Eva talked me into posting this, not that it took much convincing. :D I told you I have NO patience! There are similar elements to the Anastasia movie, but the story is quite different. It takes place in New York City, circa the late 1950s.
The room is silent except for the soft ticking of the antique clock on the mantelpiece. Jenna sits in her favorite armchair, the one with the floral pattern now faded from years of use. Her hands rest on an old photograph album, its edges worn, the leather cover cracked. She flips through the pages slowly, each photo capturing a moment, a memory frozen in time.
As she turns the pages, her eyes linger on a photograph of a young girl, her niece, Elena. The picture shows her at the beach, her laughter almost audible through the still image, her eyes sparkling with the innocent joy of youth. The sun had kissed her cheeks, and her hair was a wild cascade of curls, untamed by the sea breeze.
Jenna's heart aches as she remembers that day—the sandcastles they built, the seashells they collected, and the promise of so many tomorrows. It has been years since Elena vanished without a trace, leaving a void in Jenna's life that nothing could fill. The police had searched, posters had been distributed, and prayers had been whispered, but as days turned into years, hope faded like the photograph in her hands.
She traces the outline of Elena's face with a trembling finger, the image stirring a well of emotions deep within her.
"Where are you?" Jenna whispers to the room, the universe, and anyone who might listen. "Do you remember the sound of the waves, the sun's warmth, the safety of my embrace?"
Jenna closes her eyes, allowing herself to be transported back to that day at the beach, to Elena's laughter and her small hand in hers. For a moment, she can almost feel the ghost of that grip, a fleeting connection across time and space.
The clock ticks on, indifferent to the sorrow of a woman clinging to the past, to the memory of a long-missing niece whose absence is a constant shadow in her life. But in her heart, Jenna holds on to a sliver of hope, a belief that somewhere, somehow, Elena is out there, waiting to be found.
1946
The photo dissolves into reality in brilliant color as the day turns into night and the summer cools into winter. The Gilbertov Palace is blanketed in a beautiful, almost glowing, snow as limousines pull up to the front door.
Elegant people mingle around the main ballroom as an orchestra plays. All eyes turn to the glass doors of two elevators which descend grandly on either side of a beautiful staircase.
Grayson Gilbertov, heir of the Bulgarian Royal Family steps out with his wife on his arm.
Missing is their eight-year-old daughter. Elena is rushing down the upstairs hallway followed by Jenna who is trying to catch up with her to tie a ribbon in her long dark hair.
"Elena, we're late and your Mother isn't going to be happy!"
"Don't worry, Aunt Jenna, no one'll notice..."
Just then, Jenna lassoes the ribbon around her hair stopping Elena, who squeals loudly.
All eyes turn to Elena, who once she realizes she's the center of attention, flashes a mischievous smile and descends the staircase in grand style. As the ribbon falls to the floor, Elena kicks it to Jenna without breaking stride.
Jenna can't help but smile as she follows her down the stairs.
The music suddenly becomes a flourish of trumpets.
Jenna holds out her arm to Elena who has a beautiful but slightly impish face, dominated by large, brown, mischievous eyes. She has an abundance of energy and confidence for a child her age.
The elegant guests sing their admiration as the beautiful and happy Gilbertova family make their entrance into the ball, they're "the pride of all Bulgaria".
A gentleman invites Jenna to dance and the entire glittering crowd swings into a glorious sweeping waltz.
The ball is in full swing. Couples swirl across the dance floor, including Elena, who is dancing gracefully with her father.
Beneath the long buffet table, eleven-year-old Damon, darkly handsome, dressed in ragged servant clothes, with a shock of dark hair that continually falls across his eyes watches the guest enviously.
Elena, still waltzing with her father, sees him.
The wait staff are carrying trays of food. The guests ew and ah at the scrumptious feast that awaits them.
Notificing Damon eyeing it hungrily, Elena, without missing a dance step, grabs a croissant off a tray and tosses it to him.
He catches it and smiles broadly at her. Damon's about to bite into the delicious pastry when a hand yanks him out from under the table. Giuseppe glares at him as he drags him into an open wall panel.
