The Last Romanov (Under Editing)

The World Stood Still

Anastasia watched everything play out in the square from the window of her apartments.

She had to admit: the scene shocked her. She'd known that the Bolsheviks were growing in number – a little too much, for her liking – and that many of the people still supported them. However, She didn't expect people to be quite like that. The majority of her men in the Okhrana told her that the people of St. Petersburg were more concerned with the continuation of their daily lives than they were with what she was doing with her country. She'd done what she could do to make sure that Russia was business as usual, but, obviously, there were plenty of changes that affected her people a little more than she would've liked.

But... were things really to the point that people wanted to rebel against her? Just like they rebelled against her father.

She tightened her grip on the sword at her side as she watched the scene in the square. People were yelling, screaming, shooting; it was chaos. Pure, absolute chaos.

I told you, Nastya, Rasputin's voice cooed in her head. Will you really deny what is happening in front of your very eyes? The people will take their power back, and there isn't much you can do about it.

No, they won't, Anastasia thought stubbornly. They just need to get used to being under the rule of a Romanov, again. They need time to truly see that this is better than what Lenin gave them.

They won't see that, Rasputin promised her. The people will see what they want to see, whether or not it's the truth. And all they see when they look at you is a conqueror, not a liberator. People generally don't take well to conquerors.

"Czarina? Czarina, what are your orders?"

Anastasia turned around to face the guard standing behind her. It was Pavlov, the very officer she'd asked about the draft.

Anastasia stood up a little taller, trying to push away her own self doubt. Doubt sewn by the voice of that bastard Rasputin.

"Get every guard we can spare out in that square," she ordered. She turned back to the window and looked out at the chaos in the square. "Get that situation under control at any cost."

She glanced back at Pavlov for a brief second. "And I mean at any cost."

***

Virtanen felt like he was going to vomit.

The scene he was watching was just... well, it was unbelievable. From his window in his apartment, he could see the battle that was going on in the square. He guessed that battle was the wrong word for it, though: it was more of a complete and utter massacre. The men of the imperial army were killing off any civilian they came across that held a weapon. Men, women, children: none of them were spared. If the guards thought they were a threat, they killed them. Period. And since none of those people really knew how to defend themselves from those guns and bayonets, they didn't stand much of a chance. People just kept falling and falling, and the guards didn't relent.

And the worst part was, there were even more guards coming into the square. Things were just going to continue to get worse for those poor people in the square.

It wasn't right: damn it, it wasn't right!

He turned around at some of the men behind him. They were all men that owed their allegiance to people other than the Czarina. Arttüri was there, as were a few of his friends. All four of the men in that room were born and bred Finns: everything in Russia could go even farther down the shitter than it already was, and they probably wouldn't care.

So, naturally, they were some of the few people he could trust with information on what he was doing in Russia.

"You have any idea what you want to do?" Arttüri asked. Virtanen still couldn't believe that he'd let the man sit on that white couch: was he really that distracted by what was going on outside his window?

Well, of course he was: people were dying out there, for heaven's sake: how could he not be worried?

"None," Virtanen said. "I have absolutely no damned clue what I'm supposed to do." He turned to look out the window, again. Back at the carnage that was the square out front. "I don't even have enough information to figure out what the hell is going on out there."

"To hell with information: the world doesn't get changed by people that sit around and wait for the full picture," Arttüri snorted. "What's your gut telling you?"

"It's telling me that we need to help these people," Virtanen said without a moment of hesitation. "I don't know how, but we need to help."

"I think I've got an idea." Arttüri stood up. Virtanen was too afraid to see what the poor couch looked like. "I'm going to send a telegram to some friends in Helsinki. Maybe we'll be able to get them to make a charitable donation to the Bolsheviks."

Virtanen glanced over his shoulder at the man, doing what he could to ignore the couch. "The government's not going to go for that: you know how much it took them to let me come here?"

"Now, who the hell said anything about the government?"

Of course. He was talking about those friends.

"Do it," Virtanen said. "Get caught and I'll kill you, myself."

***

Nadezhda felt numb.

It wasn't a way she wanted to feel while witnessing people die for a cause that her husband had championed. She should feel something more: she needed to feel some sense of pride in these people, some anger, maybe even a sense of patriotism, but she didn't feel any of those things as she watched imperial soldiers beat these people senseless, even killing a few. The fact of the matter was, she didn't feel a thing. She didn't feel anything as she watched men fall under swords and guns, seeing people die right in front of her eyes, and it absolutely sickened her.

"Nadezhda!" She felt somebody grab her by the shoulder-

She couldn't stop herself. She yelped, turning around and pointing her gun at... whoever was behind her.

"Easy! Easy!" It was Nikola, his face cut and bruised. He looked like hell, and it was all for her husband's memory. For her. "It's just me."

She lowered her pistol. Even then, she could feel the tears brewing in her eyes, the way her hands shook.

Nadezhda could hardly believe it. When had she cried in front of people, last? Years. She hadn't done it since before the revolution. She'd had to be so strong for some damned long that the only person to see her cry in all that time had been Vladimir. And now, he was gone, and she... she didn't even have him to lean on, anymore. What was she supposed to do, now?

"N-nadezhda... a-are you okay?" Nikola asked.

She immediately blinked those tears back. She couldn't do that, not then: she had to hold it together, or these people were going to see her in her moment of weakness and lose hope in this revolution. And she wasn't about to do that to these people.

"I'm fine," Nadezhda said. Steady, Nadezhda: steady as she goes. "What do you need?"

"We need to get you out of here, ma'am," Nikola said. He began to look around. "Things aren't going very well for us: we need to get you somewhere safe, before they catch you."

He was right. Damn it, he was right!

Nadezhda nodded. "Let's get out of here, then."