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Post by >>[ N A T A S H A ] grey. on Aug 9, 2006 6:24:58 GMT
all that I am
all that I ever was
is here in your perfect eyes, they're all I can see.
if I lay here
if I just lay here
would you lie with me and just forget the world?
surnames;
Rostoslav
Khaligaris
Ryan
Grey
forenames;
Yekaterina Alisse Sofiya-Krystine
Elena Athena
Grace Elisabeth
Natasha Rosaria Isabella
years;
Twenty-three
physicality;
Natasha's both Swedish and Russian, but her physical traits completely lead towards the latter.. lacking both the pretty blonde hair and the dazzling blue eyes that her mother had taken to. In fact, Natasha's the spitting image of her father.. it's almost frightening, really. Both as beautiful as the crimson sky.. with wide, genuine smiles that could blow anyone's mind away - smiles that reach from ear to ear, curling at the very tips.. something Natasha's father used to call, "Truthful Smiles".. smiles that are never less than appreciated.
And her eyes.. dear god. One could write an entire book on Nat's eyes. On their mysterious jade colour, and how they dance when the sunlight shines into, and not upon, them.. on how cloudy they look when Natasha's in deep thought, and the way they glaze over just before she cries.. just as if they're glass. It's as if they've a sad story written all over them.. only contributing to the pensive and far-away look that her expression takes to, more often than not. Because there are, indeed, days where that heartfelt smile of hers fails to expose itself.. where her red lips do nothing but curl into a soft frown and her abstracted eyes avert to the ground, as if shamefully.
She's had black hair, she's had red hair, and she's had blonde hair.. but for the majority of her life, Natasha's locks have remained as one main color - a sort of.. chestnut brown, heavily tinted with red. As a child, the girl had the most beautiful hair - very volumed, and very richly colored, with little curls at the tips.. curls that still remain there, to this day. However, the color has faded over the years, in thanks to hair dye of all things.. the girl can't honestly say she knows what her natural hair color is, other from knowing that it was.. well, brown.
The dark brunette-colored hair of Natasha's falls just past her shoulders, but no longer than that.. on rainy days, the precipitation gets wrapped up around her locks and form them, naturally, into very loose and beautiful curls.. making her hair only slightly shorter, to rest on her shoulders casually. At 5'7" in height, the woman, surprisingly, walks in a very dignified manner.. stately, if you will. Her 'type of walk' could not be better described than 'feminine' - though, not like models you may see on the runway. Nat isn't a stick model, but she is relatively skinny.. she has only slightly-defined curves, but doesn't much take advantage of it. She doesn't much care about her looks.. though she does have her opinions.. negative and positive. And even though many beg to differ, Natasha is convinced that she isn't stunning or beautiful, that she's merely just..
..pretty.
mentality;
crazy, out of her mind.
you wanna shoot her, wanna love her
wanna show her how your heart works,
but she ain't got the time.
Natasha's a huge believer in fate - you know, the whole 'everything happens for a reason' shenanigan. It can be very cutesy and romantic at times, though, there are definite moments that Natasha might go overboard with her whole philosophy.. even if, deep down inside, it's really just a part of an act that she's putting on, in order not to face the truth: the truth that, it wasn't fate that lead her down the path that created the person she is today.
She's generally a nice person though.. really, she is. But you can easily tell she lives behind close doors - that she has something to hide.. it's just.. in her eyes, really. Though she does a pretty damn good job at pretending nothing's wrong.. even if everything's wrong. She's tried so hard to forget everything that's happened in the past few years, trying to push it all out of her mind.. so excuse her for wanting to move on. But she honestly doesn't let it all bother her.. at least, not out in public. Natasha believes she's human dynamo, that she can do anything - she has the intrepid daring of Amelia Earhart. She knows no fear, no pain. Not on the outside.
The inside's an entirely different story.
She can change lovers like she changes a pair of underwear.. everyone at work pokes and prods at her, claiming that her life motto is simply: "I might like you better if we slept together." What can she say? She's just a picky woman.
Okay, but really. Natasha is such a great person, if you get to know her. She's a real jokester.. loves to tease and show her sarcastic side, though, she knows when to draw the line. She's like a.. like a heart shaped face in a platinum setting, you know? A sight for sore eyes. She makes friends easily, what with her optimism and contagious laughs. She's charmingly modest and graciously calm.. a perfect blend of sincerity and modesty. And then there's the part of her that's just full of vivacious spontaneity.. but that's only if she warms up to you.
If you're lucky, that shouldn't take too long.
likes;
Well, she likes fireworks.. a lot. Like, more than you know. Whenever she sees fireworks, she becomes this whole other person.. a kid, really. It's actually kind of cute. She also really likes music, in general.. she prefers instrumental to anything else, but Elvis is a big exception there. She's the biggest fan of Elvis, I swear. And to top it off, she can do kick-ass Elvis impersonations. 
Other things Natasha takes a liking to is movies, window shopping, turtles, and her microwave. Because it's really old and really cool. And because, every time she uses it, it sounds like it's gonna blow up.. which, for some unknown reason, she finds unbelievably awesome.
dislikes;
Feeling dominated.. that, and she really disgusts soda - the fizzyness of the stuff makes her shudder. She also hates showing strong emotions in front of others, unless it's something optimistic - things such as crying, or feelings of anger, are those she tends to hide.
Oh, and she hates bubbles. Literally. Just, bubbles in general. No one really knows why.. they sort of just freak her out.. a lot.
history;
The date was September 12th, 1984.. the date which, forever, sparked the beginning of something entirely unexpected.. something so beautiful and devine, and yet.. ruthless, and even criminal.
A life.
Because, you see, this was no 'ordinary' living being.. oh no. From the moment the precious baby Yekaterina Alisse Sofiya-Krystine Manon Rostoslav was placed into her dearest mother's arms, the child's life was written out entirely before her.. a life that would live and breathe.. create and destruct. Those who knew her, were either destined to create her hell or be thrown into it. Yekaterina's destiny would not benefit many people at all.. in fact, it didn't. By living in such a hell, Yekaterina Rostoslav would eventually throw people into the bottomless pit of her purgatory.. because of broken hearts, because of death. And the ironic thing about it was that, through it all..
It was never, ever her fault.
Aleksandr and Anna Rostoslav were not your everyday, average couple; they were not farmers, nor ordinary citizens.. in fact, that was what they ruled. Yes, ruled. It's hard to explain much of this without an introduction, but perhaps it's better that I get straight to the point. Aleksandr Rostoslav was the last living descendant of the former Romanov rulers in Russia. Though, their empire only lasted until 1918, it seemed that, indeed, the empire had begun again [and also ended] in the late 1900's through Aleksandr alone. Having disguised themselves with another name and another profession for years, the Rostoslav family was well hid and secured from those who had blamed the last Romanov tsar, Nicholas, for committing crimes against the people. Though, in 1979, the Romanovs, in the new form of Rostoslavs, declared royalty and rose to the throne once again.