"You're a servant! Never forget your place!" Giuseppe scolds him angrily.
Damon raises his chin defiantly. "Someday my place will be out there."
"In your dreams. You're nothing but a peasant! Now get back to the kitchen," Giuseppe demands, pointing him out of the room.
While back in the ballroom, Elena's mother is sitting in a large throne-like chair. Miranda is very serious and very regal. She slides over to make room for Elena who sits next to her.
"Why were you so late tonight?"
"I was showing Aunt Jenna my book."
"Elena, you're a princess and I know you're still a child but you have obligations."
"I know, but I had to because it's my favorite book." Elena looks up at her mother and sees her smile with pride. "Oh, Mama, why do you and Papa have to go away?"
"We have responsibilities. We'll only be gone for a few days. But I do have something for you," Miranda tells her as she reaches into her pocket. She hands her daughter a small box.
Elena opens it up and gasps. "Oh, Mama, it's pretty," she takes the necklace out of the box to read the inscription. "Never forget who you are." is engraved on one side while a single diamond sits on the other side of the small gold disc.
"What does it mean?" Elena asks her Mother.
"I fear change is coming, Elena. If anything happens, I want you to never forget who you are and that your Father and I love you, always."
Miranda secures the chain around Elena's neck and they embrace. Then, suddenly...the lights begin to fade in and out.
The people in the ballroom look around bewildered as smoke fills the room and when it clears, a man is standing in the middle of the floor. He towers over the other men in the room. His most striking feature is his soulless eyes.
"What do you want, Mikael?" Grayson asks as he gathers his wife and daughter to his side.
The man advances as the people back away in terror. "The Gilbertova dynasty ends here! You, your wife, and your child will all die!"
Elena rushes to stand in front of her father. Her shaking hands are the only thing that gives away her fear. "We're not afraid of you."
"You..." Mikael spits furiously as he approaches her. "You shall die last." He smiles wickedly at her as a screaming mob crashes into the palace. A few in the mob fire their rifles.
Mass confusion as the mob is met by a few servants who try to stop them from advancing. More gunfire. Screams, and cries of the dying.
Grayson and Miranda are rushed down the hallway at gunpoint.
Jenna takes Elena's hand and holds her back, hoping they can lose themselves in the crowd.
Loud rifle shots ring out as Damon runs to them. "This way." He runs to a wall panel and throws his weight against it. It opens, revealing a dark passageway. "Go! Run!"
Grateful, Jenna looks at Damon as he flips his hair out of his face unconsciously.
"Go," he urges them forward.
Jenna goes in as Damon shoves Elena toward the passageway. She's hesitant but hearing the mob voices growing louder, she enters.
"Go," Damon repeats, he gives Elena a nudge and closes the panel just as the mob bursts in.
"Where are they?" One of them yells, demanding an answer.
"There's no one here. I heard some voices in that direction," Damon points down the hallway.
The mob leader stares at him for a moment before raising his arm and leading his men further into the palace.
Damon looks sadly toward the panel and heads to his room to gather his meager belongings.
The Train Station is under siege by royalists trying to board the overcrowded train as the revolutionaries try to stop them. A touching car pulls up on the tracks behind the caboose as the train starts to pull away.
Jenna and Elena climb out of the car and race for the train, fighting their way through the frenzied and frightened crowd.
Elena reaches the train first, then turns to see Jenna, running to catch up.
"Hurry Aunt Jenna."
"Get on! Elena, get on!" Jenna calls out to her.
Elena refuses to board the train without her.
As a mob of revolutionaries are closing in on them. Elena pushes Jenna up the stairs of the caboose which puts her a few steps behind as the train speeds up.
Gripped by other passengers, Jenna reaches out for her niece. "Grab on."
Elena reaches up and takes her hand. "Don't let go."
Suddenly her small hand is pulled from Jenna's grasp. "Elena!" she says fitfully as the child stumbles and hits the ground hard.
Jenna attempts to jump off the train to go to Elena but is held back as the train crashes through the barricades and picks up speed.
