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two people who fanned a spark that became a flame; one that lit the match that burned down life as they knew it; all while the couple danced in the center of the fire’s afterglow and kissed the ash from one another’s cheeks.
At her fingertips, she held the beginnings of a spark that would incinerate everything around her, leaving behind nothing but ashes that would give way to only two names that rang through history itself: Rasputin and Anastasia.
“How dare you assume anything about the life I lead — the life I’ve been imprisoned in.”
“What could you know about imprisonment?!” Mikhail roared,
“Watch that mouth, Anya,”
“It is still technically the Lord’s day.”
Some moments they could barely stand one another, but he loved how her mind worked.
“Done with her?” Mikhail snapped, his hand going up and gently pressing against Anastasia’s back. “She’s a woman, not an object.”
“I’ll always choose you,” she whispered it like a vow. “May nothing separate us.”
“I think, Anya… that is the wisest thing you’ve ever said.”
“It’s beating, Anya,” he kissed her softly, coaxingly. “It’s beating for you.”
He prayed for her magic, and he prayed for her heart. That the two would never be separated again.
It’s you and me now, Anastasia.”