You could say that Aleksandr wasn't the greatest ruler of them all.. but that didn't make him a horrid man. Yekaterina, or Kata, as he'd called her, had always seen him as a man who had had a sense of humor so genuine and distinct, it nearly defined him. His kindness towards those he was close to often overcame him, and one would wonder how in the world this man could be a ruler.. he was too humble for his own good.
Obviously, there was more to Aleksandr than just a soft side. No matter how loving he was towards his wife, and silly he was with his children, Aleksandr was a harsh and stubborn ruler, whose own motto was simple.
Trust no one.
There was one exception to this little law of his, however - his family.. but, more specifically, his wife, Anna. Anna, whose heart he had stolen with a simple, innocent glance. Anna, who had no royal blood whatsoever, but was royal by association.. by marriage. A woman who had come from Swedish descent, Anna Rostoslav was anything but humble - really. She was a particularily wild girl.. in an age where, the country she ruled had yet to catch up with the rest of the world. She certainly took advantage of being placed in such a high power - constantly throwing parties and drinking herself dry.. she never really had any sort of responsibility to her.. and somehow, she'd always managed to keep a rather clean reputation.
Aleksandr and Anna married in 1971, in St. Petersburg, Russia.. and, the year that Aleksandr took the Russian throne, Anna gave birth to their first child - a daughter, named Olga, named after the eldest late-Romanov daughter, respectively. Olga, had been a fearful and quiet young girl, who had always been very sensitive to her surroundings.. she'd been the child who'd needed that extra-special care and attention; the girl that had been the main source of everyone's careful remarks of, "Be extra nice to Olga," or, "Don't say those sort of things in front of Olga." Olga was as delicate as China, constantly crying about the smallest, most insignificant things.. in a way, it separated her from the rest of the children.
They were all different, really. The second eldest child, born in 1981, was by far the hardest to handle.. honestly, no one would have expected such a lovely girl to become what she did. Rude, spoiled.. negative. This particular little girl's name, was Sonja.. 'Sonja the Great', as Aleksandr had always called her. For, even though Sonja was but a small child, she was more mature than her very own mother.. in her shortlived lifetime, no one had really ever seen the girl truely smile. She had been outcasted in the family through her unhappiness - while the other children giggled and played, Sonja sat in the corner and scowled, glaring at the others, though never wishing she could be as happy as they - she almost enjoyed her negative nature. However sweet Aleksandr and Anna were to the girl, it never really took a toll on her.. as far as anyone could remember, Sonja had deeply despised both of her parents. There was never an explanation. Perhaps she hated her father for his instincted dominance, and her mother for her lack of responsibility.. to this day, her motives remain questionable.
Yekaterina "Kata" was born three years later, in 1984. Kata was neither mentally ill, nor was she a hate-filled child.. in fact, she seemed to be the most normal, out of all four of the Rostoslav children [fourteen months after Kata's own birth was the birth of her younger and final sibling, the only boy of this particular Rostoslav generation, Uri. An adorable ladies man, even at such a young age, Uri was as about as intelligent as a person could get.. by the time he was a year and a half, he was speaking long and complicated sentences that even his own mother didn't understand.. nevertheless, he was an adorable little boy, with outstanding charm and amazing blue eyes, and, besides their father, was probably the closest thing to a companion that Kata had. But anyway, back to the story]. A beautiful child with a bright and contagious smile, Kata was almost the exact opposite of both Olga and Sonja.. a very optimistic girl who, in any rough situation, would merely laugh everything off.. but she was different from her siblings in more ways that one. For instance, her appearance; while Olga, Uri and Sonja all tended to lean towards their mother's looks, with the blonde hair and blue eyes, Kata looked more like her father.. with a darker appearance than the rest. This may have been one of the reasons why Aleksandr had favored her over the other children.. Aleksandr and Kata were almost attached at the hip, right from the moment she was born. It was quite obvious from the very beginning that the Russian throne would be passed down to Kata, herself.. with Olga lacking the mental capacity and Sonja lacking.. well.. everything.. Kata was considered the eldest capable child.. and was therefore considered, the Rostoslav heir.
Nevertheless, she was certainly the 'wild child' of the latest Rostoslav generation - though, definitely the most adorable. It was her deeply mischevious smile that hinted her into trouble, and her innocent green eyes that got her out of it.. she was a reckless little girl, that one.. who only stopped her devilish ways when her father gave her that look - the look of authority and the slightest bit of disappointment. And even though her touch of naughtiness could occasionally go overboard, it never really seemed to bother anyone.. that's just Kata, they'd always say. And Aleksandr, no matter how many glances he had to give the girl, adored her for her rebellious nature.. finding joy out of her loathing of dresses, and how she preferred to play in a mud puddle with Uri instead of playing dolls with Olga. But Anna was the exact opposite of Aleksandr.. Anna was entirely unfaithful in her daughter and in the rest of her children. There's something wrong with them all, she'd say. Olga doesn't understand.. Sonja doesn't want to understand. Uri's too young.. too soft. And Kata.. she's not fit for an heiress, Anna would protest. She's too independent.. too frolicsome and half-hearted. Anna feared that Kata wouldn't fit in, royally.. and therefore, never showed any favor towards the child.
To her mother, Kata was 'Madonna of the Unloved'. But to Aleksandr, her beloved father, she was like a queen.. Aleksandr loved that little girl to pieces.. he was convinced that she was the one who would continue the Rostoslav rule. Much of his free time was spent with the little girl, prepping her for the rein she'd take years later, and showing as much love for her as he possibly could.. trying to make up for the love which Anna refused to give to the 'insignificant child'. One of Kata's favorite past times, was Aleksandr's stories.. the most intriguing ones, about heroines who saved the day with their courageousness and wit.. made up, of course, but that only made the stories all the more fun. Aleksandr and Kata were so close, that they even had their own song.. a song that they played every single night before Kata went to bed, and Kata would place her little feet on her father's and wrap her arms around his waist and the two would dance around the room, singing the lyrics along to the tune;
Once upon a time, a girl with moonlight in her eyes
Put her hand in mine and said she loved me so
But that was once upon a time, very long ago
Once upon a time, we sat beneath the willow tree
Counting all the stars and waiting for the dawn
But that was once upon a time – now the tree has gone
How the breeze ruffled through her hair
How we always laughed as though tomorrow wasn’t there
We were young and didn’t have a care
Where did it go?
Once upon a time, the world was sweeter than we knew
Everything was ours – how happy we were then
But, somehow, once upon a time never comes again.
