-slowly approaching her. She seems to finally hear him, as his footfalls are dramatically loud against the marble flooring. Anya turns around. At first, the man is amused by the theatricality of this situation, the lion cornering the gazelle, and toying with it. Both creatures know who is prey, and who is predator. They both know who is going to die, but the gazelle just doesn't know when.

However, when he sees the look of utter fear on her face, his cynical disposition wavers, but he still continues to slowly approach her.

"Gleb," she mutters. He can distantly hear the hopelessness, and devastation in her voice as she says his name. Though, for that brief moment, he is more shocked with the fact that he forgot he had a name to begin with. It's as if, those moments of silence, he truly did become an animal, and his own identity didn't matter anymore, nor did his humanity. But when the shock finally does die down, the first thing he notices is her eyes. Instead of fear, they are filled with sadness, and hurt.

She trusted me, he thinks. She trusted me as a friend, and now I'm here. She knows this isn't going to end well, she knows. And still she hopes. Poor girl, poor naive girl.

"An underhanded girl, an act of desperation, and to my consternation, I let you go," Gleb muses. The expression on the girl's face doesn't change until he says, "Well, not this time."

Anya gives him a questioning glance, silently asking him to clarify the intentions to his last statement. In truth, he doesn't completely know himself. Though, in a rash decision, he decides to give the girl one last chance to get out of this predicament alive. Out of the kindness of his own heart.

Or was there something else?

Instead of answering that question, he continued to speak. "Paris is no place for a good, and loyal Russian."

"We are both good, and loyal Russians," she answers plainly.

Seeing that skirting around the issue is getting him nowhere, he states, "I've come to take you home."

"My home is here now," she retorts defiantly.

This response angers Gleb, more than anything that has angered him before. He was putting his livelihood, and dream on the line for her, setting his hatred of the Romanov family aside for her, and all that she does is spit it back in his face.

Yet, to his amazement he was able to keep this blazing anger under control, while also trying one last time to save her life. "Stop playing this game Anya, I beg you!" The last part came out in a choked sob, but at this point he no longer cared about how weak he appeared to be, he just no longer wanted to take her life. There's a definitive reason as to why, but at this moment his mind is too clustered to even attempt to think straight.

Despite this, he still makes an effort to hear Anya's response, and to his distaste, he hears it quite clearly. "We both know it's not a game, Gleb!" she all but screamed. Whether other people could hear her, neither of them cared. He could see the pain twisted in her features, he could feel it. It was close to unbearable.

This painful dread quickly was accompanied by a slow-burning anger in the pit of Gleb's stomach. He was no longer angry at Anya for existing, but for the fact that she seems to have no respect for the life that she has now.

But what lengths would I go to in order to see my family again? Though, for me, the answer doesn't matter.

After what seems like an eternity of silence, he finally asks, "If you really are Anastasia,

do you think history wants you to have lived?"

"Yes! Why don't you?"

He was now in no mood to argue with that question. The girl wouldn't back down, wouldn't accept his mercy. He had a duty to fulfill, it would save the people of Russia. What was the life of one girl, versus the life of an entire country? Thus, he spoke the truth."The Romanovs were given everything, and they gave back nothing! Until the Russian people rose up and destroyed them!"

"All but one, finish it! I am my father's daughter!" Her tone of voice was calm, yet assertive. Something that quickly got under Gleb's skin.

"And I am my father's son!" He was unable to contain his rage that time. He swore that he saw the girl across from him flinch at the sound of venom in his words.

Might as well give Anastasia what she wishes, he thinks bitterly as he pulls out his gun, and cocks it, aiming it at her chest. "Finish it I must!"

The animalistic theatricality of moments before begins again as they start to carefully circle each other. The room is deathly quiet, and neither person takes their eyes off of the other. Both are fully alert, fully on edge despite their outward appearances. Gleb finds that he dislikes the eerie silence. It left him alone with his thoughts, and he doesn't need his thoughts to be swayed once again. He doesn't want to doubt. Hence, he starts to repeat his motives out loud.

"My father shook his head, and told me not to ask. My mother said he died of shame!"

At this, she interrupts saying, "In me you see them! Look at their faces in mine, hear their screams, imagine their terrors, see their blood!"

He hears her plea, so he increases the volume of his speech as if that would make it more true, emphasizing the first few words. "But I believe he did proud and vital task, and in my father's name!"

"Do it," the stupid girl dares him, seeming to call his bluff. "Do it and I will be with my parents, and my brother and sisters in that cellar in Yekaterinburg all over again!" The hatred, and anger that she had been hiding finally spilled through at the end of her sentence. He was getting to her, but he wasn't as happy about that as he thought he would be. He could also admit that killing children in general was indeed cruel, and upsetting. Though, it had to be done. At least- that is what his father had told him.

Regardless, he decides to explain this to her. "The children, their voices- a man makes painful choices. He does what's necessary, Anya! I must do this for Russia, my beauty. What choice is there but simple duty? We have a past to bury, Anya!"

