Alright. So this stemmed from some research I was doing on Anastasia (the real one) and the Romanov family in general to give this fics a more real feel, and also because, damnit, Anya and Dimitri are not speaking to me as well as I'd like them to. I admit, I am experiencing difficulty getting their characters down, but I'm still trying.
Anyway, I found a page that said that Dimitri was indeed a real person who was the Czar's cousin, and engaged to Anastasia's older sister, Olga for some time. That being said, I don't believe that the creator's of Anastasia generally based Dimitri off of him because the comparsions, while there, are still too much of a stretch.
However, that doesn't mean I didn't see the opportunity for a delicious plot line.
That being said, I've taken MAJOR artistic license, so much so that I've skewed the ages and this is basically an AU. :) Have fun.
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Technicolour Eyes
Prompt #068: Sepia
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A royal behaves in certain ways. They stand straighter than most. They're cleaner than others. They're well versed in more than one language and they have impeccable social skills.
A royal marries to carry on the family name, to continue the line. A royal does not marry for love and a royal does marry the mate of their choosing.
And a royal most certainly does not have intimate discretions with her sister's fiancee.
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She meets him for the first time when she is fifteen and he is introduced as a distant cousin of her father's. He's tall and at least two years older than she, with dark eyes and dark hair. He's handsome in the way that storybooks speak of and she's taken in a way that she had only read about.
His name is Dimitri and she hates him.
He speaks in a haughty, arrogant tone and seems to look down on her. She can't stand him and she dreads the day that he marries her sister, because then he will become family.
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"What are you doing?" comes a voice, interrupting her work. She looks up from the picture she is dying and sees Dimitri standing there. She rolls her eyes, annoyed, and looks back down.
"I'm dying my photograph," she says, as if it's as plain as the hair on her head. He burrows his brow, confused.
"But why?" he asks.
Anastasia huffs, aggravated. Won't he just go away? But when she looks up and meets his eyes, she sees something different in them. Something past the arrogance and the selfishness and she swallows, taken aback. He seems genuinely interested and she explains how she wants her photographs to have colour. To not be so dark, so drab.
He nods as if he understands (he doesn't) and acts as if he's not interested (he is) and he asks her to show him some of her others.
He doesn't know why, but suddenly he wants to be closer to her.
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And closer they grow. They sit and talk, they go for walks and she views him in a different light. Suddenly he's not so obnoxious. Suddenly he's articulate and clever and attractive. Suddenly she begins thinking of him differently, suddenly she begins standing a little closer.
Suddenly one afternoon, she kisses him swiftly on the lips. And after the shock has worn away, he kisses her back, harder with more passion that she had expected.
And suddenly Anastasia didn't feel so cut out for the life of a princess.