The song was, surprisingly, sung in English.. though Kata did not know much English at the time, this was the one thing that stood as an exception.. Aleksandr occasionally translated the lyrics into Russian for the child, for reasons Kata would never understand until she was much, much older.. though, the English served as a form of education which the child received during her younger years. Whenever Aleksandr had the time, he was teaching Kata everything he knew.. anything that he could think of, was what he fed to the child's mind. At the mere age of three and a half, Kata had learned a great many things, thanks to the education provided by her dearest father.. though most of it, was nonsense things. For example, Aleksandr taught Kata everything he knew about battle plans, and things that a child her age just wouldn't be interested in.. except for one major subject.
Egypt.
While Aleksandr's teaching formality was messy and entirely unplanned, it at least had meaning.. though, Kata wouldn't know this for years to come.. she wouldn't know that the things he told her about the pharoahs, and about the tombs, would some day hold great meaning in her life. As would their song, the song that dreamt of a 'once upon a time'.. so many things that she experienced at the mere ages of three and four would play a major part in her adulthood.. so much of her life would be based off of something that, one day, a day which was very close to come, Kata's mind would be unable to recall.
Almost.
Life in such a high rank was, unsurprisingly, quite luxurious.. they lived in a rather small, but well-guarded palace just off of St. Petersburg, one that Aleksandr had had especially built for himself and Anna the year he'd dominated Russia.. there, the Rostoslav family lived extravagantly, with maids and butlers and god knows what else.. a normal day consisted of playing hide and go seek around the palace until the children keeled over in laughter, their sides stinging with pain. In this palace of theirs, the Rostoslavs hosted ball after ball after ball, with only the finest wine and the fanciest gowns, though, life outside of those devine parties was nothing for the Rostoslavs. While Aleksandr was off with duties he had to fulfill, Anna often remained locked up in her bedroom with her maid, Mariye, and drank herself away.. leaving the children alone in the palace, fending for themselves. The children often entertained themselves by, as mentioned before, playing games such as hide-and-seek.. and then made up others, just to pass the time by. They received no formal education, rather, learned what they knew by their mother or father, or even those who worked in the Rostoslav home.. more of an, informal education, if any. It was through this slight form of abandonment that Kata and the rest of the children learned to value independence.. and were blessed with naivety.
You see, the Rostoslav's wealth had never been actual wealth, per se.. it's sort of, well, assumed that one is wealthy, if they're a ruler of a country, no? For, prior to 1979, Aleksandr Rostoslav had had almost nothing.. no money, whatsoever. And his 'clever' step to taking the throne was only something an idiot would do, really - the money spent to build the very palace he lived in, as well as the money that kept himself and his family thriving, was taken out of the very pockets of the Russian citizens.. and eventually, Aleksandr would do nothing but rob the entire country of its money for himself.. forming the currency into gold bars and hiding it all in a place where no one would possibly imagine it to be.
However selfish Aleksandr was, you'd have to admit that he was even just the slightest bit intelligent. Even if he never exactly informed Anna or the children of what he was doing, or what his intentions were.. he was.. what do you call it. Strategic, I guess. A very strategic man.
Though, things eventually went wrong.. as they always seem to do. With the entire Russian population against the Rostoslav family, Aleksandr in particular, they began to rebel.. bombing this and that, taking people hostage, forming riots in the streets of St. Petersburg. With Anna and the children innocently locked up inside of their safe palace, Aleksandr ordered his army on the misbehaved citizens.. but the army refused.. so, to put it in basic terms.. Aleksandr and his family were considered, at this point, to be dead meat.
Aleksandr ordered a lock-in in the winter of 1988, which kept his family inside the palace and their workers away from the grounds.. or, fired, as easily put. Though, this particular lock-in did nothing but only help target the family.. with citizens surrounding the gate of the palace, the Rostoslav family's fear only increased, and Aleksandr's sanity rapidly committed the very opposite.
They were cold and hungry, and not to mention frightened, on the cold winter night of December 11th, 1988.. when Aleksandr awoke from his slumber and made his way to his bureau, where he hid a pistol in the drawer.. and what happened next, was almost unthinkable. A loud bang awoke little Kata at approximately three A.M., and out of fear the girl jumped out of her bed and ran across the hall to Olga's room.. unknowing of the fact that her own mother lay dead in the master bedroom with a bullet to the head.
She peered around the corner of the doorway in Olga's room, trying to figure out just what was going on.. and then, she saw him. Her dear father, walking down the hallway in almost a dazed confusion, blood splattered all over his body, and a pistol in his hand.. and then he turned into Sonja's room.. and just seconds later, Kata heard another loud bang!. Bang. Sonja, dead. Yuri followed, Kata having heard his childish cry as he saw his own father pointing a gun at the three year old, and with one loud, disturbing gunshot, Kata was well aware that her little brother, too, was dead.
Olga's room was next. The moment Aleksandr had stepped out of little Yuri's room, Kata ran farther into the room in which Olga still slept and cowered in the very farthest corner from the door, crouched down in a fetal position, watching fearfully as Aleksandr blankly shot his eldest daughter, and then made his way over to the corner in which Kata was sat.
They stared at each other for what seemed the longest time, the fear showing in the little girl's eyes, just waiting for this to pass.. if she were to die, she had always hoped it would be peacefully, but her dreams had been shattered by this one event.. by her own dearest father, the man she had always thought so highly of, the man she loved dearly. And the only thing he'd said to her before it all came crashing down, was this.
"But that was once upon a time, very long ago."
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Post by >>[ N A T A S H A ] grey. on Aug 9, 2006 6:25:50 GMT
In English, sung by the very voice that had loved and protected Kata for all of her life. And as soon as he'd finish singing, he'd cocked the gun, pointing it in her direction.. and Kata shut her eyes as tight as she possibly could, just waiting for the worst to be over..
BANG.
Aleksandr collapsed to the ground, dead.. having pulled the trigger to himself, rather than his beloved daughter.
Poor Kata didn't know what to do.. as her eyes followed her father's body as it had fallen, she had been well aware of what he'd done.. he'd saved her. Of all the things he could have done to her, could have killed her, he'd kept her alive. But why, was a complete mystery. She, like her siblings, had no reason to live.. except for one thing. She was the heiress. But even still, this didn't make any sense.. their family, would have died either way.. either by Aleksandr, or the rebellious citizens that had blockaded the gate which surrounded their palace.
And still, Kata was living and breathing.. scrunched in the corner of a room with a dead sister and dead father, and in the other rooms down the hall were her other dead siblings, and her dead mother.. what was she supposed to do? She couldn't just walk outside, in the freezing cold, and cry for help.. they'd kill her, those people. They were barbarians, really. And even Kata was aware of this.