Anya stayed silent after that, knowing words would do good no more. Though, the Bolshevik didn't need words to understand how she was feeling. Her posture was straight, and strong within the red gown embroidered with gold. A front to cover how she truly felt. Those vast, green eyes lacked their usual spark, but were glassy with tears. Her face, pale and flushed all at once. She was done, she had given up… but she still refused to give Gleb the satisfaction of knowing that. And he respected her enough not to let her die without her dignity. Although, he wasn't keen on indulging his thoughts believe that was the case.

So, he found it fitting to end her life by reciting the truest, coldest words he had ever heard. The same words he had said to her when they first met.

The Neva flows,

All you have to do is pull the trigger. A nation of prosperity is at your fingertips!

A new wind blows,

The people of Russia will be free!

And soon it will be spring!

Anya will be… dead. Oh, no.

The leaves unfold,

What am I thinking? That shouldn't matter to me!

The Czar lies cold!

And yet...

Be careful what a dream may bring,

Still...

A revolution is a simple thing!

That is the moment when Gleb drops to his knees, completely unmoving. The gun falls clumsily to the floor, and he makes no attempt to retrieve it. His eyes begin to tear up, clouding his vision. "I-I can't-I can't-I can't do it!" The broken man repeats the phrase multiple times, each time with more conviction.

"Gleb?," Anya asks. Her voice is soft and sympathetic. "Are you alright?"

It was apparent that this was a rhetorical question, one someone asks out of the kindness of their heart. However, he felt the need to answer anyway.

"No," he sobs, shaking his head. "No, I am not."

The tears in his eyes slowly started to descend down his face. Their warmth was slightly soothing, but that didn't stop any new tears from forming.

He vaguely saw through clouded vision, that Anya was starting to approach him. Once she was seemingly right in front of him, she sat on her knees. The girl took a moment to stare at his face, then suddenly wrapped her arms tightly around him. The sensation sent a wave of shock surging through Gleb's body, and soon he is wrapping his own arms around her, and crying uncontrollably in her embrace.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. Please forgive me! Please!" His sobs have turned into pathetic wails, but Anya doesn't seem to care.

"I do. It's okay, I forgive you." Gleb believes her. He can feel her own tears seeping through his jacket as her head rests on his shoulder. He's relieved, to say the least- he doesn't have the energy to feel much more. Once his tears run dry, Gleb slowly starts to rock back and forth. Anya hums at the calm motion, as one of his hands find their way to her golden hair.

They stay that way for a while- Gleb running his hand through Anya's golden hair, as he gradually rocks her to a peaceful sleep. Nonetheless, their tranquil state is disturbed when they hear, "Grand Duchess, is everything okay? Should I come up?"

Panic washes over their features. "No, don't bother. Everything is perfectly fine," Anya tells the unidentified voice. "Are you sure?" the persistent male asks. With a huff of annoyance, the girl responds with, "Positive."

Gleb releases the breath that he didn't know he was holding when he hears footsteps walk away from the staircase that led to this room.

"That was close," Anya remarks in a hushed tone. All Gleb can do is nod his head in agreement.

Once he is certain that their is no one around, the man breaks free of Anya's grasp. "Well, I must be going back to Russia."

"Why? Won't the other Bolsheviks kill you because you didn't follow your command?"

He carefully thinks this question over, then responds with, "If I die, at least it won't be in vain."

The look that Gleb received showed him that she wasn't particularly fond of his response.

"Fine! Help come up with a story!" he orders.

She complies, and he could see the gears turning in her head. He also noticed the excitement that graced her features when an idea finally came to her.

"I got it!" she squeals. "You can say that it was too risky to carry out my assassination because their was too many people around, and that it will remain too difficult because the palace is in the midst of doubling the number of guards, and soldiers!"

"And what will you do when an entire army of armed Bolsheviks arrives at the palace gate?" he asks playfully. Gleb had to admit that he slightly amused by Anya's story despite the situation.

Anya huffs again before she says, "I didn't think about that. How about we go with your original plan- the one where I relinquish my claim as Grand Duchess Anastasia? I won't be able to be with my family, but at least no one dies. "

Gleb chuckles dryly before asking, "You couldn't come to this conclusion before I tried to kill you?"

"I guess you can say that I inherited my father's stubbornness," she replies with a chuckle of her own.

The room is cast in dead silence once more. Gleb has a question on the tip of his tongue, but is hesitant to ask it. For he doesn't know what the answer will do. It could change nothing, or it could change everything. Though, after a few minutes of pacing around the room, he finally decides to ask,"You really are the Grand Duchess Anastasia, aren't you?"

"Yes," she says calmly. "I started to remember things a few days ago."

Strangely, her answer didn't shock him at all.

Okay, Gleb thought. This does change things. If I bring her back to Russia, she'll have to keep looking over her shoulder. The Bolsheviks will constantly be spying on her, ready to attack if she looks even the tiniest bit suspicious. She will never be free. Though, what else is there? It's not like she could easily run away and start her life over...Unless…

"Anastasia, I have one last question."

"What is it?"

"Would you like to run away with me?"

"I would love too."