100 Years

Chapter 5 - December 1906

(This chapter is dedicated to EmmatheRedPanda for her support in my previous work, and her encouragement for me to write my submission for the Open Novella Contest (even though I ultimately missed the deadline by a lot) which is currently in line for my future works.)

It was almost a year since I had first properly met Ana in her house, without counting the interrupted meetings throughout the previous year. Snow was falling once again, just like on that day when I visited Ana's mansion last December.

I had not been able to visit Ana in the past few months, but she had been writing to me often. Every time I received one of her letters, I would stow them away into my room and stack them neatly into a little pile in a small box. The pile would soon become greater.

Ana had been talking about someone she had met recently in the past few months. She said that he was a friend of the royal family, and had helped them greatly. She and her sisters call this man as 'Our Friend'. I did not know his real name yet, and Ana had written that she wanted to introduce him to me personally, "when the opportunity presents".

She did not elaborate much, but I gathered that this friend of theirs must have done something great enough to become acquainted to the royal family. It might have something to do with Alexei.

Ana had written to me about her brother's weak health. I had remembered the letter she wrote last month on how Alexei had a near-death experience, and as I rearranged my stack of letters, I pulled out the very letter I had been thinking of to read it once again.

Dear Klov,

I am still unable to convince Otets to let you visit me. He says that I must continue to wait for a few more months when everything has settled, but I am growing impatient now.

The situation is getting chaotic (at this moment I paused in my reading to marvel at her linguistic ability, one that had widely surpassed her age. I, for one, did not know what 'chaotic' means when I was her age.) in the house now. There are so many people running in and out of the house to pass messages to Otets. Alyosha's (I presume it refers to Alexei) health is worrying everyone at home, especially Mama. She fears that she might have caused his poor health.

You see, my mother suffers from this hereditary illness called haemophilia (it is a disease which causes people to bleed more than often and be more prone to injuries). Me and my siblings all inherited this disease, but Alyosha's condition seemed to be a lot more serious. But Mama says she knows that Our Friend could help to heal Alyosha. So far, he has came over occasionally to pray for Alyosha's health, and it seems to have worked wonders.

I believe in Our Friend, since he can keep Alyosha's condition in check. Besides, Mama trusts him. Mama's friend will be Our Friend. I'm sure you would agree with this too.

I hope I would get to see you soon. Maybe when you come, I would tell you more about Our Friend.

Keep in touch,
Anastasia

I kept the letter neatly back into its envelope. For some reason, I felt that I could not trust 'Our Friend', whoever he was. The methods he used made me skeptical of his healing ability. I am religious, and so are my parents. I visit the Russian Orthodox Church every week. And I do believe in miracles. But I simply could not believe that this 'Our Friend' could heal Alexei by just praying, without using any form of medication. The story would be more believeable if he had at least invented his own form of remedy.

I wondered why Ana did not see the flaw in the man's methods like how I did. Given her intellectual capabilities, I thought she would have known better. Perhaps it was from the influence of her mother, since the empress appeared trusting of that man as described in the letters, or that this issue had concerned her brother. Maybe I should talk to Ana about this shady person.

Restacking the envelopes to make sure they were kept properly in its place, I closed the drawer. I wore my earmuffs and walked towards the window, looking out at the beautiful sight of the pristine white snow. Somewhere further out in the streets, things were not as calm as they were over at my home. I was glad that my house was located further from the city. I liked to think that my house was the safest place in Russia now, and it really seemed like it now.

A man, dressed entirely in white, stepped in within my sight. He almost seemed to blend in with the snowy white surroundings, with his white clothes, his greying hair and his pale skin. Hardly anyone would pass by this road, unless they were invited over by my parents, in all secrecy of the location of the house. Pulling my earmuffs off and settling them on my shoulders, I squinted for a better look at the man, who was now knocking at the main door. Of course, I should have expected him.

Five minutes later, he was standing at the doorway of my room. "Good afternoon, Dr. Volkov." I greeted the man in white stiffly. "Good afternoon Klov, I see that you have been up and about! Why don't you step out of your room and we'll take a walk around your house?" Dr. Volkov spoke with so much enthusiasm, I wondered how he could be so optimistic at a tumultuous time like this.

I followed him down the winding corridors of my house, trying to match his large strides with my short ones. Dr. Volkov had only been to my house a few times, yet he was so sure of where he was going, walking purposefully to wherever he was wanting to bring me to. It was the confidence he exuded in him that I admired greatly.

"Ah, here we are." Dr. Volkov stopped in front of a room I never thought to explore. We were in a dimly lit corridor located far from my bedroom, a part of my house that I had yet to explore. I squinted at the label on the door, which read "Writing Room".

Why would he bring me to the writing room?

Dr. Volkov opened the door, stepping into the dark room. "Come on in," he motioned to me, "you'll find something to keep yourself occupied in no time." I looked at his face, veiled by the shadows cast on him. Somehow, it brought jitters to my nerves, and I hesitated.

Don't be stupid. You're at home, there's nothing to be afraid of at home, I thought. I looked up, took a deep breath, and stepped in. At once, I was enveloped with a warm, fuzzy feeling around my body, and the room smelled of freshly chopped wood. Dr. Volkov turned on the lights, and a soft glow was casted across the room, revealing shelves of books that were once hidden in the dark shadows. There was a solitary square window revealing a view of a dense forest, and right in front of the window lay a writing desk equipped complete with a stack of blank paper, pen and ink and a drawer to keep all the written drafts.

I truly felt at home now.

"Well, I'll leave you to it." Dr. Volkov smiled and left the room, closing the door behind him.

I had told my mother, exactly once, about a poem I had written on a Saturday night, and when I showed it to my mother, she had commented on how mature my writing style was, before showing it to my father. He, too, was impressed by how I had written it, and even framed up my poem and hung it in the master bedroom. I did not write much after that, but I remembered and loved the feeling I got whenever I started writing, I would forget where I was. The discovery of this room was the best thing that could happen to me, and I have Dr. Volkov to thank about that.

I sat down on the large wooden chair. Somehow, it gave me a feeling that I was sitting on a tall tree in a forest. I did not know how that could be possible, but it made me feel calm inside. Picking up an exquisite ballpoint pen that lay on the mahogany table, the effect was almost instantaneous. Strings of words immediately started forming in my head, it was almost as if I would never run out of creative inspiration, and before long my hand was moving in tandem, writing sentence after sentence of poems.

I could do this all day.