Through many tears of fear and emptiness and utmost melancholy, Kata locked herself in the other side of the palace, as far away from her deceased family as possible, crying herself to sleep in comfort of absolutely nothing but the frightening silence that joined with Kata's sobs and filled the palace thoroughly. The Russian anarchists managed to invade the palace the following morning, somewhat conveniently for Kata.. finding nothing but five dead corpses and, on the cold, hard ground of the Rostoslav's famous ballroom, a living and breathing little girl with brown curls and tired green eyes. Aware that the Rostoslavs were entirely dead, the rioters questioned who the little girl they had taken for safety even was.. why, she couldn't be the daughter and heir of Aleksandr Rostoslav, could she..? It seemed to make enough sense.. there had been four children.. only three of which were dead. And there was no doubt that the child looked exactly like Aleksandr, himself.
They weren't afraid to kill her - in their eyes, she had evil blood inside of her, as a descendent of Aleksandr.. as a descendant of the Romanovs of 1918. Wouldn't it just be perfect to end it right then and there.. while she wouldn't suspect a thing in her slumber? And they tried - these barbaric rebels, they pointed their stolen guns right at the sleeping girl and placed their fingers on the trigger, but they were interrupted by a man.. only known as Viktor. He'd been the one to really rile up the crowd, you know? He'd been the flame, and they'd all been moths.. drawn to his ideas and thoughts, of rebelling against their mundane ruler.
Viktor said nothing, and the men said nothing. He merely picked up the sleeping child and walked out of the palace.
They always say that what doesn't kill you makes you stronger.. I'm not sure if this saying goes with or clashes against poor Kata's experience. She awoke in the arms of a strange man soon after, but he calmed her before she could even react.. told her his name was Viktor. Said he was taking her to a better, safer place.. that her mother and father were dead, and he had some.. friends, that were gonna take good care of her.
The naive four year old listened intently, and merely shook her head. Though, what she didn't know.. what she'd never know, was that this "Viktor".. he was nothing but a con man. He'd never been taking the little girl to a "safe place".. oh no. He had some friends, yes.. friends that were willing to pay thousands of rubles to have this royal child into their arms. Viktor was going to sell her, like a slave.. to feed his own greed and selfishness.
They took a train all the way there.. from St. Petersburg, all the way down to Greece.. Kata was patient for the entire way. She sat and told Viktor everything that happened, like it was nothing.. like they'd been life-long friends. And he'd sit there and write things down on little pieces of paper, staring at them intently for what seemed like hours on end.. the poor child never understood why.
Until she was much older, that is.
They arrived in Greece in due time.. though, I can safely say that Kata's fate was much more positive than Viktor's would be. The scruffy man was too old to take that kind of agony.. as the muggers attacked the little girl and himself on the side of a deserted Athens street. They hit the child on the back of her head, with a crowbar, watching her as she fell unconcious onto the street.. and then they beat Viktor senseless, asking for his money repeatedly, though he didn't understand a word they were saying.. and then they left.
Viktor crumpled up a piece of [ paper ] and stuck it in Kata's hand.. and then he walked as far away as he could.
He died just moments later.
The knock to Kata's head headn't done much damage.. okay, that was a complete lie. Besides the fact that it left a rather nasty bump on the back of poor Kata's head, and not to mention a nice puddle of blood on the pavement, the blow caused a serious traumatic even that would haunt the girl for years to come.
When they found her, she was lying on the cold, hard cement, alone.. Viktor was absolutely nowhere in sight, but it wasn't as if his presence were missed.. when considering the fact that no one had ever known of him, and of his intentions.. of the mobsters in Greece that had offered him that large amount of money for such a small young girl. Lying on her side, out cold, the four year old looked to be completely dead, had it not been for her steady yet shallow breathing.. and her right fist, which was clenched tightly around a piece of paper, the one that wouldn't be shown to her for years to come, once they'd pried it from the child's grasp. The moment the poor thing had been discovered, she'd been rushed to the closest hospital. The doctors had marveled over her.. this lost little girl, hit remarkably hard over the head, suffered nothing but a bruise and an insignificant amount of lost blood.. any child Kata's age would have had worse results, such as brain damage, or death, even.. the "little fighter", they called her. With the girl had been nothing but that one pieve of paper that hd stumped everyone who'd ever come across it.. there'd been no identification, no nothing, to tell the doctors just who she was.. "Little Fighter" was what they referred to her as from then on.. and once they'd gotten her safe and sound in the hospital, the next thing they had to do was wait for her to awaken.
"They" were also known as the Khaligaris' - there were five of them total, the entire family which had magically stumbled upon the Little Fighter on their way to the market. The head honcho was none other than Dorothea, herself.. otherwise known as "Mama Dot" to the children, and basically anyone else that was associated with the family. A widowed mother of four, Dot had always been a strict, uptight woman.. but a fun one, nonetheless. When it came down to it, Mama Dot was just a kid at heart, who happened to cook and clean, and all the while play super-mom to four rowdy boys. Yes, four. The prayers to God four a little baby girl had never payed off, in Dot's case - but she nevertheless loved her sons to death. The eldest, Demetry, was basically the man of the house.. Demi, they called him, named after his strong, brave father Demetrius. With a heart of gold, Demi was always giving, giving, giving.. it was often that he forgot to take care of himself. He was the one who helped with the children after Demetrius' untimely death.. the son who did nothing but smile and constantly ask "what he could do to help". He'd been on of, if not the sweetest boy anyone would ever know. His friendliness and caring nature was strong enough to blow anyone's mind away. A very optimistic and talkative guy.. never silent, that one. No, silence was the one thing that belonged to the second eldest boy of this particular Khaligaris generation - Kristopher. Topher was the stereotypical "silent but strong" man.. only six years old when his daddy left him forever. It's an understatement to say that Topher had been affected by Demetrius' death: he'd been just old enough to remember, but young enough to be entirely unaware of how to deal with his pain and sadness.. unlike his younger brothers, who, all their life, hadn't remembered a single thing abnout their deceased father. Topher often wished he'd been as fortunate as them, but that just wasn't the case.. and it took a toll on him. All of it did. However, though Topher rarely spoke, he was surely a hard worker, and his presence was always warm and welcoming.. even if, behind his blue eyes and tight-set jaw, you could easily see his hurt.
Pain was a non-existant metter to another family member, however: the daring little Nikkos. Now, do keep in mind.. there is certainly a difference between a trouble-making and a daring young boy.. especially when it came to Nik. Nikkos tended to lean towards the latter - a very daring, courageous kid.. but the thing about Nik, was that he never went all the way. It's safe to say that Nik was a definite Momma's Boy - while he loved to go on big adventures and torture bugs and whatnot, Nik never went too far - his mother's adoration always managed to reign him in. A complete charmer and ladies man in his later years, he was definitely the social butterfly of the family.. always managing to clear the Khaligaris name before it got too "dirty" - in regards to Demi's self neglect, or Topher's early alcohol addiction, and any other deed which the youngest brother had manage to commit.
