Dmitri sighed, resting his head in his hand. The candle flickered, illuminating the walls and girl in front of him with long shadows. Vlad sat next to him, just as bored. "Alright, Miss..."

"Marfa."

"Miss Marfa, go ahead."

Marfa cleared her throat. "It's me, grandmama!" she proclaimed, dramatically throwing her arms in the air. Vlad groaned and put his head on the table. "It's me, your precious Anastasia! They shot me, but I live, and I've come all the way to Paris to tell you that I'm alive." She ran forwards, clutching Dmitri's knee. He stared blankly at her, clearly unimpressed at the tobacco breath in his face. The dramatic air fell and Marfa straightened, scowling. "I'm not really an actress."

"What? Noooo, I never would have guessed," Vlad whispered. Dmitri stifled a laugh. Marfa frowned and stalked back to her two friends sitting against the wall.

"So, did we get the part?" One of them asked.

Dmitri sighed. "We'll let you know."

"What!?" The second girl looked at Dmitri like he had said that her dog died. "We gave up our shifts to be here, and you're not telling us if we got it or not!?"

"We have to consider all our options," Vlad reasoned, trying to calm the anger radiating from the trio.

Marfa strutted her way to Dmitri, leaning in close. "You know," she hissed, "your face is plastered on every wall in this city. I could tell them where you are and what you're doing. Then it's bye bye Dmitri."

Dmitri stared back at her calmly. "In order to report me, you'd have to confess in participating in this illegal activity, and the it would be bye bye Marfa."

Marfa opened her mouth, but no sounds came out. She just stared at him blankly, her tobacco breath washing over him.

"Close your mouth please, you look like a fish."

She obeyed with a snap. "You'll pay for this, you rat," she hissed, putting on her coat. "You both will."

"Out. OUT!" Dmitri's voice rang through the air, scaring the girls through the door and out into the street. As soon as the doors slammed shut Dmitri buried his head in his hands. "Why is this so hard?"

"I told you this plan was stupid."

Dmitri sat up, glaring at Vlad. "At least I actually have a plan. All you do is sit around eating my bread and cabbage."

"Our bread and cabbage, comrade," Vlad muttered, earning a smack upside on the head. "Oi!"

 Dmitri merely shot him a shrug and began to tidy up the papers. "We'll find an Anastasia, I'll make sure of it. Hell, I'll go to Siberia to find her if I have to."

"Have you ever been to Siberia?" Vlad asked, sitting up.

"I haven't been anywhere but our glorious Leningrad."

"Why are you allowed to poke fun at communism but I'm not?"

"Because I'm the rulebreaker, remember?" Dmitri shrugged on his coat and jammed on his camp. "Let's get out of here before we're caught."

The men walked out of the abandoned theatre and into the dark, slippery. streets. Snow crunched under their feet, leaking across the brown cobblestones and into Dmitri's worn boots. He sidestepped a puddle to avoid his feet getting any more wet. 

It was when they rounded the corner that the collision happened. A fast-paced bundle of fabric and energy came barrelling into Dmitri, accidentally smacking him in the face. He yelped, stepping back and almost slipping on the icy ground. "Oh tree sticks. I think you broke my nose!" 

The bundle, which had been knocked to the ground and was actually a young woman no older than Dmitri himself, looked up at him with a scrunched up face. "I did not break your nose, you're just a wimp," she said, brushing the snow off her patched coat. "Now if you excuse me, I have places to be."

She went to take off running again, but Dmitri gripped her forearm tightly. Through the thin fabric he could feel her bony arm reminding everyone of the starving nation. "Watch your step," he hissed. Normally one would be petrified of the tall thief, but the girl stared back at him defiantly, her sapphire eyes flashing.

"Let go of me."

"Not until you apologi- OI!" He pulled his arm back, looking closely at the teeth marks left in his hand. The girl was already metres away, her dark auburn hair bouncing under her cap. "That little- she bit me! Look at the marks!" 

Vlad inspected his hand. "There doesn't appear to be any blood, so you'll live. Unfortunately."

