Anna walked into her father's study and sat across from him, lips pressed nicely into something pleasant for once.

"Hello, Annushka. What makes you smile?"

"I finished a painting. And it looks wonderful."

"That's excellent. I figured you had come to complain about your terrible Frenchman."

"Don't mention that bastard. I'm in a good mood. It doesn't need to be ruined by bringing up that goddamn Bonfeuille."

"So, I can assume you're not pleased?"

"No. I'm not." The girl attempted to brush off her upset, but only managed to do so minimally. "But I'll get rid of him by myself, as I always do."

"You should at least give the man a chance. I heard he's quite handsome."

"I don't care about that."

Either party remained silent.

"Well, Anna. I do have good news. Your brother is returning home from Austria with his fiancé. Another letter was sent, though- it's doubtful they received my reply yet. I was told Ellis wouldn't mind getting married in Russia-she speaks French, you know."

"Well, I suppose it's a good enough language to know."

"Yes. Are you excited to meet her?"

"Are you excited, Papa?"

"Of course." The man's soft blue eyes stared into Anna's razor sharp gems. "It's wonderful that one of my children are getting married, and from what Andrei told me in his letter- to a very sweet and intelligent young woman. She plays the piano as well-he wouldn't stop raving about her musical skills. I'm truly quite excited to have her become a part of my family."

"You'll have one good daughter, then."

"No, Anna. I'll have two."

The stillness ticked away upon the wall.

"Does it bother you that I don't wish to marry? I'm sure it's at the very front of your mind, with Andrei's wedding coming up."

"Anna, you're not a normal girl by any means. I would feel terrible dooming you to a life of solitude, but I would feel even more terrible forcing you to marry a man you couldn't tolerate. If you want to get married, then you will. But you don't. At least-not at the moment. Perhaps you'll find a man later in your life. I'm not certain, Annushka. I simply want you to be happy. And if painting is what gives you joy, then I have no right to stop you."

The young woman's brows furrowed. "Why can't mother be like you?"

"Because Natasha is a horrible woman. If I had my choice, I would have never married her. It's part of the reason I can't arrange a marriage for you. I couldn't live with myself if your life became mine."

"I'm sorry, Papa."

"It's quite alright. I've had numerous years to accept it."

The hush came back.

And Ivan thought to himself, of the serf woman no one knew about. It had crossed his mind numerous times to tell Anna the truth. To cast away this veil of deceit and give her reality. But the consequences were stacked high.

She was old enough to know.

Time had passed and with each year, the secret was easier to bear. But it was a fatal illness pressed against the hide of an immortal. The pain was adjusted to, even if there was a cancerous growth eating up most of the man's back.

A sigh.

Anna deserved to know, didn't she?

Perhaps she already had found out. Natasha' tongue was slick.

"I love you."

"I love you too, Papa. I don't want you to be unhappy."

"Well, thank you. That's comforting to know."

Pause. "Listen. I'll try this goddamn Frenchman out. But only for you. Do don't go thinking I'm enjoying myself or anything along those lines. But if I find him distasteful, I'm not going to marry the man."

"Of course not. Спасибо, Anna."

The tall creature nodded, pushing a bit of her hair behind her ear. "Well. I just wanted to tell you about my painting. I'll be going now."

"Alright. Good-bye."

Anna had the best relationship with her father out of all the members of her family. Of course, she still got along well with Andrei and Dmitri, but her only powerful bond existed with Ivan.

She might still speak with him if they were not related.

But the others-no. Natasha would be entirely discarded. Andrei would be known a few weeks and forgotten. Dmitri would remain in her heart long after their good-bye.

But Ivan. Anna loved Ivan. He showed her kindness when Natasha donned cruelty. When the mother's whip scarred the delicate child's flesh, Ivan washed the wounds and wrapped up that torn hide. He gave her chocolate when Natasha deprived her of desert. He held her when those arms were lonely and begging.

Ivan prevented Anna's heart from freezing over completely. Ivan allowed doubt into her mind that there was some good in humanity's basket of thorns. Ivan gave his daughter hope. It was not much, but it kept her lungs working and removed the attributes of a corpse.

