dim as an ember

Chapter One: A rumor in Leningrad

The first time Yelena slept in the same bed as Anastasia, it was quite the experience. They were in the same room, for once - before, Yelena always slept near the fire, Anastasia on the bed they had for when a member of the family was sick, and now they were forced to share it, considering there was no excuse of Anastasia being in recovery anymore.

The first half of the night is normal - Yelena sleeps soundly, facing the wall, and Anastasia slept curled in herself, like a kitten. The moonlight could be seen through the thin curtains, and bathed their room in a pale, soft light.

And then, when the moon was at its peak, Anastasia started to stir, and Yelena - always a light sleeper, ever since she had to take care of Alexandra and Klavdiya during the war - cracked open one eye, unsure if she had heard anything, truly, or if it just had been a sound coming from the streets.

Soon after, she heard Anastasia muttering - a mixture of Russian and another other language she couldn't exactly identify, but what she spoke of Russian was telling enough; Anastasia was dreaming on the execution. She could hear the girl muttering prayers, and soon murmurs became screams, the girl thrashing and kicking and yelling as Yelena sat up, wondering if she had done something to set it off during the day. A comment, an action -

Anastasia screamed, sitting up and panting, fat tears leaving her eyes as she all but screeched, incomprehensible, passing her hands through her short hair, and Yelena touched her shoulder, the girl whimpering at the touch, but turning to face her.

"An..." She started, biting her tongue when the real name of the girl in front of her almost passed her lips, and started again. "Anya?"

The girl's eyes were blue grey and shimmering, the tears only accentuating their colour, as the pale moonlight was. She made a wordless verbalization, and threw herself in Yelena's arms, sobbing like a kicked puppy.

Her sobs, although, as sleep wore off them, grew quieter, until Anastasia grew stiff, taking herself off Yelena's arms, blinking and frowning.

"Are you alright?" Asked Yelena, ignoring the way her pajama felt wet. That was a matter for later.

"Yes, I... I can't seem to remember why I was crying, it's all." The frown persisted, and she looked into the wet splotch in Yelena's chest. She blushed, and it was rather cute, but perhaps if it was morning. "Oh, I'm so sorry, Yelena, I'm not sure what came over me, I just..."

"It's alright, it's alright." She waved it off, smiling. "It'll dry. Now, come on, let's sleep. It is late.'

Anastasia nodded, and they fell back in bed - but this time, it wasn't barely five minutes before they were back to back that Yelena felt the girl touch her back, and she turned; Anastasia latched onto her like a child to her mother, like a woman to her lover, and they slept in a tangled mess of limbs.

Yelena knew the girl's dreams are of the execution, days later; she kicks and whines and yells in her sleep, and when Yelena wakes her up, frantic, wondering if Anastasia has remembered, she learns that Anastasia just had a nightmare, that was all. Yelena comforts her, and holds Anastasia in her arms until the two fall asleep again, waking up every morning not knowing where one ends and the other begins.

It becomes habit.

After a while, Yelena was used to it, and the frequency of Anastasia's nightmares dwindled down, from every night without fail to, maybe, once or twice a month, when she was stressed about their job.

Dimitri had gotten them a job, maybe three days after their arrival in Leningrad; a cleaning job, sure, but a job. Yelena was to clean the old palaces, make way for the new government to establish itself there. Anastasia, meanwhile, was to clean the streets, sweeping all day and arriving at night, tired, wet from the snow, shivering with cold and chatty.