Dmitri glared back at him. "If I wasn't alive then you would be dead with me. I saved you from that firing squad, remember?"

"By humiliating me and calling me a kooky old man who had lost his marbles!"

"It worked," Dmitri muttered, and they were off again, blending into their dull surroundings.

* * * * *

The old Yusopov Palace looked nothing like a palace. In the old Russia, the three-story building glowed a golden yellow in the sun, reflecting into the Moika River below. The rooms, once decorated with ornate furniture, had been stripped bare of everything except dust. Every painting had been soiled, the bathtubs smashed in, chandeliers either confiscated or stolen. All that remained of the splendour of the Yusopovs was the grimy wallpaper and chipped architecture. It was abandoned, left to be forgotten like Imperial Russia. 

Dmitri sat perched on a broken chair, peeking out behind a rug they had thrown over the window. Below him people scattered about, hurrying like mice to be home before the sun set and the chilly night set in. The sky was Bolshevik red on the river, fading into a dark night barren of stars. Smog coated the sky like heavy clouds, thick and dense and grey. Snow lay strewn across the streets, brown slush melting away into icy puddles. Only the white roofs of untouched, blanketed snow was anything but the drab, muted tones of Leningrad, shining under the last remnants of the sun. 

Dmitri sighed, resting his forehead against the cold pane. What he would give for a change in view. One with clear blue sky filled with wandering, soft clouds above a grassy meadow. Maybe with sunflowers bowing in the window, their heads touched by the golden rays of the afternoon sun. A view where the air was warm and clean, where he could live in comfort in a house and bed and have hot baths every night. He wondered what it would be like to have a hot meal other than porridge-like kasha or water with cabbage and stale bread. You'll be in Paris one day. His stomach growled, reminding him of the constant hunger the city was in. If I survive for that long.

"What's for dinner?"

Dmitri jerked out of his daydream. Vlad raised an eyebrow. "Are you alright?" he asked, concerned.

"I'm fine," Dmitri replied, masking his exhaustion. He tossed a stale handful of bread at Vlad, who caught it.

"We don't have anything else? Not even cabbage?"

"We're lucky to even have bread," Dmitri muttered, not even looking back as he left the room. He was beyond tired: he was practically the walking dead. He hated the way his ribs stuck out underneath his shirt, or the way his cheeks seemed to be always sunken in. He'd dealt with it his whole life, but now death was beginning to follow. Dmitri didn't want to accept it, but if he didn't get out of Leningrad soo, he was going to die.

That was the harsh truth of it all. And there was nothing he could do about it. 

He slowly meandered his way through the palace, running his fingers against the walls. Even despite the dust and grime he could see the beauty of it all. Gilded cornices ran the length of the ceiling, gleaming gold under the dust. The carpet was once a vivid red that would have made even the lowliest peasant feel like a king. But it was gone, with the old Russia. Not that Dmitri cared. He hated what Russia used to be. Now the Soviet Union was just as bad. Really, Dmitri just hated Russia.

He found himself in the old theatre, up on the viewing box above the stage. Below him was the empty hardwood floor that once held hundreds of ornate chairs. Now it held dust and a couple of broken table chairs. From his lofty position, Dmitri couldn't help but imagine that he was a king. In his mind the room transformed. Dust vanished from the shining floors, spotted with people in elegant gowns and smart tuxedoes. They swirled around the floor like figurines in a music box, their shadows reflecting off the pristine walls. People smiled and waved, offering champagne and caviar. It was an impossible dream, but he couldn't resist dreaming once in a while. He walked down the stairs and mingled himself with his imaginary crowd, watching. It was beautiful, in his mind.

The door opened and he shook it away, almost glaring at Vlad as he walked in. "What do you want?"

Vlad raised his hands in surrender. "I simply wanted to ask if you're alright. You look a little out-of-sorts."

Dmitri sighed, looking down at his hands. "I'm just tired, that's all."

"Dmitri-"

"I'm fine. Vlad!"