Heartbrokenly, Jenna watches as Elena prone form is swallowed up by the mob.
1958
As the sun dips below the horizon, casting a warm glow over the small, cozy house she's come to know as home, Elena stands at the threshold, her suitcase in hand. The air is filled with the sweet scent of jasmine from the garden, a scent that will forever remind her of this place and these people.
She turns for one last look, her eyes tracing the familiar shapes and shadows of the room behind her. The laughter and tears shared in that space echo in her mind, a symphony of memories that tug at her heartstrings.
"Are you ready?" Mrs. Lockwood's voice breaks the silence, her hand resting lightly on Elena's shoulder.
Elena nods, not trusting her voice. She had arrived at their home a wary, guarded child, but the Lockwoods had patiently chipped away at her defenses, offering her a love she's not sure she ever knew. They celebrated her triumphs and soothed her sorrows, always there with a kind word or a comforting hug.
As she moves away, each step feels heavy with the weight of parting. Yet, within her, a resilient spark of hope glimmers. The Lockwoods have given her more than a home; they have given her the strength to face the world and the belief that she is worthy of love.
Carol gives her a hug and a smile. "You let us know how you're doing. I worry about you."
"I will. I promise." Elena shakes her head as she wipes her now moist eyes.
With a deep breath, Elena steps forward, carrying with her the lessons of kindness, the warmth of family, and the courage to embrace her future and hope to find out who she is and if her real family is still out there, somewhere.
A glorious bright and cold morning creeps over the horizon. Tyler pulls to the side of the road to give Elena one last look at Mystic Falls.
Elena stands at the edge of the hill, looking down as the Lockwood Mansion looms behind her. "I'm going to miss this place," she comments, looking at her adoptive brother with a melancholy smile.
"It's not like you'll never see us again," Tyler wraps an arm around her shoulder and pulls her into his side.
"You're right and I am excited to get to the city. I'm excited for the adventure."
"New York is great to visit but I wouldn't want to live there... C'mon, we should get going, you have a plane to catch." Tyler urges her back to the car.
They pass through the countryside toward Richmond. She lays her head against the window as the scenery goes by.
She jars from her musings when the car stops. Tyler gives her a nudge before hopping out of the car and pulling her suitcase from the trunk. Elena releases a weighted sigh and gets out, slamming the door shut behind her.
"Don't be scarce. We're only a phone call away." Tyler tells her as he sets her suitcase on the sidewalk and extends the handle for her. "Good luck," he whispers and embraces Elena, letting the hug linger for a few moments.
"Give Caroline my love," Elena tells him when he releases her.
"She wanted to come along..." A car horn interrupts their moments as other people are waiting to disembark. "I better go." Tyler gives her another hug and quickly jumps back into his vehicle.
Elena grips her necklace as she watches him drive away. Determined, she grips the handle of her bag and enters the airport concourse.
The hum of the aircraft's engines is a steady backdrop to the murmur of passengers settling into their seats. Sunlight streams through the oval windows, casting patterns on the aisle.
Elena, with a look of excitement, gazes out the window. Her hand rests on the glass as she watches the ground crew bustling below, signaling each other as they load luggage.
"First time flying... here we go," Elena mumbles silently as she clutches her boarding pass, her thumb rubbing the edges nervously.
As she enters the airplane, Elena notices an elderly couple holding hands, their faces etched with contented smiles. They're sharing a travel guide, whispering about the places they'll visit.
"Look, dear, the Colosseum," The man points to a photo.
The elderly woman nods, her eyes sparkling with anticipation.
Elena smiles as she walks down the aisle and takes her seat.
A flight attendant, poised and professional, walks down the aisle checking on passengers, stopping when she reaches Elena.
"Are you comfortable? Can I get you anything before takeoff?"
"Just some water, please," Elena tells her nervously and adds, "Thank you."
The woman nods and moves along, her heels clicking softly on the floor.
The pilot's voice crackles over the intercom, announcing the flight details and expected weather. Passengers listen, some with interest, others with indifference, lost in their thoughts or devices.
"Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking..."
Moments later, the plane begins to taxi, the forward momentum pressing the passengers gently into their seats.
Elena closes her eyes, takes a deep breath, and when she opens them again, the plane is lifting off, climbing into the clouds.
The hum of engines and the occasional ding of the seatbelt sign punctuates the air. Amidst the sea of passengers, a man sits by the window, his gaze inadvertently drawn to a girl seated across the aisle. She's engrossed in a book, her expression a mix of concentration and tranquility.
Who is that...? Where have I seen her before?
He squints slightly, trying to catch a clearer glimpse without staring too obviously. The girl's features are strikingly familiar – the curve of her jaw, the way her hair falls in soft waves, even the little furrow that forms between her brows as she reads.
No, it couldn't be. It's impossible but even though he last saw her as a child, the resemblance is remarkable.
A memory flickers in his mind – At the center of the room, under the watchful eyes of ancestral portraits, the Tsar and Tsarina stand, regal and composed. The image is hazy, like a dream half-remembered, but the feeling it evokes is unmistakable.
The grand ballroom of the Vrana Palace is a spectacle of opulence, its vast expanse adorned with gilded mirrors and crystal chandeliers that cast a warm glow over the assembly of nobility.
He watches her turn a page, and for a moment, he's transported back to that evening, the last golden age of an empire unaware of the shadows.
At the heart of this splendor stands young Elena, her eyes wide with wonder, reflecting the myriad of lights.
He shakes his head.
It's impossible. The Grand Duchess Elena was slaughtered with the rest of her family when the revolutionaries took control.
The flight attendant walks by, offering refreshments, breaking his reverie. He takes a cup of coffee, his thoughts still adrift. The girl continues reading, oblivious to the man's quiet contemplation.
As the plane soars above the clouds, the man settles back into his seat, wondering if she may have survived by some miracle...
Elena sits by the window, her book open but idle on the tray table. Her eyes dart around, reflecting a flicker of unease.
She feels it again—the prickling sensation at the back of her neck, the unmistakable feeling of being watched. She tries to shake it off, telling herself it's just the fatigue of a long flight. But the feeling persists.
Elena turns her head slightly, trying to catch a glimpse of the observer without being too obvious. Her gaze sweeps over the passengers behind her— a sleeping man with a drooping head, a mother hushing her child, a young couple engrossed in a movie.
Nothing out of the ordinary.
She turns back, takes a deep breath, and tries to focus on her book. But her concentration is broken as she catches a shadow moving in her peripheral vision. She whips her head around, only to see the flight attendant pulling the drink cart down the aisle.
Elena chuckles at herself, a quiet, nervous sound. She's being silly. Of course, she's just one of many passengers. Who would be watching her?
But as she settles back into her seat, trying to lose herself in her novel, the feeling lingers, an uninvited companion on her solitary journey.
Elena sits quietly, the book in her hands feeling heavier than usual. A wave of drowsiness washes over the pages as she flips through the pages. She closes her eyes. Her grip on the book loosens and it falls onto her lap.
Elena is seven and is sitting cross-legged at a kindly old woman's feet in a grand palace. The scent of freshly baked bread lingers in the air, mixing with the faint aroma of lavender and old books. The old woman's voice, gentle and melodic, fills the room as she reads from a well-worn fairy tale book, its edges frayed from years of love and use.
"Once upon a time, in a land far, far away," the woman begins, and with each word, the world around Elena dissolves, giving way to castles in the clouds and adventures untold.
Elena can feel the warmth of the older woman's hand as it rests on her shoulder, the soft cadence of her voice more comforting than the coziest blanket. They laugh together at the antics of the mischievous characters, sigh at the sweet moments of love, and gasp at the daring feats of heroes and heroines...
The cabin lights flicker, casting an eerie glow over the rows of seats. Elena's head lolls against the window, her breath fogging the glass in a steady rhythm. The drone of the engines has been a soothing lullaby, lulling her into a deep sleep despite her nerves about flying.
