LOGIN*Anastasia*For a heartbeat, I cannot feel. Anything. Not the cold.Not the numbness spreading from my fingertips, past my wrists, up into my forearms like water climbing cloth. Not the wind catching at the loose silver strands over my eye, lifting them, letting them fall, lifting them again. No, not even that. Because my mind refuses what my eyes are– What am I even seeing?My gaze catches on details instead. The scrape of his boots against stone. The flash of silver armor. The blood at the corner of his mouth. The way Fulcan's gauntleted hand is twisted into his sleeve.Each little piece. Separate yet…together they make no sense. None of it does.Because this is Admiral Nugen–A scar over one eyebrow.The steady voice that always seems to have an answer before I have finished asking the question. Always there. The only one now who is still left…And he doesn’t belong between guards. Does not belong hanging limp between Sir Philo and Sir Fulcan like a common vagabond hauled in f
*Anastasia* “Bruno?” His name comes out too sharp on a snagged breath. But I can’t stop myself. Because he was just here. I only looked away for a second but he already is– He's-He’s…gone?!Already, my eyes sweep over the garden, the barren hedges, the ribs of trellises, even the charcoal sky pressed low over the garden. As if for a heartbeat I can still find him. That he couldn’t possibly have moved that quickly.Please–Then I catch it.Almost missing it entirely if I was a second slower, I found that trace. A flicker of burgundy at the very edge of the path. Hair moving in step, the light bounces, just once—before it disappears behind stone. The sound of a neglected hinge creaking on rusted joints.The servant’s side door. It draws back and closes again with a low groan, wood meeting frame like a mouth shutting. Heavy and stubborn. The door gives out easily because it’s unlocked. Or simply forgotten by anyone who isn’t watching for exactly that kind of escape.And worse…not gua
*Anastasia*“Unforgive—” The word catches on my tongue, thin, startled, as if my mouth rejects it on instinct. Not because I don’t know the word—of course I do—but because why on earth would he say—He says unforgivable like it’s a verdict.The absurdity of it lands instantaneously. Not because it’s funny or anything, but because that is just impossible.The light shifts overhead.Clouds are churning, swallowing up the pockets of light before spitting them back out in flat, brittle flashes that don’t warm anything. Bruised slate stacked on slate, sagging lower by the minute, pressing the sky down until even the garden feels cramped beneath it. Already turning the pale day sour, both too bright in one moment, and then too dim at once, as if mocking the way the sun is still above, but smothered in wool.And all the while, the air keeps scratching the inside of my throat with that strange charge. As if it was protesting for rain. But it doesn't feel right.It just pricks at my skin. My
*Anastasia* “Why are you running from me?” My words hang over the air, too loud to be just a simple question, because it feels too alive, twisting with so much more felt than said in the plainness of it, before slowly fading into thin shapes back into the bare bushes and trellises. For a moment, neither of us speaks.Only our breathing fills the space between us.His comes fast but controlled, like he’s already actively forcing it down in preparation. Like he may have already decided where he’ll bolt if given another chance. Like his eyes are already seeking new routes of escapes. Cracks to fall through. Stay out of reach like a whisper of smoke. Bruno feels like a spring, coiled tight and ready to vault once again, while I…I don’t think I can. Because I’m still breathing ragged, uneven like little torn sounds drag out of a body that was not made for sprinting. My lungs burn right now as if I’ve swallowed the torches from inside the corridors. Decorating the air with hot puffs o
*Anastasia*“Papa…” I breathe, the word so soft it barely disturbs the fog on the glass. “Is this you?”It feels too long since I saw sapphire eyes look after me like the world couldn’t tame that stubborn gentleness that believed in me. That I could do anything. Like my ideas were not foolish just because they were mine. Like my wanting to be better—better than blood, better than tradition, better than what they expect of a woman and a half—wasn’t some childish fantasy to be corrected.He always believed in me. That I could rule at all.And it has been too long since I last received anything that felt like him. Not a report. Not a request. Not another clipped summary of someone else’s suffering. Something warm. Something like home.I want to hear from him. I want to hear from Johan, too. I want a letter that isn’t returned unopened, isn’t swallowed by distance, and isn't lost to silence like so many prayers flung into the wind.My mind betrays me with images I shouldn’t tempt myself
*Anastasia*I barely notice my skirt whispering against the stone as I push forward. A bit too fast to be dignified, but too intent on putting distance between myself and that room. The domed chamber falls away behind my shoulders in a blur of gold and turquoise, torches and marble and watching mouths. The doors shut somewhere behind me, heavy, final.But the warmth doesn’t follow. The fire pits can crackle and pop all they like in there, so bright and careless, pretending at comfort. But out here the corridor is immediately colder, and it feels personal. As if the chill seeps through the seams of my very slippers like an unwavering judgement at everything I do. Relentlessly quiet, efficient, and straight to bone.I keep moving anyway. Press faster. Not that it changes the feeling.Because I can still feel it. The lingering gaze of both trailing after me till the very last turn. Pale brown and vermillion both. Admiral Nugen’s steady weight. The opposite to Mykhol’s…something else. So
*Aunt Funda* Aunt Funda could feel all the blood drain from her cheeks as the initial shock transmitted to outright dread. What is the meaning of this? Her mind raced as her eyes again read over the envelope. Somewhere, she hoped that it was her mistake. A trick of the light or her eyes had tur
“Your Majesty,” Johan warned. But King Alexander shooed him off.“I know what you are going to say, but I don’t care.” King Alexander had every right to be happy. And with that, he gave another skip around the room. “Your majesty,” Johan could shake his head, but it was a lost cause. The king wasn
“Have you ever considered taking a pen pal, Ana?” Maddie uses the nickname. It’s a habit of hers when we are alone. “Pen pal?” I repeat. What is she going on about this time? It’s been a month since Maddie started. But it doesn’t feel like much time has passed. Maybe because she makes everything
*Ana* “Dear Empress Anastasia of Nochten, Princess of Dawny, my daughter-“ And I have to stop as the word lingers on my lips. He…called me daughter? I feel like the wind is kicked out of me. “Go on,” Maddie chirps, leaning over my shoulder. I find myself looking to Aunt Funda. She stands at th







