Certain memories Anya longs for. The clear sound of her sisters' voices, tricks Alexei might have played, her mother's smile. She has parts of these things, useless moments scattered with more precious ones. The dark space in her mind where her last memories of them should be. She doesn't want to remember that night, doesn't want to fully know how she survived when they didn't. How unfair fate was in those final moments to spare her as it took those she loved most.

Perhaps one day she'll be ready to remember, but not tonight. Not on a night like this one where the air is warmer than it should be (just as that night was cooler). Not when Gleb is a reassuring presence, smiling at her the way he is, filling her mind with possibilities she shouldn't entertain.

"The people here like to play pretend with the past. To celebrate things like they were in the movies of the time." Anya does not know how she feels about such nostalgia. Things are rarely as neat as people remember them being. They want to remember the good things, not the plain black bread and watery tea of rations. There is a softness in memories. Things were never as good or bad as people think. She nods though at his remark. "There is. There was..." she pauses, uncertain how to bring it up. "There was a war then. Another great war. The Germans invaded Russia, or the Soviet Union I should say." There is a soft clucking of her tongue. "I'm almost sorry I looked it up."