He couldn't save her entirely. Natasha still made her harsh. But Ivan made her at least alright.

It was the best he could accomplish.

And that was all Anna could ask.

The painting was taken from the stand and carried to the garage, the artist smoking a cigarette and strutting in her odd trousers.

One couldn't possibly tell, but Anna was happy. She was happy and proud and bursting at the seams. Because she wanted the subject to see her work. This odd masterpiece that was to be a secret between them- a secret sealed with a heavy kiss.

"Alfred!"

"Hello, Anna."

The canvas was given to the one who inspired it.

"Don't drop it. I'll kick you between the legs." Puff. Light grey smoke. "So, what do you think?"

"Anna, this is amazing. How long did it take you?"

"A few hours. Longer than usual, but I would hate it if I didn't take the time. I know because I measured it in cigarettes. I usually smoke twenty for a portrait. This on burned up thirty-two." Puff. "But you like it, right?"

"Of course!" The American man offered his Russian counterpart a smile. And it was so genuine and kind, it made Anna desire a piece of the man's lips. Then she would paint him again.

An emotion traveled about the woman's spine.

She didn't know what it was.

Her lips even managed to curl. Sweetly. Not in the maniacal fashion they usually adhered to.

"Are you going to give this to me? If not, I'll buy it from you-"

"Shut up, Alfred. I'll let you have it." Smoke escaping her mouth. "But I want something in return. Just not money."

"Well, what do you want?"

"Joint custody."

"Joint custody?"

"Yes. I want to see it occasionally. And-" Fire from the dragon's mouth. "I want you to kiss me."

"Why do you want me to kiss you, Miss Anna?"

"Because I like you." Those brows grew crooked; dented. "To be honest, you're one of the most beautiful men I've ever seen. Your face fascinates me, and I want your lips. There's something about your eyes I don't understand. They're kind and sharp at the same time. You're intelligent, but you don't let that on. Am I correct, Alfred?"

"I suppose you are, Anna."

"Tell me, what do you think of me?"

"I think you're very strange. I don't quite understand you, or your attraction to me. But I like you as well. You're bold. And you're lovely. And I don't know you very well, but I want that to change…" Those handsome lips rose at their edges.

"Do you find it grotesque that I'm a cross-dresser?"

"No. Your clothes suit you." Pause. "You are who you are, miss. I can like you for it or I could dislike you, and fortunately, I lean towards the former."

Anna wore a bit of bliss within her eyes, but only for a moment. "Thank you. It's nice not to be detested for being different. It's not that I care. But it's nice."

Oh, look Alfred. You've managed to crack away just a bit of that great steel orb.

You've made Anna soft. At least for a moment.

It was then that Alfred discovered how lonely this woman must truly be. A misanthrope that desperately wanted to love others, but could not. She could not accept their terrible qualities, just as they could not accept her.

She was that beautiful albino that no one could wrap their mind around. And because they did not understand her, they feared and hated her.

Alfred felt lucky. Because he was lucky.

Anna liked so few people.

It was an invitation to an exclusive party. Perhaps only two or three guests were invited, and he was one of them.

"Am I allowed to kiss you?"

"No, Alfred. You're not allowed to kiss me. But I don't care."

So the pair fastened their lips together, coming into a soft embrace. It was pleasant. Alfred's mouth was smooth. The two tugged upon each other, hands gripping gently to men's shirts and tongues growing even hungrier. Their buds embraced, wrestling, pushing one another aside and tying together.

Then it ended.

"Thank you. That was good. You've earned yourself a nickname, driver boy."

"Have I?"

"Yes, you have. How about Alfie?"

"That's not a very Russian, Annushka."

"So what? You're an American." The cigarette was extinguished beneath the woman's fine Italian shoe. "I'm calling you Alfie."

"Alright. That's fine, Miss Anna."

"And you better call me Annushka." A cheek-bound assault. "Good-bye. Enjoy the painting."

"Good-bye."

And that was how Anna planted her bitter sweet seed into Alfred's furtive heart, while slowly falling ill by the bright pink disease herself.