A storm of her own making is beginning to swirl within her. The quickening of her heartbeat as she impossibly hopes that he will kiss her, the fear that he will and she won't be able to stop herself from kissing him back. The knowledge that doing so would break Gleb's heart and that is the very last thing she wants to do.
It might be too late. She might already be well on her way to doing so. This is a path that she never dreamt of, one that she has found herself on without knowing that she was moving. Perhaps she was fated for this, set on this path the moment the Bolsheviks sent her to Ekaterinburg all those years ago. Maybe it was earlier, that day at the parade when she was only eight.
Anya doesn't know what to make of fate. She doesn't know what to do with destiny or the will of God. If this is part of some greater plan, then she prays for more insight. For safety.
For less guilt at being glad to be held in his arms, even for a little while. "You always had a chance. Even when I hated you, I didn't really. The opposite of love isn't hate, it is indifference and you make me too crazy for that," she teases, trying and failing to break the tension. But she does not pull away from him. "I know, but I want to tell you. I lived that night in that cellar again and again, each time failing to escape it. Gleb was there as well and we were only children." A pause as she swallows hard. "He died in my arms." Shaking her head slightly, she looks up at Dmitry's face, searching for answers that aren't there. "I wonder if you had been here, if this place would have brought you to that night as well."
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It might be too late. She might already be well on her way to doing so. This is a path that she never dreamt of, one that she has found herself on without knowing that she was moving. Perhaps she was fated for this, set on this path the moment the Bolsheviks sent her to Ekaterinburg all those years ago. Maybe it was earlier, that day at the parade when she was only eight.
Anya doesn't know what to make of fate. She doesn't know what to do with destiny or the will of God. If this is part of some greater plan, then she prays for more insight. For safety.
For less guilt at being glad to be held in his arms, even for a little while. "You always had a chance. Even when I hated you, I didn't really. The opposite of love isn't hate, it is indifference and you make me too crazy for that," she teases, trying and failing to break the tension. But she does not pull away from him. "I know, but I want to tell you. I lived that night in that cellar again and again, each time failing to escape it. Gleb was there as well and we were only children." A pause as she swallows hard. "He died in my arms." Shaking her head slightly, she looks up at Dmitry's face, searching for answers that aren't there. "I wonder if you had been here, if this place would have brought you to that night as well."