Yes, there was indeed a little rascal in the Khaligaris family.. one that didn't wash his hands before diner, and always managed to get the carpet soaked in mud.. why, it was little Matteo, himself. Matteo had, obviously, been the youngest of the four brothers.. not necessarily the kindest, or the quietest, or the smartest.. he was the most trouble - the family delinquent, really. He even had the devilish grin to go with his wild personality.. Matt was one of those people who would laugh hysterically should anyone get seriously hurt. He wasn't a complete asshole, however.. Matteo honestly had a kind heart and thoughtful mind, even if the only person he actually listened to was his mother. Matt was definitely a jokester, and the funniest guy in the Khaligaris family.. and, not to mention, the first one who'd spotted helpless little Kata in that deserted Athens street.
The doctors in the hospital honestly had no idea how the poor little girl would react once she finally awoke.. but the actual result was far more surprising than they ever would have expected. It'd been the early morning - nearly two days after she'd been admitted to the hospital. Mama Dot had, out of sheer worry, stayed with the Little Fighter whenever she could, though, she was not present at the moment of Kata's awakening. The very second the child's emerald eyes had fluttered open, the questions had poured from the doctor's mouth. What's your name? Where are your parents? Where are you from? What happened? But the doctors never received an answer, much to their frustration.. and so, Dorothea was called to the hospital. Talk to her, they said.. their voices in low whispers as to not bring on any form of suspection from the little girl. And it's needless to say that Mama Dot tried.. she was so gentle and sweet, but the mystery girl merely stared at her with a completely blank face.
And so, she tried one last thing before giving up entirely. Pointing to herself, Dot quietly murmured "Dorothea". Then she pointed to the little girl in a questioning manner, as if silently asking for her name.
The girl shook her head.. and it was then that Dot realized the look upon this child's face - pure confusion. She hadn't looked scared at all, like any other child would.. just puzzled. And then Dot realized the situation in its entirety.
The kid couldn't remember a single thing.
When the situation was carefully studied, the traumatic fact really wasn't all too entirely surprising, actually. The girl had been hit over the head with a bar, in the same location as the long term memory of her brain. How had they not thought og it before? They wished they could have pursued the matter further, but every time they asked the child questions, if she remembered anything at all, or just spoke to her in general.. she'd reply in an entirely different language.
Russian.
There was nothing much else that they could do - the girl couldn't remember a thing, and no one in the office knew how to speak Russian.. but Dot saw something in the four year old.. loneliness. SHe just couldn't leave the girl to rot in an orphanage, or out on the streets.. that girl needed to be loved. And, conveniently enough.. Dorothea found herself as the perfect candidate to do so. She took the little girl home the following day, to join their large family and fill in the part which had been missing for years - as the beloved only daughter of Dorothea. The little girl actually fit in quite well, to be truthful.. even if she at first didn't understand what was going on, or what they were saying.. but she understood one thing: Elena. That was her name - what they were calling her. Elena Athena Khaligaris. The boys - Demi, Topher, Matt and Nik - all called her Leni, but it was more of a nick-namey thing than anything else. They'd all been so extremely supportive and patient when teaching her to "speak like they did".. a language simply called Greek, whereas how she spoke was considered "Russian". She didn't know.. she didn't understand what was going on, or where she was, or who she was, or who they were.. it was a confusing time, that was for sure. But she caught on quickly, really.. she'd always been a very smart girl, even if she didn't exactly know it. Within weeks, miss Kata-turned-Elena was stringing her first Greek sentences together. She'd made what seemed like gazillions of friends throughout the neighborhood already, but the person she stuck closest to, besides her new Mama Dot, was actually little Matteo. It'd been this way from the very start - considering their closeness in age [Elena had been presumed to be four - they considered the day on which they'd found her as her "Re-Birth Day".. Matteo was almost five around that time], and their closeness in interests. You see, while Elena could not remember her life as the tomboy-like Kata, the trait seemed to stuck with her even still.. and even more so, now that she was entirely surrounded by boys. It really hadn't taken much time for her to open up to them, actually.. Demi and Topher liked to read her bedtime stories, while Nik loved to make her laugh, and Matt was what Dot referred to as her "mud-buddy".. the two were inseperable, really. Wherever Matteo went, little Leni was following close behind.. she did what he did, said what he said.. she absolutely adored her newfound brother. However, through all of the copycat ays which Elena used to learn of this confusing "New World", it was certainly not hard for her to distinguish herself from Matteo, or any of her other siblings. In fact, Elena was quite the popular girl in the city of Athens.. after her miraculous survival story had been displayed in the media, everyone, it seemed, was familiar with the girl.. the "Little Fighter".. it was a nickname she couldn't escape, until she'd graduated into adulthood. The children in and around the Khaligaris' neighborhood absolutely adored her, and the adults saw her as the cutest angel.. they all played a big part in Elena's childhood - the parts she did and didn't understand. She was loved by everyone, for her entire life in Greece.. casting a spell on them the moment she was merely acquainted.
Life in this new place was overly frightening at first.. with people she didn't know, and a language she couldn't understand. Honestly, Elena was like a newborn baby: she had to re-learn how to speak, and how to use things, and do things and understand things.. but it all settled in place with due time, thanks to Mama Dot and her gentle ways. It had only taken a month or so for the confused and demure Elena Athena Khaligaris to blossom into a giggly, adventurous, and social butterfly.. an angel-child would better explain it. And Dorothea couldn't have been happier, to finally have this beautiful young daughter, who also happened to be the most loved child in town.. in was literally a dream come true.
The same phrase could also be used to explain little Elena's life from then on.. it was like some sort of fairy tale or something. If you were to ask Elena today what the best part of her entire life was, she'd no doubt answer of her life in Greece. She could tell you everything about her life in Greece within a split second.. all of the milestones she'd covered as both a child and teenager. Her first broken bone, for example, had been her arm, when she'd believed she could fly at age six, and therefore proceeded to jump off of the roof of their one-story home with paper wings taped to her back. Her first pet had been a bunny-rabbit she'd gotten for her eighth birthday, who she'd happily named Nicholle, and even though the rabbit had been, in fact, male, she'd refused to call him anything but Niica.. who had, two weeks later, magically escaped his cage and was never seen again. As for her first crush? She'd been twelve, and it'd been her close friend Marco, who'd left later that year on a trip to Asia, though would not return until years later. That same year had welcomed the marriage of Dorothea to her then long-time boyfriend Adonis, as well as the birth of their baby girl Arissa Khaligaris shortly afterwards - the child that stole Elena's role of the baby of the family and Dot's beloved only daughter. Her first kiss she had shared with a local boy named Andros, in the back of his father's old pick-up truck. And as for the one who had, to put it mildly, "popped Elena's cherry", that'd been Jake Morgan at a summer camp in Northern Greece, when she'd been fourteen. And during it all, the family's status seemed to change so unbelievably drastically.. when she'd been fifteen, Demi married and moved to the countryside with his expecting wife.. Topher left the following year, to continue his studies in America.. life without the entire family there had been so odd and uncomfortable.. they'd been together for so long. Though, Leni hardly allowed it to ruin her wild teenage years.. while she had enjoyed spending time with her dearest Mama Dot, and the step-father Adonis, and of course the growing baby Arissa, she was usually out doing something or another.. more often than not with Matteo, from cow tipping to playing chicken with Matt's beat up old car against their best friends.. everything was so unbelievably wonderful, really. So perfectly wonderful, that any other just might question the reality of it. Because, with good news, comes bad news.. and the bad news had yet to hit them.