Suddenly, the plane jolts violently, snapping Elena out of her slumber. Her heart races as another sharp tremor shakes the aircraft, sending a wave of gasps and murmurs through the cabin. The overhead compartments rattle, a symphony of clicks and thuds accompanying the unsettling dance of the turbulence.
Elena's hands grip the armrests, knuckles turning white. She tries to steady her breathing, to remind herself that turbulence is common and that the pilots are trained for this. But the fear is instinctual, a primal response to the sensation of falling.
The seatbelt sign pings on, its red light cutting through the dimness. A flight attendant's voice, calm and practiced, flows from the speakers, instructing passengers to fasten their seatbelts and remain seated. Elena complies with a click of the belt a small comfort amidst the chaos.
As the plane continues to shudder, Elena closes her eyes tightly, a silent plea escaping her lips. She of her destination, of the reason she boarded this flight despite her fears. The promise of finding her real family is waiting for her, just beyond the storm.
Half an hour passes and now the aircraft glides through the cotton candy clouds, its shadow a fleeting whisper over the patchwork fields below. Elena sits with bated breath, the hum of the engines a steady lullaby accompanying her journey from unknown skies.
As the plane descends, the city comes into view—its buildings a mosaic of lives and stories. The wheels unfold with a mechanical grace, reaching towards the earth like the limbs of a great metal bird.
The captain's voice, calm and reassuring, announces the imminent touchdown. Seat belts click, windows reveal the approach of the runway, and hearts flutter with the anticipation of arrival.
With a gentle nudge, the wheels kiss the tarmac, a puff of smoke rising like a soft exhalation. The plane taxis along the runway, a triumphant return from the heavens, carrying souls full of memories and dreams.
Elena breathes a sigh of relief as she waits to exit the aircraft.
Exhaustion clings to Elena like a second skin as she enters her hotel room, the door closing with a soft click behind her. The long flight has left her feeling disoriented, time blurs in a weary haze. She drops her suitcase by the door.
The room is dimly lit, the curtains drawn tight against the intrusion of the city's glow. She kicks off her shoes, the carpet soft against her tired feet. With each step towards the bed, the weight of her eyelids seems to double. Elena barely manages to peel back the crisp, white sheets before collapsing into the bed's embrace.
The pillow is cool against her cheek, the mattress firm yet forgiving. She curls up, drawing the blanket around her like a cocoon. The distant sounds of the city are a gentle murmur, the rhythm of the night a soothing backdrop to her fatigue.
Her thoughts drift, untethered, as the tension in her muscles unwinds. The day's memories—airports, boarding calls, the drone of the engines—fade into the softness of the room. Sleep creeps in, a silent thief, and she surrenders to it willingly, her breaths deepening, her body sinking into the bed as if it's as soft as a cloud.
In the quiet sanctuary of her hotel room, travel chaos dissolves, and peace finds her.
In a dreamscape awash with the golden light of late afternoon, a little girl twirls in a meadow blooming with wildflowers. Her laughter is a melody, and her feet move with the unburdened joy of childhood.
She is not alone in her dance is a pretty young woman, a figure woven from the threads of her mind. They hold hands, spinning in a circle, their dresses billowing like the petals of the daisies that surround them.
The woman's eyes sparkle, and her steps are as light as the breeze that carries the scent of lavender and honeysuckle. Together, they move in harmony, a duet of happiness that needs no music to sustain it.
As they dance, the world around them seems to join in. Butterflies flutter in intricate patterns, mirroring their movements. The trees sway gently, their leaves rustling in soft applause.
Even the sun seems to linger a moment longer on the horizon...
Time holds no power as Elena dreams. Memories are merely shadows that fade away allowing her to sleep undisturbed.
Thank you all for reading. You're the best.
The last Grand Duke of Bulgaria left office in 1946 when the Communists took over. That's when the events at the palace took place.
Thank you, Eva, love you.
Richard and Carol Lockwood are out of character but I was blank about another couple to be Elena's adoptive parents.
Chapter title: The Nightmare by David Newman
I hope you all have a wonderful day.