Anastasia

[4] Aftermath

A couple days later, the atmosphere in the house was still thick with tension. The rest of the servants looked at Anastasia with a sort of awe for standing up to Frances, except the fearsome trio, who only seemed to despise her even more. Frances had not spoken to her since, although Anastasia had a sneaking suspicion that she was planning her slow and agonizing demise. Eleanor was the only one who paid no mind to it; Louise seemed conflicted by it. It was as though she couldn't decide if she should dislike Anastasia for disrespecting her mother, or admire her for not backing down. The girl remained stuck in the middle of a war that was not hers to fight.

"Will's been talking about you a lot recently," Louise revealed, confident in knowing they were in the privacy of her bedroom. Anastasia, who was sliding a dress over Louise's head, stilled her movements, leaving Louise to make a noise of surprise with her head lost in the fabric.

"Has he, now?" Anastasia asked amusedly.

"He has," came Louise's muffled voice from inside the dress, which prompted Anastasia to hurriedly pull it down the rest of her body. "Like what I think of you. If you're nice to me, mainly." She paused and cocked her head to the side as she scrutinized Anastasia's strawberry blonde hair and light blue eyes. Unlike with Frances, Anastasia felt more amused than nervous, and continued to straighten out the bunches in the dress.

"Well, am I?" Satisfied with how the dress was laying, she sat Louise down in front of the mirror and took her hair out from its messy, sleep-mussed style.

"Yes," Louise said, without taking a moment to think. "But he said you haven't been very nice to him recently."

Anastasia pursed her lips at Louise's reflection, trying to contain her amusement at how easily Will's air of confidence seemed to be broken. "Between you and me, I think your brother is just ill-equipped to handle girls who aren't affected by his charms." That seemed to amuse Louise, who grinned at her in the mirror. Her grin quickly faded, however, when Anastasia began to style her hair.

"Who were you and Mama arguing about?" Louise asked, voice soft. Not accusing. Curious. A little guarded, perhaps.

Anastasia didn't meet the dark blue eyes that peered back at her, instead focusing her attention on wrestling with Louise's hair. "A man named Nicholas Romanov, although we Russians call him Nikolai," she answered slowly. "He was the tsar of Russia, sort of like a king. Some people in Russia didn't like how he was ruling it, so they decided to..." She trailed off, her throat suddenly feeling tight.

"Decided to what?" Louise pressed, too inquisitive for her own good.

Anastasia took a deep, steadying breath, and said, "They decided to kill him. The order was made by a man named Yakov Yurovsky. But they killed the whole Romanov family, not just the tsar. Every last one of them. None of them deserved to die." She glanced down at the floor. Her earlier sadness and grief had morphed into something far more raw. Anger.

"Maybe it was for a reason," Louise said. "Maybe, now, Russia will be better."

A country bettered through the murder of an innocent man and his family? Unlikely. "I don't know. Maybe." Anastasia sighed. The mood in the room had shifted from a playful atmosphere to a gloomy one. "But whatever the reason, it can never be justified." With Louise's hair done, she squeezed her shoulder and stepped away, allowing the girl to get up and do a little twirl.

"How do I look?" Louise asked with a smile. Anastasia was thankful for the easy forgetfulness of children; they were blissfully ignorant, something that Anastasia envied.

"Like a princess," she responded with a small smile.

Louise went downstairs, leaving Anastasia to tidy up the room after her. Her mind spun wildly as she attempted to make Louise's bed. What was she thinking? She shouldn't have told Louise about her family, even if it was unlikely Louise would ever be able to put the pieces together. Nonetheless, Anastasia was trying to remain as invisible as possible, not call more attention to herself. The newspaper James had been reading the other day confirmed just as much. News of her family's death had gotten out; it would only be so long before it was released that a body was missing. Knowing the Reds, they'd put out a hefty reward to have her brought back in shackles. She wouldn't have just the Russians after her, either, a thought that made her stomach churn with unease.