And when it did, it sure it 'em. It hit 'em hard.
There's no better way to describe it than a complete freak accident.. it had all just begun so innocently, you know? I mean, Matteo and Elena's fun-filled teenage years eventually had to come to an end.. it was just so unfortunate that it ended the way it did. And it'd been because of their wildness, that everything had just come crashing down.. the Khaligaris' perfect existence had, within a night of innocent partying, entirely become no more.
A friend of Matt and Leni's had been having this huge get together - with his parents out of town, he'd literally invited the entire school which they'd attended. Gary was his name.. Gary something or another. Neither of them had been too sure.. they weren't exactly close friends with the guy or anything. All they knew, was that Gary's family had a huge house not too far out in the country side.. he was a filthy rich kid. They'd snuck out of the house that night, promising Mama Dot and Adonis that they were just finishing up schoolwork or whatever, when they'd only had enough guts to take Adonis' car and go party hard.
But that was where the fun ended.
It isn't too surprising that this party, in particular, had tons of alcohol.. something Gary was notorious for, really - his alchy-filled hang-outs. It was nothing but pure fun, really. And it's needless to say that Matt and Leni were, by three a.m. [or sometime around there], completely, utterly wasted. And, out of no where, Matteo had this crazy theory.. maybe everyone was out to get him, right? Maybe they'd take advantage of him because he was so totally drunk.. a crazy thought, in the opinion of any sober human being, but Elena completely agreed. And so they decided it was an adventure; they'd escape out the bathroom window, without anyone noticing. It took a while for the two to make it away and up the stairs from the rest of the crowd, but the thought of danger had never actually occurred to their buzzed brains, even when they made their way into the half-remodeled bathroom and over to the small window between the toilet and the bathtub.
He was just in the daring mood tonight, I guess; because it was Matteo who went first. Opening the window carefully and quietly, the boy stepped onto the lid of the toilet to get closer to their new 'exit', when all hell broke loose.
He slipped.
He slipped, and he fell - backwards, towards the bathtub. And he'd tried to stop himself from falling completely, but there was nothing around him.. nothing, but a clump of electrical wires in the ceiling. They were the first thing which his right hand found, but they were no help.. by the time he could have made it to the ground, Matteo had somehow twisted himself up in these random wires descending from the ceiling.. and, unable to make a fast decision, he became officially stuck.
A few of the wires broke, and he fell down to the ground - almost. Almost, with the exception of one single wire. The wire which wrapped itself around his neck.
Leni never knew if Matt had been dead before he'd been strangled; she could hear the zaps of electricity against her dearest brother/closest friend as he was electrocuted on the spot, but her mind had been so blurred [in thanks to all the alcohol] that she couldn't make sense of what had happened, or how it'd happened, or anything.. all she could do was stare at Matteo's dead, strangled body, as it hung from the ceiling by a single wire, wrapped around his neck.
They called it a freak accident. Everyone did. It wasn't her, or anyone's fault, they'd said. It hadn't meant to happen. But those were the only words that they knew to use as they wrapped Elena up in a blanket and sat her in the back of a police brigade's car, unsure of how else to comfort the stunned and silent young girl. It was quite obvious that the accident had lead to more trouble than just Matteo's death.. the fact that Elena would have to explain the entire situation, from the party to the beer, to escaping through the window and that whole ordeal, to a very upset Adonis and Dorothea.
She killed Matteo. She was the reason he was dead. And that, itself, was hard to say aloud.
Really, really hard.
You could say that, from then on, life just moved on.. but not for the Khaligaris'. From the moment that they all learned of their poor Matteo's death, the world just seemed to have.. stopped. Demi visited town for the funeral, as did Topher.. they hadn't been able to get ahold of Nik, who had been on a big trip in Sweden with a few of his friends. Poor Dorothea hadn't been able to do much but sit and shake.. the woman had always been determined not to cry in front of others, and even in such a drastic time as this, she kept her pact with herself.. Adonis didn't have much to do but take care of the then-four year old, and comfort Dot in any way she could..
Elena was left to rot. Dorothea couldn't even look at her.. Demi, Adonis and Topher had no clue what to say. They had known all along that it hadn't been her fault.. even if she and Matteo hadn't exactly made the best choices that night. But Leni stayed as far away from them as possible.. she didn't want any comfort. She'd never felt so goddamn terrible in her entire life.. she just didn't know how to cope. What could she possibly say or do to make it all just go away? Nothing. She knew that Dorothea would never stop crying. She knew that the rest of the family would do their best to help Dot.
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Post by >>[ N A T A S H A ] grey. on Aug 9, 2006 6:27:20 GMT
But what about her? They hadn't been the only one who'd lost someone that day.. she'd lost her brother, her best friend since they'd magically "found" her when she was four. If it hadn't been for Matteo, they probably would've never even noticed the poor girl lying on the sidewalk, right? Right. Or, that's what Leni kept telling herself as she escaped the Khaligaris household every day and drank herself into the bottomless pits of hell. She couldn't deal with his death in any other way.. the liquor seemed to just tune it all out for a while, you know? And it had only been a little bit, at first.. honestly, there'd been a little bit of fear inside her when she'd first started, considering that liquor had been the very thing which had caused Matteo's death in the first place. But she was only sixteen: invincible, she thought. What happened to Matteo surely wouldn't happen to her. Not if she was careful.
But she wasn't careful. And I'm pretty damn sure you saw that coming, huh?
By the time she'd turned seventeen, Leni's grades had dropped, her entire mood had changed, and life as it once was, was now no more.. she didn't care about anything but alcohol.. nothing, but drinking away the pain. Just like Topher, they said.. Topher, who'd started drinking at only fourteen.. who would struggle with his addiction until the day he died. She was becoming the Khaligaris disgrace, and fast.. too wild and too adventurous, too addicted. The drugs followed soon after.. as a way to "pass the time", in Elena's words. She didn't care about her 'old life' as much as she did her 'new one' - the one that involved sitting around with a group of friends and a liquor bottle, in a cloud of smoke. That became her entire life - the alcohol, the drugs, and the sex.
