First of all, I would like to tell you all that this chapter was my first after the months I've held myself back to write because of the uncertainties in my life that made me question my talent as a writer.

Second, this chapter is dedicated to all the followers/readers of this story.

Lastly, I do not own HunterXHunter, the movie Anastasia and in no way dissuade the information about the Romanov royal family.

Last but not the least, the names of historical figures is changed into another name...please understand and as stated above, this is no way to change the identities of the royal family. Any events spiraling after this would be near historical as could be allowed.

This was way...very late gift for my friend. Lame, I know.

Chapter 4 - Reminisce

1928, Paris France...early morning

She still remembered the glistening jewels, the shine of their reflections dancing across the room, their hands-small and soft-yet firm, untouched by the vestiges of hard life and war, their childish laughter ringing throughout-distinct yet drowned by the revelry around them, basking in the small joy they have wallowed themselves in around the adults-around the life they have yet to live-to be puppets dressed in finery, bedecked in glistening crowns and jewels, their whole lives dictated by lessons and etiquette.

Her eyes watched them with pride and happiness blossoming in her heart-as they, have truly started to grow into the roles they soon would have to play-her gaze lingering on the youngest-a blond haired boy, green eyes glimmering with happiness and mischief as he let himself led away by his older siblings. Dancing through the bodies-careful not to bump or even cause while creating and immersing in their own fantasy.

A soft, yet despondent sigh escaped her lips as she shook her head free of the memories of long ago. No use to letting herself drown in a moment where everything turned into nothing-leaving her with only the dignity and the hope that someday-if not all-would be as what she remembered.

"You're still at it then?" a voice spoke, strained yet with a slight hint of a tease.

Lifting her head, she looked up to see an older woman, her hair in a bun, blue eyes searching through her, as if reading the secrets she buried deep in her heart.

Letting a strained chuckle, she put down the small, oval photo back onto the table beside her. "It's hard not to be when it has been a decade since..." her throat choked at the thought. Her home, her family...all gone in an instant.

The other woman heaved out a sigh as she slowly walked towards the one seated by the window, pale sunlight streaking through the windows, basking the other's face in a soft glow that eerily reminded her of long ago, back when she would find the other outside in the gardens, surrounded by children all looking up at her adoringly as she regaled them with series of wars and victories long past, their legends weaving through like spells cast to catch the attention of eager ears-like a starved man to a food.

"I know..." she whispered as she softly placed a hand on the other's wrinkled form. "But..you don't have to let yourself live in the past, Viktoria. Even so long, you start to hope that it is not what you think it is."

"I know what I believed in, Dorothea," Viktoria bit back-almost a snarl-but a weak one. She then sagged back into the soft comforts of the chair she sat behind. A hand on her forehead. Her own blue eyes turning cloudy as a surge of memories played in her mind, toying with the endless possibilities she refused to even acknowledge. "But it is what has given me hope for years..." she almost half whispered as she slowly lifted her head to look up at the other.

Her own eyes pleading for the older to let her this-just this once-her own personal fantasy, one that they have not a chance to have after they have grown and left behind the frivolities that their childhood have gifted them, saddling them instead with the responsibility that they have been tutored.

"To endure the years in which I have been reduced to nothing but a has been."

Dorothea looked at her younger sister for a long while before heaving out a sigh of her own, settling onto the armchair beside the other. A small, thin smile stretching from her lips. She knew what the other had gone through, she have offered her home, as a sanctuary, as a way to reprieve the others of the horrors that had started to befall them.

"You have never been reduced to nothing, Viktoria," she murmured as gently clasped the other's hand. A sincere smile on her face as she looked at the other in the eyes. "You always have everything...even if it's nothing."

St. Petersburg, Russia...early morning

"10 millions ruples...?" the man repeated to himself as he extracted himself from the wall of the shop he was leaning against, a small smile playing in his lips as he pushed his glasses up to his nose. Eyes following the two females-foreigners he could tell from their accents and of a higher standing than himself if he have deduced it correctly, which he was never wrong as he was known to have a critical eye for detail.

That amount could help tons of people-even if not the whole country. Whoever offered that much greatly valued to have something or rather someonereturned to them.

"You got it right," a voice spoke, and he turned his head to look beside him to see someone lowered the newspaper down, revealing a pudgy man with slick graying hair, glasses perched on his nose, wearing the gaudiest outfit he have ever seen his life-reminiscent of the past. "10 million ruples for the return of the Tsarevitch."

He frowned, knowing full well what had happened to the royal family. "How come? He had perished along with his family."

The man chuckled as he wagged a finger in front of him, a smile on his lips. "Rumors have circulated that he is alive." he then shrugged. "Whether it is true or not, hell the money is worth it. Tons of people have already made claims that they're the Tsarevitch..." he then waved him forward and whispered something in his ear.

