Russian Empire, 1890 AD

The village became abuzz with joy one spring day. Amidst the blooming flowers and mildly warm weather, people donned their most garish clothes and gathered outside the house of the bride's family, though only those most acquainted were permitted to enter.

Inside, friends and relatives chattered over mugs of vodka while a few youths indulged themselves in a lively folk dance. Watching them was a young girl of eight years, whose simple white dress and loose golden hair, made her seem akin to a little forest spirit, bewildered by the antics of the mortals around her.

One of the dancers stretched out their hand as an invitation for her to join them, but a man with a stocky build and a bowl cut swept his way behind the girl, then picked her up with ease.

"Papa," the young girl squealed, wriggling her short and stumpy legs. "Put me down! I'm too big for this!"

"You're never too old to be coddled, my sunshine." The man ruffled his daughter's fine hair, messing it up enough that it resembled a bird's nest. "Come now. Let us go meet your new mother."

The young girl pouted. "I don't like her, Papa. I miss my real Mama."

"As do I." A wistful look formed on the man's face as he carried his daughter into the next room. "But your mother would want us to find happiness again, and I think you will grow to love Yelena in time."

He stopped upon seeing the raven-haired young woman being fussed over by the village grandmothers. Her dark eyes focused on him and his daughter before she smiled, drawing coos of admiration from her attendants.

"May we see each other at the altar tomorrow, Vasya," she said shakily from all the excitement. "You have such a lovable child."

"Hmph," the young girl grunted to her father's consternation. "My real Mama is more beautiful than you."

Vasily forced out a laugh, then placed his daughter down so she could return to the guest area and allow him some semblance of peace with his wife-to-be.

"Think nothing of Anya's stubbornness," he reassured Yelena over the sounds of flute music, stomping feet, cheers, and drunken singing. "She was much looking forward to having a younger sibling when her mother passed away, so..." His voice halted, and he glanced at the grandmothers as if hoping for their counsel.

"Yes?" Yelena rose from her wooden chair and linked arms with him.

"It would be best if you could fulfil that wish of hers. A boy would be ideal, as I need someone to inherit the house when I'm gone."

Yelena's smile faltered, but she found her will again a moment later, when the grandmothers gave her withering looks. "I understand. I will be the very best mother and wife for the two of you. Nothing more and nothing less."

******

Author's Note: I'm trying something different again. This technically counts as a side story, but I've decided to make it a separate work because of the European setting.

I studied Russian history back in high school, so I like to think it has made this story easier to write than most. Diminutives are also a big thing in Russia, and I've tried to include them when possible.