Family life had, needless to say, dropped down to an all time low.. Elena was never around, but when she was, it wasn't pretty.. the house would be filled with screams and yells of disgust, hate, and frustration. Dorothea, while struggling with the loss of her youngest son, couldn't stand what her beautiful first daughter had become.. her little angel.. and Elena didn't want anything to do with her family anymore.. she was sick of them.. thought that, if she stuck around any longer, she'd just hurt them even more. And the pain increased so drastically that it came to a point where Elena just didn't care anymore.. they weren't even her real family any way, right?
They were all hurting, in their own way.. it was obvious to see the suffering which the Khaligaris' were going through. Once a bright and welcoming family, the light had now dimmed and their smiles became upturned.. it had taken nearly six months of this pain for Adonis and Dorothea realized what they had to do.. they had to start over, entirely. With a year left of custody over the out-of-control Elena, the two packed up their house in Greece and dragged what was left of the Khaligaris family to an entire new country.
America.
To be specific, they'd moved to a city in California - they, as in, Adonis and Dorothea, Arissa, Elena and Nikkos [who had volunteered to stick around and help out the family for as long as they needed]. Their house was no bigger than the medium-sized one they'd resided in over in Greece.. no one was complaining much, except for Elena.. the only one who hadn't exactly been willing to move away from the only home she'd ever known. They wanted a new start.. couldn't they just find one without her? They kept saying, that she was no good to them like this.. they wanted to help her, they said. But she was convinced that every little thing they spoke was just a bunch of bullshit.. she knew they hated her for what happened to Matteo.
And the day she turned eightteen, she was getting the hell out of there.
Unfortunately, she had a while to wait.
Slowly but surely, life began to return to normal, in a somewhat-twisted way.. they were all trying to move on.. all of them, but Elena. While she continued to go waste her life away, Adonis and Nikkos both got jobs to support the family, and Dorothea stayed home to care for little Arissa and deal with Matteo's death on her own time. But Leni.. Leni was never around. It was as if she hardly even lived there.. she was always out with a group of 'friends' [people she hardly knew, but believed that life was fucked up just as much as she did], screwing around all over town and getting drunk, or high, or laid, whichever.
But living life such as Elena was, wasn't always exactly all that chummy.. there were countless times when she'd either almost or actually had been thrown into jail, due to her alcohol and/or drug possessions.. but it'd never been too serious. She'd always somehow magically been let off the hook.. until that one day, where everything had gone wrong.
Well.. almost everything.
It'd been a day like any other day.. hanging with her "friends", completely baked, having not have been home for days on end.. but they'd been so caught. Drug bust. At least six policemen barged their way into the teens' "hideout" with their guns pointed everywhichway. And the moment in which that police officer cornered Elena with a gun pointing right towards her, something sort of triggered in her mind.. like deja vu, only.. in a different setting.. with different people. She could remember a familiar man doing the exact same thing, and then he murmured something so dear and comforting to her in her frightening situation.
But that was once upon a time, very long ago.
The sentence brought back too many memories, all at once.. one of her, singing along to the song in which the words belonged, with a man she knew only as her beloved Pápi. And dancing with him on his feet, and then his stories about a land full of mystery.. Egypt, his treasure, he always called it.
But you're my jewel, darling. Don't ever forget that.
And then she remembered Olga, and Sonja, and her best friend Uri. She could remember the smell of her Mámá's breath, something similar to rubbing-alcohol.. and the time when she'd found Mámá's bottle of liquor, and how Pápi had been so upset with Mámá that day. She could remember the palace, the gorgeous palace they'd lived in.. and looking out the window to see what seemed like the entire world surrounding their home.. they'd looked so angry, and she'd never been able to understand why. But most of all, she could remember the night Pápi went crazy.. when all of the house had been filled with loud bangs, until he'd finally gotten to her.. and one last bang of the weapon in his hand had left her to fend for herself.
Until Viktor came along.
She could remember Viktor like she'd just seen him yesterday.. his scruffy figure, and the viciousness in his eyes, and how he always seemed to be in a hurry.. she could remember the train ride all the way to Greece, with Viktor's promises of a new, better, richer life than before.. one that she couldn't even imagine.
The thoughts came rushing at her all at once, like a large wave that she just couldn't escape in time. And there, while she was face to face with a police officer and his gun, something crazy occurred in her mind. Was all of this everything that happened before Greece.. before the Khaligaris' found her lying, unconcious, and alone?
Were they the things that she'd forgotten?
Now wasn't the time for such things, however.. a stunned and confused Elena was led to her new home for the night - a jail cell.. until she called Adonis and Dorothea for the following morning. They reluctantly bailed her out, like they always did.. only this time, she didn't go screw off again. She went home.. for the first time in what seemed like forever. She went home and she told them everything - not just what she'd been doing, what she'd been involved in.. but what she'd remembered. How she could remember tracing her father's face whenever he was to go away for a long time, and she'd always say how she'd never forget him, never. And how he always called her, his "jewel". She told them every little thing that she could.. it was so hard, though. It was like the words she wanted to say just couldn't come out right.. she was so astonished at everything she hadn't thought of since she was four years old.. the life she could have lived, had her Pápi not gone "crazy" on that particular night.. it was so weird to remember a conversation entirely in Russian and know its exact meaning, to remember the faces of Olga and Sonja and know that they were her sisters, and that Uri was her brother, and to think that she used to know the faces of her mother and father. Everything was happening so fast.. and in such a surreal fashion.
But there were still many things she was unaware of.. like the fact that there were still people in Russia, Belarus and even parts of Ukraine who were in search of Yekaterina Alisse Sofiya-Krystine Rostoslav, the "one who got away".. people who'd pay big money to meet her, to know her, to learn of everything she'd experienced, as a child, in the care of dictator Aleksandr Rostoslav. The problem there, was that during all the years spent printing out ads and newspaper articles looking for Kata Rostoslav.. the little girl had no idea of who she really even was. Even now, at seventeen, when she'd remembered her actual birthday and the games she once played with her little brother, Kata Rostoslav, under the accidental alias Elena Khaligaris, was absolutely clueless to the fact that she was the Princess of Russia.
Adonis and Dorothea, however, had a different outlook on all of this.. they urged Elena not to press the matter farther. Stay with us, they pleaded.. we just want you home. They, too, were unknown to the fact of Elena's royal bloodline, connected to the infamous Romanovs.. they didn't even seem to care much about what Leni had to say, about all of these crazy memories that had suddenly flooded back to her. Throughout the conversation, all Adonis and Dorothea did was try and persuade Elena to stay home, and lay off the drugs and alcohol.. they weren't listening to her.
