The Last Romanov (Under Editing)

The Marks

Anastasia had been looking forward to that day for years. Ever since that night in 1918. And after entering that house, standing in that damned basement, she was even more excited to see that house get demolished. Part of her just wanted to get into that bulldozer and start it. No pomp, no fanfare: just leveling that house and erasing it from the face of the earth.

But, she managed to resist that urge. Hundreds of people had shown up in front of that place, expecting to hear from their Czarina. She might as well say a few words.

"Are you ready?" Her guard asked. She didn't know his name: those days, she didn't bother learning. They were in and out of her life so fast, it no longer mattered to her.

Anastasia looked out at the crowd of people. Once upon a time, when she was younger, she would've been absolutely terrified to stand up in front of so many people and say a few words. Nowadays, though, her heart didn't even flutter in her chest as she faced the people. It was just another part of her life, one that she'd been forced to get used to.

"Of course," she said, pulling out her pocket watch to check the time. It was time to start. "Make sure the construction crew is ready with the bulldozer: I want this to go off without a hitch so I can get back to St. Petersburg."

"Yes, Czarina." The guard rushed off to accomplish the order.

Anastasia took a deep breath, then walked out onto the stage to meager, less-than-enthousiastic clapping.

She looked out at the crowd and began her speech: "Citizens of Yekaterinburg, we are gathered in this place to day to not only remember the past, but look forward to the future."

***

Novak loved the smell of coffee in the morning.

He didn't quite know what it was, but there was something about waking up to that earthy smell that made him feel ready to face his day, even before he took a drink of it. That day was no exception. By the time he got out of bed and made his way downstairs to the kitchen, Anna was pouring him a cup in his trusty mug, a chunk of her brown hair in her face.

"I'll be honest: I was starting to wonder if I should give you up for dead," Anna said, looking up at him. "Did you sleep well?"

"Never better, dear." Novak gave his wife a quick peck on the cheek and took his cup of coffee. "How about you?"

"Not as good as you, I think," Anna said. "I think you're working yourself far too hard: you've got to get more rest, or you're going to run yourself into the ground."

"I know," Novak said. "I promise: once this war's over, I'm going to spend a lot more time relaxing."

He picked up the newspaper from the table and quickly glanced at the front page. Standoff in Chechnya: What We Know.

What we know is that Horacek is a damned idiot for thinking he could wage a war uphill in a place he knows nothing about, Novak thought to himself. But, call himself a glutton for punishment, he decided to go ahead and take the paper, anyway: perhaps it would give him a reason to chastise Horacek next time he saw him.

"Are you going outside, then?" Anna asked.

"I am," Horacek said. "As always, you're welcome to join me."

"Not likely," Anna teased. "It's far too cold: you'll catch your death out there, for sure."

Novak smiled to his wife. "I'll try not to."

***

Zelenko shrugged his coat on, puffing on a cigarette. Why was it still so damned cold? It felt as if the sun never even reached that God-forsaken country: he could only ever see it, but he could never feel it.