“Think of what you can do for God,” the Tsarina offered up a smile that was as sadistic as it was contrite. Anastasia felt sick.
“You will start tomorrow. Do not leave your rooms,” the Tsar commanded once as a way of a goodbye, flicking his finger towards the door ordering everyone to depart.
Alexei was the last to leave, pausing at her door and turning to look at his sister. She knew that look — one that he had perfected over the years. It was the ‘shall I talk to Father’ look.
Anastasia shook her head once and nodded her chin in the direction of the door, encouraging him to go.
If I’m going to be a weapon, I’m afraid of the collateral it will require.
???
Anastasia’s life was now the picture of perfect control. After they returned to St. Petersburg, any semblance of freedom she had before in her already over-regulated life was gone.
Every movement was now monitored, each conversation recorded, and every waking hour laid out for her. Yet, not long after Anastasia had rediscovered her magic through saving her brother’s life, there was one small flickering minute of hope.
Every Sunday morning, the palace emptied as people headed to the nearly day-long church services. It was as much of a place to be seen as any ball or masquerade, making it a must-attend event.
The court attendees went in one of two directions: either still wearing their outfits from the night before in a testament to their debauchery or changing in the early light of the morning to showcase their piety.
During those blessed morning hours on Sunday, Anastasia noticed very quickly that even her attendants and her father’s babysitters left her alone.
It was one of those fateful Sundays that — for a moment — Anastasia might have believed in God. She found herself engrossed in watching the last of her father’s attendants depart, her current priest with them.
For most of her confinement, she had been too afraid to try anything during these brief moments of reprieve.
She knew that her father had commanded her to explore her magic, but diving back into something she had been afraid of for most of her life was daunting. She didn’t trust him. The last thing that she wanted was to become one more cog in the ever-turning wheel of other-worldly influences.
That fateful Sunday, something in the air had shifted and made her feel reckless. Her life couldn’t shrink down any more than it already had, so what did it matter if they caught her trying?
Anastasia found herself moving quickly, changing in her bedroom into a simple shift that a lady-in-waiting had left behind. She crept towards the door, listening for any noise, and when she heard none, slid it open and peered out.
She was shocked to see that her father hadn’t even bothered to place her typical rotating guards at the door; always watching even in her own chambers.
Anastasia sprinted down the hall, not bothering to look behind her. She didn’t give herself a moment to react or breathe, moving on instinct and refusing to let her fear get the better of her. The halls were empty as she had assumed, not even a drunken straggler to be found.
Before too long, she found herself standing at the back door to the palace. Anastasia pushed against it once, twice… she cursed, thinking it was locked… but the heavy, forgotten door swung open on the third push.
Anastasia was taken aback by the cold air on her face, yet, she refused to let the shock stop her. Everything was moving in a blur, and before she knew it, she was exiting the palace gates and was on the streets of St. Petersburg.
Her memories of the city were few and far between, mainly from her childhood, always from the back of a moving car or carriage. She felt paranoid as she moved through the streets, stopping and pausing to stare at the most mundane of things. No one looked at her twice, allowing her freedom that she had never felt before.
She took stock of the city block, and as she surveyed her surroundings, felt the pit in her stomach begin to sink. Asya had told her years ago that things were not well in Russia. That the atmosphere in the palace was an anomaly; the country wasn’t partying until dawn. They were starving. The street was overrun with people moving quickly as if they were always late, desperately clutching groceries to their chest or fighting over half-loaves of bread.
This was the first time that Anastasia had seen it and it pulled at her. The place she held in her heart for her family calcified further, and she wondered how much farther it could go until it fossilized.
It wasn’t until she stopped in front of a small house, the door half-off its hinges, that she was unable to look away. Anastasia peered into the house and could see a mother, desperately fanning the embers of her fireplace.
From the looks of it, she had no money for coal or wood, and keeping a fire alive in their home would consume her. Something came over Anastasia, something she wasn’t familiar with… something that caused her magic to flicker alive within her.
It startled her, for a moment, how naturally it seemed to warm in her bloodstream and flush her cheeks. She had been keeping her magic suppressed for years, and now the strength of it coming over her nearly overtook her on the spot.
What’s happening to me?
The sparks danced over her fingertips and she found herself taking a few steps forward, as if on autopilot. She knocked on the door frame, startling the woman.
“Privet,”Anastasia smiled softly, “May I?” She pointed to the fireplace.
The woman seemed utterly confused, more than anything, but nodded. It was perhaps the shock of seeing a stranger offering to stoke the fire. She took a few steps inside, her shoulders tight as a wave of anxiety crashed over her.
