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There never was an Anastasia, he told them. She was just a dream, he told them. But Gleb should have known...
The New Order had no time for dreams.
He was apprehended mere moments after his announcement. He should have expected it, of course, but somewhere deep in his heart he thought that his beloved Russia might have mercy on him. But that too was just a dream.
They offered him one final chance. If he revealed the whereabouts and/or the fate of the girl, he would get away with a dishonorable discharge for allowing the rumor of Anastasia to spread throughout Russia, rekindling hopes and the wrong sorts of spirits. Gleb refused. For one thing, he didn’t know what became of Anya, and even if he did he wouldn’t betray her trust in that way. Despite everything, they were still comrades.
His sentence was to be carried out publicly. The example that was to be made of her would be made of him instead.
There was a piercingly cold breeze flowing around them as his arms were tied to the pole behind him.
A crowd of people had gathered to watch, many of whom were familiar to Gleb. He let his eyes scan every individual face as they read out his charge. They were people that he had made friendly conversation with. People he had reassured in their times of need. People he had warned. Families of people he had dubbed criminals. It must have seemed like justice to them.
When he caught sight of one particular face near the front, his heart stopped.
Dressed in her woolen brown cloak with her hood hiding her hair, stood Anya.
Gleb straightened his posture and leaned as far as he could towards her in order to get a better look. He blinked once, twice, thrice. It was still Anya. But that was impossible! He had only just left Anya in Paris, there was no logical way she could be there!
Anya began to walk towards him, pushing through the people and gliding over the freshly laid snow until she was standing mere metres away from him. Gleb recoiled backward.
Her feet left no marks in the snow.
“Anya, I-” He tried to explain, but she put a finger over her lips to silence him. She nodded her head towards the officer who was in the process of exaggerating his mistakes to the people of Leningrad.
Did she want to listen? Did she believe their lies? He turned back to look at her for answers, but she was not the same.
Anya- no, Anastasia was standing there, wearing the stunning red dress that he had last seen her in. Gleb’s heart twisted at the sight. She looked every bit the princess she thought- the princess she was.
Her look of disdain had morphed into one of fear, and she was trembling as she stared at him. His own face was full of confusion. What reason did she have to be afraid of him?
As if she read his mind, her gaze lowered to his right hand behind the pole. Following it, Gleb realised that he was holding a gun.
“Finish it.” She said to him, stepping closer, her eyes transfixed on the pistol. “I am my father’s daughter. Do it!”
He desperately tried to drop the gun, but with every attempt, his fingers only gripped it tighter. He did not want to hurt her, he’d spared her once. She wasn’t even real! Even then he wouldn’t shoot her.
“Do it!” She commanded, daring to step even closer.
“No!” He cried, squeezing his eyes shut. He must’ve looked extraordinarily weak to the onlookers, but he couldn’t find it within himself to mind. He just couldn’t bear to live through this again.
Finally, she fell silent. Gleb cautiously opened one eye, but upon seeing the sight in front of him they both flew open in shock.
The girl in front of him was one of the children that haunted his dreams even to that day. The memory of that girl was the one that had made him begin to doubt Anya in the first place.
Anastasia’s young face was filled with terror and her cheeks were stained with the blood of her family. The blood of the Romanovs.
The pistol in his hand had become a rifle. Gleb dropped it immediately. It too left no mark.
He couldn’t tear his eyes away from her. She was staring at him with immense pity and sorrow, but otherwise her expression hadn’t changed despite his gesture of surrender.
Could it be…
That the utter fear in her expression was for him?
Perhaps he had been too soon with the assumption that Russia wasn’t on his side. Perhaps… perhaps Anya had been his Russia all along.
No, it was a silly thought. He couldn’t think such things in his final moments. It would be undignified of him, and he needed to appear strong in front of the people.
His eyes met hers as the true rifles were readied in front of him.
But still…