The Count's Daughter

"Papa?"

The child's voice was soft and barely a whisper. Dark curls and big brown eyes peeked up through long dark eyelashes, a stark contrast to her pale as snow skin. Her lips were painted a bright red, but the lipstick had been a pitiful attempt by her father to cheer her up that morning. "It matches your cape." He had said as he applied it. "And your hair ribbon. Isn't it pretty?" And the child had agreed, giggling quietly and looking in the mirror of the hotel they had been staying in.

And now the little girl clung to her father, partly hiding beneath his coat as she shivered in the cold of the train station. She was neither giggling nor smiling now. The winter snow was falling softly and decorating her hair for a moment before melting. Some of it landed on her eyelashes and the red ribbon that decorated her hair, the snowflakes melted and left a dark stain on the ribbon for a very brief moment, before the snow hit the spot again and the cycle repeated.

"Papa, why do we have to leave?"

Her father looked at her through his glasses and sighed, holding her close. She was far too young to understand. The child had barely seen her seventh birthday. How was she expected to possibly know and comprehend? And yet... he could not bring himself to lie to the girl.

"Well..." he knelt down. "There are some very bad people in this world who do not want us to live here anymore. And these bad people want to hurt us. So we have to go away."

The child wrinkled her nose at this, the way she always did when someone upset her. "But that's wrong!" She cried. "Can't you stop them? You're a count! And Nana always said-"

"Shh!" He hushed her, looking around to see if anyone had heard. "Not so loud, my angel. Not so loud. You cannot tell anyone that, remember? Our little secret?"

The little girl's eyes went wide, as if she had just remembered that fact. Then she nodded, pressing a finger to her lips. "Shhh...." she hushed him before giggling again. "Shhh!"

Her father smiled weakly and hugged her. Oh this poor darling... she had no idea the danger they were in. She only knows they were going on holiday to someplace warm during the cold winter months. When she's older, then she'll understand.

The child's little hands were clasped around a suitcase. Inside, her father had meticulously packed clothes and some jewelry, along with a small amount of money. Nothing that could insinuate they weren't planning to return. Once they were out of the country, they could start new someplace else. Fresh and clean, perhaps they could learn to forget.

And then the train came. The train that would take them far away from everything they knew and loved. This strange air and place that was such a part of them. And for a moment, the Father looked back. He looked back on the bridges and rivers, forests and waterfalls, orchards, seas and skies. There was a harsh ache in his chest that was sweet and bitter at the same time. Harsh to leave it all and sweet to bless it and say goodbye. Even if he only had a moment.

The child looked around and held tight to her father. This land, this country was all she knew. She was so scared. She was going where she had never gone before and she didn't know how to say goodbye to everything she'd been raised with.

And then they were on the train. He remembered a time when he would have been escorted to a personal car with a staff set apart for his family's needs. But now he had to be quiet and lay low. No one could know he was here.

"Remember." The Father whispered as they got on the train. "What do you say if someone asks you your name?"

"Dima." The child said slowly. "My name is Dima Oroff." She looked up at her father and searched his eyes, looking to see if she had said the right thing.