After her conversation with Natasha, Anna fell into a wretched depression. Her life had been sucked away, and the sweetening shrew had become a statue of stone. Anna remained where she was placed; she observed with no comment.

Her family regarded her with a kind of sadness, Ellis especially. They witnessed her death. Hell, Natasha even caused it. But it was bound to happen.

Anna couldn't marry Alfred.

Anna couldn't marry Alfred.

Anna couldn't marry Alfred.

One morning, she sat at the breakfast table, with tears falling silently down her face. Her lashes would bundle together. And her lips would fold. But no sound was made.

Her father noticed.

And before anything could be done, Anna left the room.

It went on for a week, and Alfred came to see her. Of course, it was late at night and the man found a place within the poor thing's chamber.

His voice rang out amongst the darkness.

"Anna, are you in here?"

"Yes, Alfred. I'm here."

"Well, where have you been? I've missed you." The American came closer, sitting upon the edge of that ruined mattress. "Are you alright?"

"No…I'm not." Anna turned to look at her lover within the darkness. "Alfred, why can't you be an aristocrat?"

"Well…" Gentle fingers brushed past the frame of her face. "I never finished college. I was never born into a wonderfully wealthy family. I'm working class, darling."

"But I love you."

A little smile upon that handsome mouth. "All the love in the world can't change my bloodline." Alfred lowered himself into the ruined sheets and wrapped those tired arms around his darling. "But there's not a damn thing that can be done. So, why don't you tell me what's wrong, Annushka?"

The woman was on the edge of sobbing, and the verge of misery. But somehow, the strength was mustered to speak. "I-" Gasp. "I love you, Alfred." A clutch at breath. "I'm coming to the conclusion that-that I'm going to marry Francis Bonfeuille and there's nothing I can do." Mounds went through seizure, grand fits of shaking. "And I could almost accept that, but there's you-"

Then, the open weeping.

Alfred did not say a word. He merely held her.

"I can't even describe-How much I love you. You're constantly on my mind. You're my greatest friend and the only man I've ever adored. Even considering living a life belonging to another-it just-it just feels like suicide."

"Anna…"

"I want to be your wife. And I want to have your children. And I want to care for you and love you openly, without having to hide during the night. But I can't. There's no way around the fact that my parents would never allow it…That what we've been doing here is simply wrong."

Poor Anna could not omit phrase any longer. The only sound from her throat was that horrendous cry.

Alfred couldn't admit that his love was correct.

It was almost as though the hammer of reality had struck him over the head. He would not be able to stay with Anna Ivanovna. It would never be allowed. Not by society. Not by the woman's wretched mother and father, who always seemed to make her so unhappy. Not by anyone at all.

There was nothing that could be done.

Alfred wondered why he had become so attached. Was this not obvious? How stupid- to only realize the truth when it was leaking from his lover's face. He should have seen it long before hand. Now, it felt as though he was too damn late.

"Maybe I should disappear, Anna."

"I couldn't bare that."

"I know." He kissed her cheek. "Why did you even bother with me? You knew from the beginning that…" The statement could not possibly be completed.

"No- I was so certain I could get rid of him. Really. No other fiancé of mine had stayed this long. They all left months before he did." And for a moment, Anna thought of their compromise. That Francis wouldn't marry her if they were not in love. But it wasn't about Francis. It wasn't even about Anna. This whole mess was about Natasha. If Natasha wanted Anna to marry, then Anna wouldn't have a choice. And Francis certainly wouldn't call off the entire affair. He was happy.

The girl had reached the end of the line. Now, it was marry Bonfeuille or no one at all.

Did she even want to be wed?

Anna's poor mind did not even know what it wanted any longer.

So Anna continued to weep.

And Alfred stayed by her side, soaking her up in warmth and kisses and the deep red love he held within his chest.

They remained. In the anger and adoration and boiling frustration. In the hate and coiling sadness.

Then, after about an hour or so, Alfred kissed Anna good-bye. "I'm not going to come and see you any more, Miss Ivanovna. Please don't invite me here again." Kiss. "I'm sorry, but it simply feels unwise to have this on-going…you're right. We're both in a situation we can do nothing about, so why continue to make the problem worse? You should forget about me."

I can't forget about you, you moron. Don't you understand how much I adore you? We've been through this. It's almost as though you're asking me to do a simple chore. Like organize my room or read a chapter of a novel. Or paint a portrait.

I can't drop you that easily! I feel like smacking you for even suggesting it!

"Alright…Just go."

Anna wore heart break as she wore flesh.

Alfred gave her another touch good-bye. "I love you, Anna. It would be easier if I didn't, but I really do." The misery could be heard bubbling within his voice as well. "Good-bye."

"Just get out. Go."

So Alfred left, the room heavy, bearing down upon Anna's brittle bones. She wept. And she wept. And she wept. Partly in disbelief and all in that gut-wrenching sorrow. A great pall had been cast above her, and the young woman could not see through it or even reach out and throw it from her.

No.

Anna was too much of a corpse. All of her nearest acquaintances had killed her. Francis Bonfeuille. Alfred. And of course, Natasha. Natasha was always involved. Natasha always held a knife.

Perhaps she would be resurrected as a true woman, having gone through her first heart break. Perhaps this was merely part of growing up, something she had refused to do for twenty-two years.

But Anna couldn't be sure.

All she knew was that everything fucking hurt.

Those sore and swollen eyes finally closed around three o'clock in the morning.

They wouldn't reopen for quite a while.