Anastasia of the Crows

PROLOGUE

A/n I'm using the name 'Anastasia' bc I like it and I think it works as a good summary of this story as the title, but I'm not using her middle name or the name 'Romanoff' bc of what actually happened to that family, it just like feels weird lol. Also, I am making up my own country so that I don't have to change the history from the book :) and the language and traditions from it are made by me :))

ALSO IM SO SORRY FOR HOW DARK IT GOT FOR A MINUTE!

--

PROLOGUE.

NARRATOR.

BEFORE.

There's a lot of value in pretty things, but there isn't much life in being just a pretty thing.

She's been ten for two months now, and she already knows she doesn't care much about being 'pretty.' Anastasia knows that she doesn't particularly care about 'pretty'. Being pretty requires a patience that no child has. She taps her foot impatiently, staring out the window of the castle. It's started to snow; the first snow on the first day of the season. That feels more like magic than anything else, despite what her mother and father are always talking about. There's snow, magical, enchanting snow--and she's trapped inside while her mother styles her hair for, Jude Bien--the Start of Winter Ball. Maybe if she's lucky her father will allow her to stand in the doorway, greeting the extravagantly dressed guests--at least then she'd be outside. She can practically feel the snow flakes against her cheek.

She kicks, stretching her toes trying to touch the marble floor with the toe of her fine shoe from the seat of the vanity--not yet, still too short. Anastasia frowns--her grandmother is always suggesting patience, but it is never an obligation with her. Her grandmother says one day she will grow in The Grand Duchess she's always been on the inside.

"I come to request an audience with The Grand Duchess Anastasia Ophelia Farrah Eliatrope."

Anastasia can't contain herself at the sound of her voice. "Abue!"

Pushing herself off in a hurry, she almost trips on the long, flowy skirt of her white and gold gown despite the fact that the gown has been perfectly tailored for her. She's too fast for long dresses, too loud for the palace--the only thing that ever seems to silence her is a very particular look from her father. A look, it should be noted, he can only rarely bring himself to use.

How is it that the daughter gifted with the most power, the kindest? It tugs at the king's heart in a strange way--both blessed and disappointed. Too soft, too young, too wide eyed, and their world too unrestful. He will never let her remember she is a heartrender.

"Oh, my Anastasia." Her grandmother hugs her back easily, squeezing her small form to her through bundles of expensive silk--the kind of silk made of blood and sweat of the people beneath them. "Your father tells me you've been terrorizing the staff again, especially the cook."

Anastasia pulls away, grinning, aware of the teasingness in her grandmother's mock scolding. "I'm only playing, abue."

"Hmm..." Grandma Aida tilts her head down, "A shame--I brought a present, but I can't reward bad behavior."

At that, Anastasia's dark eyes widen, long lashes fanning across rosey cheeks. "Abue--I--"

"I tease, mi tin muenstre." My little monster. The nickname coined by her grandmother, and her grandmother alone. "Oh, it breaks my heart to leave you for Ravka."

"Can I come with you, abue?" Anastasia is not too familiar with the word 'no', and when met with it she has a way of getting under it in a way that leaves the adults in her life clueless. "I'll be so good."