He let out a gasp, eyes wide behind his glasses, his jaw slacked. The very thought...no, he could-wouldn't risk it. Sure he had shady dealings in the past to be able to present himself now, but still, he had promised himself that he would never stoop so low ever again. The very thought...!

The man chuckled, noticing the turmoil plaguing the mind of the man beside him. "I would not have presented to you the thought...but..." his gaze landed on the cobblestone street in front of them, with few people still walking towards their destination, perhaps to a warm home or out of the country. Remembering the old days...

Of glistening horse carriages, women bedecked in the finest jewelry and frocks the wealthiest could afford, the men dressed in their finest, their shoes almost rivaling the shiniest jewel to be found by man with the way the reflection appeared on them like a second mirror. With the minority enjoying the fruits of being born in such standing, while them-the peasants-he growled at the word, slaved away and used whatever means necessary to survive the bitter cold nipping at their heels each night.

And now, what the government have given them not more than 14 years after the revolution, they also had taken away, animals slaughtered. How better are they-the common people-than the animals they slaughtered? To have their own dignity and rights taken from them before they were killed? Now, all those who were in working age are waiting whether they were dragged into labour camps or forced into the slavery-not much different from before.

But then, the hope, that the very thought of the prince being alive-dare he admit it-brings light into their hearts, into their beings, proving that despite the darkness that they found themselves in-as it was also the light that they have sparked to end the reign of such an unfair government-that there is still hope underneath it all, that the light would lead them to the path that they all wanted.

A life where everyone live in content.

He turned to look at his companion, only to his shock to find the other already walking away, whistling a familiar yet unfamiliar tune under his breath, hands hidden in the pockets of his pants, his mind no doubt on the next step he would do.

Turning back to his newspaper, he chuckled again-this time in humorless mirth before settling himself where he had sat before he was woken from his musings.

The man walked, hands deep inside the pockets of his pants, whistling a tune under his breath as he walked past several shops and alleys before sneaking into an alley and walked out to the other side-this time in another area packed with people, his mind now in track as to what he should do with what he had received.

Shrugging, he ignored the cries of the vendors around him and snuck inside the gates of the former royal palace, it's not like anyone would call out to him anyway-the place have been abandoned and left to rot-as evidence of the dislike the people have over the former regime.

'Well, it's not like they asked to be born into it,' he thought in his head as he slipped through the wooden boards nailed on the side entrance he frequently uses- effortlessly, then checked if any wrinkles have appeared on his suit-it was as expensive as he could get nowadays. Not while the government dried the people up.

He looked around him, his eyes gazing over at the hundred years old paintings covered with cobwebs and blanketed with dust and grime, then at the pieces of items scattered throughout the room-just like how it was left behind years ago. His eyes replaying every single memory of when things were all just about parties and flaunting the life.

Passing through the opened doors at the other end of the room, he came out in the ballroom-then as if he was hypnotized-walked straight towards the huge painting in the middle of two staircases, behind the dais where thrones would usually be placed. And stared-no-gazed at the image of a blond haired boy with teal-green eyes, holding onto his mother's right hand.

Just by looking at it, he could tell that the boy was much loved-until now to even be considered a tale-a legend that he had survived.

But this is reality-this is the harsh truth that they have been dealt with. They have no used, no right to indulge themselves in some twisted fantasy.

Lifting a hand, he softly placed it on the chest of the boy, his eyes staring deeply into the others-as if he was looking at another person rather than a painting.

'How much of a difference would it make if you're really alive?' he thought, his hand slowly and gently stroking the painting before dropping limply at his side, his eyes never leaving the boy.

...the glittering light in the darkness...

...a twisted fantasy reinforced with hope...

Okay, it is a wrap. I did not start nor end this chapter the way I imagined it to be. And I apologized if the character I inserted here is OOC. It was my first time to actually write him and portray him...so please forgive me if I did him wrong.

Forgive my work...as this was my first after being scrutinized about my writing skills...and even got someone in trouble for it. Though honestly, I did it all my own from my own reserves...and thus something unexpected happened...and someone paid the price, while even my own family seemed to believe that I did such an atrocious act.

I'm a writer, I value other people's work whether they are reports or stories, poems and such, and I would not stoop so low as to copy theirs and make it my own, I know the pressure and the effort, time put into making a story-hell even thinking one! and polishing each chapter until it's perfect until it is deemed worthy enough.

So, yeah, it irked me to think that they would think of me so much like that...anyway, if I do somehow whether intentionally or not, have copied one of your ideas or stories or plots(God forbid I already have enough of people accusing me of that when I have painstakingly slaved over my own stories by my own), then please tell me, PM me and I would remove it or even take the story down regardless of how well it's liked.

Please, leave a review as to what you think.