The older man startled at Dmitri's harsh tone. He softened, his light eyes warm. "There's something on your mind."

Dmitri looked away.

"You can tell me."

"You know nothing about me."

Vlad nodded. That was true: Dmitri never talked about himself or his past. "I still want you to tell me what's wrong. Is it me?"

Dmitri shook his head.

Vlad said nothing, waiting patiently. Dmitri weighed his options. "I think I'm dying," he said softly.

That was not what Vlad was expecting. He nodded calmly, but his eyes betrayed him. "Why?"

"I'm starving, Vlad. I used to be able to run the length of the Nevsky Prospekt without stopping and now I can hardly run for a few blocks without losing my breath. I'm hungry, I'm always cold, I'm always tired, and I think I'm dying." He finally looked at Vlad, his eyes dull. "I need to get to Paris."

"This is what this Anastasia plan is about? Getting to Paris?"

"Partially. I also want the money because then I'll be able to do more than just survive."

Vlad nodded. "I understand." He paused, then handed Dmitri the chunk of bread. "You need this more than me."

Dmitri took it thankfully, pulling off small pieces. "Now all we need to do is find an Anastasia."

"Which is proving to be imposs-"

Footsteps echoed down the hall outside the theatre, scaring Vlad and Dmitri out of their skins. Dmitri sprinted to the stage, hiding in the wings. Vlad had just enough to crouch down behind a chair before the door opened slowly. The footsteps bounced around the room, ringing in Dmitri's mind. Panic rose in his chest. What if it was the Cheka? What if they found him out? What if they were here to send him to a camp in Siberia. Would he die there just like- He shook himself, forcing himself to breath slowly. This was no time to get distracted.

"Hello?"

The voice was surprisingly high. It paused, almost thinking. "I can see you, behind the chair."

Dmitri carefully looked around the corner. Vlad was rising sheepishly from his hiding spot. In the centre of the room stood a young woman, her auburn hair tucked haphazardly underneath a cap. Her coat was thick but short, reaching a centimetre above her pale wrists. Her wool skirt failed to hide the worn travelling boots that echoed with each step and a shawl was strapped around her chest. "I'm looking for someone named Dmitri Fyodorovich Sudayev?" she said.

"That's me," he said, coming out from behind the wings. She jumped at the sight of him coming towards her, then scowled. 

"Of course it's you. How wonderful."

Now that he was closer, he could see her striking blue eyes. The same eyes that glared at him on the street earlier that day. "Not you," he groaned. "What do you want?"

She screwed up her face, obviously unimpressed. "Well I didn't want to see you, but seeing as you're the only person who can help me, you'll do." She straightened, tucking a stray auburn lock under her cap. "I need to get to Paris."

Of course. "That's what everyone would like to do, but we can't always do what we want."

She glared at him, rolling her eyes. "I need exit papers and I was told that you were the only person who could help me. Unfortunately," she added, eyeing his dishevelled form.

"Exit papers are expensive."

"I've saved some money."

"The right papers cost a lot."

"I'm a hard worker. You'll get your money."

Dmitri eyed her suspiciously. At a first glance, she seemed to be just another girl from St. Petersburg. However, the more he studied her, the more apparent the sturdy travelling boots and thick coat became. Those were extremely rare to find in the struggling city. How far had she travelled? "Where are you travelling from?" he asked.

"Well," she hesitated. "Before I became a streetsweeper here-"

"A streetsweeper! Yes, you must make hundreds of rubles!" Sarcasm dripped like treacle from his words.

"If you'd shut your your mouth, I'd be able to explain and you wouldn't sound like a prick!"

That shut him up.

The girl continued. "Before I came here, to Leningrad-"

Dmitri scoffed.

"- I worked in Odesa washing dishes. Before that, i work in a hospital in Perm."

"Where's Perm?"

"Near Yekaterinburg."

Vlad's head turned sharply at the name. Dmitri didn't know why. "And you cam here to get to Paris?"

She nodded.

