The Great Aftermath Of 1812

Pierre and Natasha

      Natasha sat on her white sofa, absent-mindedly stroking the red blankets. She was tormented by her choice to break with Andrey Bolkonsky to elope with Anatole Kuragin. That man, however handsome, wasn't to be trusted. He never told Natasha where they were going, never told her when, never even told her that he was married. When she found out, she had wept for hours, feelings of betrayal overtaking her. Natasha guessed it was fitting, she betrayed her fiance and was betrayed by her secret lover. Karma, I suppose. God, how could she have been so stupid? She had loved Andrey for over a year, and instead chose to leave him for a man she had spoken to twice over the course of three days. Her cousin, Sonya, had reported to her just under an hour ago that Andrey didn't want to ask her for her hand again. Sonya had held Natasha as she cried, stroking her hair, whispering comforting words. However much Natasha had wanted to hate Sonya for ruining her elope, she couldn't bear to have no one. Besides, Anatole hadn't really planned to marry her anyways, he just wanted his pleasure. Sonya had saved her. Just after, Marya came in, apologizing for her scolding. She knew how sad Natasha was, now that she had forever lost both her loves. Now, however, Natahsa was alone.
      Natasha eventually stood, not knowing quite what to do with herself, opting to walk to the drawing room. Here was where she had sat so many times, waiting for Andrey to return. Natasha ran her hand over the all-too-familiar coffee table, memories rushing back. This was where she had smiled and wept over Andrey's letters, where she had prepared in secret for Anatole's ball, where she had fought with Sonya after she found Anatole's letter. She heard the door open and turned away from the noise, blushing. She didn't want anyone to see her in this state. There was a pause before she heard someone slowly say "Natasha?" She turned slowly to the recognizable voice and saw the old family friend standing before her. "Peter..." He smiled at hearing his real name, but corrected her still. "Call me Pierre." Natasha stared at him, guilt and dread pooling inside of her. She felt bad for not only Andrey, but for Pierre. She had hurt one he loved. "Pierre, Prince Bolkonsky is your friend. I'm so sorry, for everything. For hurting not only him, but you." Pierre only sniffed, his eyes drifting to the painting on the wall in a futile attempt to seem as though he didn't care what Natasha had to say. "Pierre, I have done him many wrongs, and although he does not want to be associated with me, please pass my message on. Tell him I ask for forgiveness, beg for it."
      Pierre directed his gaze back to her, his eyes filled with only pity. "I will pass this message, but he gave me your letters. He does not seek out your hand again."
      "I know that already, and need not a reminding. I just want him to know that I am not proud of my actions, of my wrongdoing. Tell him I apologize, with all of my heart." A silent tear trickled down Natasha's face, and Pierre gave up on reproach. Before him was just a girl, no matter the demon she was made out to be. He had seen her, he knew her, knew she never would hurt a soul. "I will tell him. But first: did....did you love that horrid creature? Anatole?" Natasha gave him his answer in her reply: "He is not horrid in my eyes." A beat passed before she took a breath and said, "I don't truly know. He seemed so charming, so perfect. He was kind, but even the most horrid can be kind. Kindness does not equate to goodness." Natasha broke down, sinking down to the floor with her sobs. Pierre felt a tear roll down his face, hoping no one noticed. "Well, if you wish, we will never mention it again. But know that I am always here for you. Confide in me, with anything you need confiding in."
      When Natasha didn't react, he became puzzled. "Don't do that for me. At this moment, I am a beast, and I do not deserve someone as good as you.-"
      "Do not proceed." Pierre cut her off. "You have everything before you, you can go anywhere in life. You will find another, have children, everything."
      "No, everyone knows what I have done. All is lost." She took a rattling breath, barely making it through her next scentence before dissolving into sobs. "I will never find a husband. No one wants me."
      Pierre stood still for a moment, unsure of what to do. He pulled Natasha up with one hand, her face showing confusion. He, in turn, dropped to one knee, holding out his hand. "Natasha, if you believe that to be so, than take my hand and be mine forever. I am but a few years older than you. I have no problem leaving my wife, I could do it in England, where it is allowed. If your godmother approves, we could build a life. If you don't want, you mustn't love me, just befriend me. I will do all this for you, because I love you. Always know that I love you." Natasha could not speak, tears glistening in her eyes. These tears, unlike those before them, weren't tears of sadness, but instead of joy, of gratitude, of love. She smiled and took Pierre's hand as he slowly rose to his feet. He kissed Natasha's fingers, and for the first time in days, she felt as though everything would turn out alright.