The Romanov Diary

Epilogue

23rd April 1992, New York.

An old woman in her early 90's sits by the desk in her small room. She's lived in the retirement home for many years now. Her name is Nadiya and she came to the United States in 1918 as a refugee from Russia, only 17 years old, together with her brother. She's seen the first world war, the Russian revolution, civil wars, the second world war, the Soviet rise and fall and 20th century's evolution. She also lost many friends and family members over the years.

She looks at the sunset from the window and dreams of being young, adventurous and beautiful again. Her skin is now wrinkly and dry. Her eyes are tired and lost their spark many years ago. She got them from her father, those blue Romanov eyes. As the sun shines upon her pale skin and strawberry blonde hair, she's taken back to a time in her teenage years filled with love and fear. She lost friends during that time, friends which saved her life. She misses them, more than she thought she would. She takes a deep breath and takes out her old diary which she's had in her possession since she was young. She then takes out a pencil and begins to write.

Dear Milo, Ella, Ophelia and Theo,

I assume you managed to find your way back home that afternoon in 1918. Me and Alexei missed you very dearly, but we know that being back home was the best thing that could ever happen to you. We never asked you to stay and save us, but you did. And I will forever be thankful for your help. When we reached New York, we managed to buy a small apartment with the last of the jewelry. Alexei was too young and too weak to work, so he stayed at home almost everyday. I told him to go back to school, but he was too scared. I, on the other hand, found a job as a nanny in a mansion. I've been taking care of children, cleaning, doing laundry and cooked food for the families I lived with. During ten years I moved between many families. After that I worked in a factory and made shoes for several years until I retired. I kept the same apartment until I had to move to the retirement home where I currently live.

I lost Alexei many years ago. Joy shortly after, maybe from a broken heart. He only got a few years in New York. All of the stress and running and lack of rest took its toll on him. I managed to secretly contact my grandmother Maria and I told her everything. My aunt Xenia also managed to escape Russia, but she left for London. Grandma told her about me and Alexei, and she actually came to visit us once. I hadn't felt such joy in a long time. My aunts, grandmother and many others promised to try to bury Alexei in the same forest as the rest of our family with help from the white army. I don't know if they succeed, my grandmother died in 1928, but I hope he found rest and peace somewhere.

Two years after we got here, a woman in Berlin claimed to be me. Many women have over the years, but I will never forget this woman in particular. Her name was Anna Andersson. I should have been jealous, but it felt good to not have the attention on me. She died a few years ago and claimed to her very last breath that she was Anastasia Romanova. I admire her determination, but I often wonder why she chose to be me. The remains of my family were found a year ago, but Alexei's and mine were obviously missing, like you said they would be. The legend of my survival has woken up once again. I hope to find rest in the same forest, and that my and my brother's remains will be found one day and maybe, just maybe, reveal the truth about what happened in Yekaterinburg. The Ipatiev House was destroyed about 15 years ago, but my beloved teacher Pierre Gilliard traveled there before his death and saw the basement. He tried to tell people the truth, but not many wanted to listen. I wanted to contact him too, but it was too difficult.

I never had the pleasure of meeting someone and having children. I was too scared to put them in any danger if my real identity leaked out. But I've had many friends from the fabric who have glidden my days with laughs and smiles. One of them, a lady named Erika, reminded me very much of my sister Olga. They even looked alike. I've seen and heard my family's ghosts in many faces and dreams. I know that they're waiting for me. And I'm ready to greet them. To hug my father once more, play card games with my mother, talk with Olga, laugh with Tatiana, play around with Maria and cuddle with Alexei. Jimmy, Ortipo and Joy will be there too as well as our cats and horses. And my old friends, relatives, teachers and nannies. I'm ready to leave, but I wanted to sit down and write this first. I've made sure to donate my diary to a museum and say that I found it while living in Russia. Because I know that the four of you have the greatest adventure in front of you. And we'll see each other again.

In this life or another.

Thank you for everything.

Anastasia.

Nadiya barely has the time to put her diary back before she grows so very tired. Her head starts to spin and her heart beats faster. She knows what's happening, but she's not scared. She takes one last breath, closes her eyes and feels the energy stream out of her body. And right before she dies, she sees a light. The light looks like a tunnel. It's bright and she can hear all kinds of lovely sounds. Birds singing, dogs barking and a piano playing. After a few seconds, a black dot appears at the end of the tunnel. From that dot, a man comes out. Behind him walks a woman, three girls and a little boy. As they get closer, she recognises their faces. They haven't changed a bit.

Alexandra, Olga, Tatiana, Maria, Alexei... even the dogs. They're all smiling at her. Her sisters stand behind her and rest their heads on her shoulders, comforting her. Her mother takes her right hand in hers. They don't look sad, pale, tired or scared. They've returned to their glorious Romanov beauty.

Anastasia looks down at her body, and she's a little girl again. Healthy, strong and happy. She's wearing her ceremonial dress she wore when she was young. It's pink with trumpet arms, golden details and buttons. The sleeves are open and the silk feels welcoming against her skin. The dress stops right under her knees, revealing her young and healthy legs and pink ballerina shoes. A scarlet imperial sash hangs over her chest, and right by her heart sits a crystal in blue and silver. On her head sits a kokoshniki of pink velvet and bows, matching the pearls around her neck. Her sisters and mother wear similar ones while her brother and father are back in their white royal suits. Alexei stands between their parents and the dogs sit down by her feet.

"Welcome home, Anastasia." Nicholas, her father, smiles and says before he takes her left hand and fills her with love.

And then, the last family member of Russia's last imperial family, dies in peace.

(Picture: Anastasia Nikolaevna Romanova at the age of thirteen, 1914.)