"Why Paris? Why not Poland, or Finland?"

The girl hesitated, staring at him with those deep, blue eyes. Slowly, she pulled a necklace out from under her blouse, adorned with an emerald and red flower. "I believe there is someone waiting there for me, in Paris. My family." She flashed him the back where the inscription shone in the pale moonlight.

Together in Paris

Vlad leaned in to study the jewellery, pushing his tarnished glasses up his nose. He sat back suddenly, gazing in wonder into her eyes.

"Dmitri," he said abruptly.

"Yes?"

"Get our guest a glass of water."

"But-"

"Dmitri."

Dmitri sighed and obeyed. "This isn't a soup kitchen, Vlad," he hissed as he left.

The girl watched as he left, holding her breath until his steps faded. Her shoulders relaxed and she managed a smile at Vlad. "You seem to a gentleman, even if your friend is not."

Vlad grinned. "My friend has had a hard life. He'll soften soon enough."

"We've all had challenging lives. That doesn't give anyone any excuse to be cruel."

Dmitri walked back in, shoving the glass into her hand. No one spoke as she sipped at the water. "So," she started, breaking the silence. "can you help me?"

"Actually, I can." Dmitri pointed out the window. "See that canal? Jump in and start swimming; you'll be out of Russia in no time!" He turned to Vlad, half-laughing. "She's insane if she thinks a streetsweeper's wage will get her to Paris. Paris!"

Dmitri suddenly found his shirt doused in water as the girl flung the water at him. Fury burned in her eyes as Dmitri turned slowly towards her. "First, you run into me. Then, you bite my arm. Now you're breaking into my house and throwing water on me! I have a good mind to turn you over to the Cheka-"

"Oh you wish!" She pulled herself to her full height, staring Dmitri down despite being a head shorter than him. "You should know the people who are cruel never get what they want!"

"You think this is mean? Just you wait, you haven't seen me mean yet-"

"CALM DOWN!"

The two jumped back, staring at Vlad. He sighed, pushing his hair back. "Dmitri, leave her alone."

Dmitri scowled but backed off, glaring into the darkness. His nemesis bit her lip, fiddling with her necklace.

"We are going to have a calm, rational discussion and see if we can help this fine young woman get to Paris. Understood?"

They nodded.

"Good." Vlad sighed again, sitting on a broken chair. "Now tell me, what is your name?"

She froze at the question. Her eyes flickered to Dmitri, contemplating her answer. "What's yours?" she asked Vlad.

"Vladimir Antonovitch Popov." He shook her hand and she smiled, pumping him arm vigorously.

"It's a pleasure to me you, Vladimir Antonovitch." 

Dmitri raised an eyebrow. "You're avoiding the question."

"I know," she sighed. Her fingers found their way to the necklace, twisting the chain around and around. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you," she said quietly.

Vlad noticed the way her demeanour changed. He took her hand gently in his large ones. "You can tell us."

She paused, weighing her options. "I don't know my name," she said finally. The words began to tumble from her mouth faster than she could stop them. "I don't know who I am. The nurses at the hospital- they said I was found almost dead by the side of the road. They told me I have amnesia. I don't remember anything before they told me that."

Silence filled the air, thicker than treacle. The girl lowered her gaze, tracing the the ednless seems in the floorboards. 

"Did they give you a name?" Dmitri asked.

"Anya. Nothing more, nothing less."

"And you remember nothing from your past?"

She hesitated, then shook her head. "I don't think so."

"And yet you think your family's in Paris?"

"I was found wearing the necklace," Anya replied. "The only person who could have given it to me would have had to have been in my family, right?"

They lapsed into silence again. Dmitri's eyebrows furrowed as he thought. The more he stared at Anya, the faster his thoughts grew. She looked like an Anastasia. She had the hair, the Romanov eyes, the upturned nose and elegant fingers. Her family was in Paris, and so was the Dowager Empress. To top it off, she had no clue as to who she was. He smiled as the plan slowly came together. "You know, Miss Anya, I think you can be of service to us after all."