100 Years

Chapter 2 - December 1905

(This chapter is dedicated to _Aretha_ for designing an awesome cover for this book :D)

Year 1905, February.

When I first went to visit Anastasia, it was a short meeting. Along the way to the mansion I heard loud noises and saw huge crowds lining across the streets from afar. I did not know what was happening, but my parents seemed worried as they drove down the road. Fifteen minutes into the first visit of Anastasia's house, when she was bringing me to see her father, the Tsar, I heard the ominous 'pop' sounds ringing down the road outside. A harried looking officer rushed towards the Tsar, whispered something in his ear, and the officer turned to me and told me to leave, saying weird things about being unsafe to stay around, before he and the Tsar hurriedly rushed out of the room.

I did not understand. How could the safest place in Russia be unsafe? Was the Tsar's living quarters not the mansion of the highest security, with Cossacks lined outside the front door, poised to shoot at the Tsar's command, or even act on their own to open fire? Before I could ask anything, my mother came in, looking even more worried than before. "We're leaving," that was all she said, before dragging me into the car, where my father took off in a deserted alley, winding along the road for hours. I could still hear those noises, though they were much fainter, and my mother held her hands protectively over my ears to shut away the noise.

This was not how I expected my first visit to Anastasia's house to end like. But it definitely will not be the last.

--

Year 1905, December.

Ever since that one time I asked to visit her house, it soon became a routine for me to ride down the now familiar road down to the mansion Ana lived in on every Saturday. Chaos still reigned by the main roads, and my father had always directed the journey into the deserted alley leading to the small thick bushels covering the back of the mansion. All this trouble did not matter. I only bothered about seeing Ana. I had asked if I could call her Ana, and she agreed immediately.

"You're the only one who calls her Ana, you know." piped up Tatiana, her second sister, on one of my visits. "Everyone at home just calls her Nastya or Nastenka, or a better substitute for her, a shivibzik." She chuckled at the mention of the nickname, but I frowned, "I don't think she's an imp, she's been nice to me all along."

"Oh, you don't know her well enough yet. Wait until you see the pranks she pulls at home when you aren't around, that malenkaya shivibzik." Tatiana smiled at me.

I liked Tatiana. For one, she was closest to my age, which made me feel a little more comfortable talking to her. Their oldest sister, Olga, seemed intimidating to me, or maybe it was just because I was timid in front of those I do not know well enough. I hardly saw Alexei, the youngest and their only brother around. After all he was only a year old, and probably nestled in one of the large rooms down the winding corridor, occasionally announcing his presence with a muffled cry behind the thick walls. Maria, Ana's third sister, was also close to my age, being a year younger than I was. But I did not know what to expect from those younger than me, even if it was just a year younger. Yet Ana had seemed so mature for her young age. It was simply beautiful. I think I might just start getting to know her even more. Starting now. I could ask Tatiana, or Ana herself.

Perhaps the reason why I did not use the traditional Russian nicknames for her, was because of my English roots to give her English nicknames, or because I wanted to feel special. To be the only person addressing her like that, it made me feel unique to her. A special bond between us, something my selfish desire longed to get. In this time and place that I lived in, Russia were in their days of turmoil. I could hear the ominous 'bang' from a distance way too often, they were starting to get on my nerves. In the few glimpses I had at the main roads, crowds were gathered at along the long stretch of the road, their screams embedded in fury. Yet here I was, oblivious to the mess of the world, oblivious of what may be the impending doom in the years to come. I had my eyes and thoughts only on Ana.

Is that what they mean by being blinded by love?

I glanced out of the windows. It was quiet for now, but the silence could be broken any time. People shouting, the ringing 'pop' sounds that filled the air. I did not know what was going on outside, but it did not seem good. My parents were now speaking of some things I do not know of, hidden in their room with anxious whispers that were barely audible. They might have something to do with those sounds out there.

I did not care. I was safe here. Or at least, I thought I was. And I'm still with Ana. That was what truly mattered.

I closed my eyes and savoured the silence. Such rare moments of tranquility had since allowed me to appreciate them even further while they lasted, and this was exactly what my introverted self preferred, shrouded in silence. No one could break it. 

"It's snowing." the sweet voice of Ana rang beside my ear. My eyes flicked open, taking in the blinding light reflected from the falling white snow. Was it just me, or was her voice tinged with sadness?

I turned to look at her. She was frowning slightly. "I asked Otets if I could go out and play with the snow, but he said no." she said. "I think it might have something to do with those weird noises."

She knows. She really was dead smart for her age, to be able to make such a connection. It was her sheer intelligence that captivated me.

I did not reply, partly because I did not know what to say. Another part of me was hoping that she would not ask further, just because I did not exactly feel like talking. But she persisted for an answer, and turned to me. "Do you know anything about that? About what is going on at the outside?"

I turned back to the window. For a long time none of us spoke. I was surprised she was not prompting for an answer. Maybe she had left. I did not turn around to look, but instead spoke into the silence in a whisper, for fear of breaking the fragile, intangible still air.

"I don't know. And I don't want to know."