Chapter Text
5-year-old Anastasia Romanova was a rather lonely child. Besides the fact that she was Grand Duchess, she was also scrawny and generally unsociable, so she didn’t have many friends. The servants mainly tried to get her out of their way and the only class she paid any attention in was music. She was enchanted by the idea of making something so beautiful with her own hands.
Anastasia’s cousin, 15-year-old Ashes O’Reilly, was her only friend. They shared her love of music and always listened to her long rants, despite Anastasia’s speech level being far less advanced than their own. They had more friends than Anastasia, she’d seen them smiling and laughing with some of the younger servants, but they always made time for their little cousin, playing her their large, low instrument as she stared in awe.
She was very upset to learn Ashes was leaving Russia for Paris and threw a fit over it. Red-cheeked and teary-eyed, Anastasia wailed as Ashes packed their belongings into a trunk.
Ashes knelt down in front of their cousin, taking her small hands in their own. They shushed the young princess gently, rubbing circles against her palms. She sniffled, quieting a little. Ashes took her face in their hands and smiled at her.
“It’s alright, princess,” they assured her. “I got you something, before I leave.”
Anastasia looked up at their cousin with her large, glass framed eyes, and stuck out her little hands for the gift.
Ashes smiled at her and reached into their satchel, pulling out a gorgeous intricate music box. It fit in both of Anastasia’s hands and was a rich blue color with swirling cyan tendrils and little stars and clouds engraved in white on the sides. She beamed and jumped from foot to foot, holding the music box up at Ashes, who nodded with a matching smile. Their brown hands wrapped around the princess’ small pale ones as they taught her how to wind it up and make the music play.
It was gorgeous, a tinkering version of the first song and as of yet the only song Nastya had played on her new violin.
“There, see?” Ashes said gently. “When you listen to it you can think of me, even though I’m in Paris. And you can always come see me, if your father will allow it.” They nodded. “It’s not really that far away, only a little while by train. I can come and see you on your birthdays, Anastasia.”
The Grand Duchess nodded slowly, being convinced by Ashes’ reassuring words. “I’ll be 6 in… soon. You’ll come and see me then, right?”
“Of course, princess.” They patted Anastasia on the head gently, then shut their trunk and heaved it out of their room, waving one last time at their little cousin. Anastasia watched them leave, the music box still tinkling away in her hands.
***
17-year-old Anastasia Romanova was a rather lonely teen. But now she wasn’t allowed to sit alone with her comforts, she was forced to attend balls and parties and engage with even the most distant of relatives. She always carried her violin with her, since she’d learned quite fast that she wasn’t very good at other forms of communication.
She knew she wasn’t like her peers, always preening and giggling over gossip. She always felt out of place in the sumptuous dresses and layers of makeup. Nastya liked pockets to stow the little things she picked up and decided to keep, she liked ponytails to keep her hair out of her eyes when she played her beloved violin or tinkered away at whatever trinket she’d gotten her hands upon.
They said she was headstrong or even nasty, but Anastasia really just wanted to be left alone. Life at the palace was too bright and loud for her, it brought out some of her distinctly unflattering attributes.
Anastasia couldn’t keep track of all of the people around her, the blurs of color and movement as royals whose names she should know spun and danced under the warm light, their various jewels glinting in sparks of bright light. She stood by one of the windows, watching the snow tumble onto the trees and painting the outside world in a calming endless white. It was one of her favorite things about Russia, that she could trust the landscape to be peaceful and soft, always waiting for her whenever she next got a chance to step outside.
Anastasia was preoccupied by her own thoughts, trying to calm her racing mind and the urge to scream at everyone to stop moving! She didn’t notice the intrusion in the ballroom until the first gunshot rang out. The princess’ heart stopped dead in her chest as she saw the revolutionaries, the Bolsheviks, she knew they were called. Another gunshot rang out and suddenly movement started again, like a light being turned off then on. The royals screamed and ran, the Bolsheviks’ gunfire rang out, and the only thing Anastasia could think of was her music box.
It brought her comfort. She needed comfort. Anastasia knew it wasn’t the wisest move, but every single part of her mind that she’d ever considered strange or out of place screamed at her to go get it. And the princess could only resist so much pressure. She grabbed her ridiculous dress in one hand and ran as fast as she could out of the ballroom. Anastasia saw the rest of her family running too, in the same direction as her, and suddenly a sense of dread swept over her, paralyzing her a second before the bullet hit.
Anastasia thinks she screamed, but she could never be sure, because she hit the ground and the lights in her mind went out.
***
26-year-old Ashes O’Reilly put their face in their hands, crumpling the letter against their forehead. Their whole family, decimated.
They hadn’t been to see the Romanovs in a little while, and had been planning to go and join them for a ball. A ball which would have probably ended in their death.
Anastasia, Alexei, all of them, gone.
Ashes shook their head. No time to mourn, they had to make sure they weren’t next. They set the letter down next to the last one they’d received from the family. One from their little cousin Anastasia, thanking them for coming to her birthday celebration and being the only bearable thing in that room. They felt a pang of loneliness, which they shut down.
Right now, it was about survival. They could mourn later.