She begged them to listen, just for a second.. she tried to tell them how important this was to her. And she must have broken through to them somehow.. because, after hours of talking and fighting and crying, Dorothea did the unthinkable.
She pulled out the note.. the one that they'd found crumpled up in Elena's hand the day they'd found her.. the one they'd hidden for years, not wanting to upset the girl in the midst of her angelic childhood. Dorothea explained everything she could to Leni about the note.. how they'd found it, and how she had no idea what it meant, or if it had been Elena's in the first place. She'd never actually been able to figure out the Russian sentence at the bottom, or who Ustet was, besides the fact that it was a rumored Pharoah in Egypt.
Elena didn't know much about the note, herself.. in fact, she didn't even remember much about it, except for the fact that Viktor had always stared at it, as if he'd been trying to solve some form of a puzzle. But the lyrics written there.. she knew those had been her lyrics. And Egypt had been her Pápi's "treasure".. remember? It was like this slip of paper was a sign.. of what, she wasn't sure. But she had to go figure this all out. She had some research to do.
Though, the moment she told Dorothea that she wanted to leave.. wanted to go find who she really was, the woman completely protested. She threw a fit, really. Crying and screaming, telling Elena that she couldn't leave her.. after all she'd put this family through, she couldn't leave. And her words had hurt Leni so much.. Leni fell into her rebel mode.. stooped to Dorothea's level. The recently-turned eighteen year old had a good reason for this particular adventure.. after all, wouldn't you want to know exactly where you came from, instead of little bits and pieces?
They fought for hours.. lord, they could have fought until the cows came home. But when Dorothea tripped over that misplaced shoe on the ground, everything just stopped.. she fell backwards, unable to keep her balance, and hit her neck right on the edge of the table.. rupturing her spine, and causing her to be paralyzed from the neck, down.
Elena left California just days before Dorothea was let out of the hospital.. it was as though, if she stayed, she'd only cause them more pain.. after what happened with Matteo, and now Mama Dot, she couldn't do that to them anymore. And even though it hurt to leave them so suddenly, after having been with them for years, she knew she had to go.. she had to fight her alcohol and drug addiction on her own, and she had to find out more about her deceased family.. as much information as she could get.
She relocated in Russia - having known for a fact that the language on the paper was Russian, and the words she had spoken and been spoken to fourteen years ago had also been of that language.. stayed in an apartment in Moscow, getting a job as a waitress at a local restaurant.. but it took months for her to straighten everything out. And pretty soon, those months turned into a year, and she hadn't done anything.. she was still waitressing at the same restaurant, still living in the same apartment, and still learning how to speak the language - though she could understand it quite well. She hadn't contacted her family since the day she left, and therefore hadn't been able to tell them the great news - that she'd kicked her substance addictions. Though, she wished there was more to it than that.. she wished she'd finished what she'd come to Moscow to do.. to find out who she really was.
Most of all, she wished she knew where to start.
Elena was nineteen and completely alone.. she'd started college in Moscow, though she couldn't exactly admit to the fact that she was able to pay tuition.. her "second job" played a big part in that. Throughout her time in Moscow, Elena definitely worked her ass off doing whatever she could to pay bills, and rent, and tuition.. she'd been a waitress, a bartender, a grease monkey, a secretary [more than once, actually], a clerk, an operator, an electrician, a daycare worker, a housemaid, a garbage-woman, a bus driver, a bug exterminator.. the list goes on and on, really. But she knew what she wanted to do with her life, after this whole searching-for-herself extravaganza.. she wanted to be a surgeon.
But she had a while to go.. and during that while, she worked, and went to school, and that was what her entire day consisted of, mostly. Until she finally picked up the telephone and made a few calls.. asking for anyone who researched anagrams - what she suspected the writing on the paper to be - or anyone who studied Egypt, and the Pharoah Ustet. She made call after call after call, and couldn't find anyone to assist her.. until she her prayers were finally answered, by the man of the name Petyr.
Petyr must have been in his late fourties.. a gentleman, nonetheless, with his heart set on his work.. he'd been studying anagrams for what seemed like forever, ever since he'd been but a boy living on the streets of Moscow. He'd lived with his grandfather as a child, the man who'd gotten him interested in anagrams, and puzzles, and those sorts of things.. by now, Petyr Vorozheikina was considered the master of all things anagram.
Just what Elena needed.
They met on a cold November day.. how Leni had found the time in-between work and school, she didn't know, but she'd managed to fit this meeting into her schedule, regardless.. even if she was unsure if this would all pay off in the longrun. She had no idea what would come of all of this, to be honest. But Petyr was a nice man.. he seemed so legit, and so determined. And Elena was determined to find out what this piece of paper meant.
But, in reality, she was no where near ready for what was to come.
Petyr had her tell him everything she could remember of her life before Greece.. in fact, she was supposed to just tell him every single possible thing she could, about her entire life, up until now.
Because fate can play tricks on you, he'd constantly remind her with his notepad and pen in hand.
However, she'd only gotten as far as her memories with her biological family before Petyr stopped her dead in her tracks, his eyes wide and his mouth hanging open in amazement.
Unsurprisingly, Elena didn't exactly take the news all that well.. she wanted to find out about the anagram, not that she was princess of Russia. And, I won't lie to you, she was definitely reluctant at first.. she didn't believe, or want to believe, that she was royal in any shape, way or form. It was just a coincidence that she was the same age of this Yekaterina girl, and that she "appeared" around the time that she "disappeared".. right? But she couldn't run from the truth forever. Petyr showed her pictures.. pictures of the family at events and whatnot. She recognized her Máma and Pápi right away.. and her sisters, and her little brother. It was inevitable.
Dear god. She was the princess of Russia.
She didn't tell anyone, of course.. there came a time where she had to completely shove the idea off to the side and focus on the anagram.. because Petyr had a revelation. What if the anagram lead to the money Aleksandr stole? It'd been hidden so well.. even now, there were people searching for it, for both good and bad causes.. but no one, to this day, had ever actually found the money. And it's needless to say that they worked for hours on end, trying to figure out just what the writing on the paper meant.
They never even paid attention to what was written at the bottom. And, honestly, if they had.. if they'd only read the small Russian sentence at the bottom of the paper, they might have actually figured out Aleksandr's entire secret.. but fate took them through a different course. Before they could get far enough as to find what they were looking for, however, tragedy struck the two unexpectedly..
Well, alright, just to keep in PG.. they were very aware that there were thousands of people looking for this lost money.. they just never really realized how vulnerable they were to those people. They hadn't exactly known what was going on the moment two men dressed in complete black burst into Petyr's office one day and ordered both Petyr and Elena to tell them where the money was.. having heard of their search, and figuring that they'd already found its whereabouts. But, you see, that was where the trouble began.. they were no where near knowing where the money had been hidden.. and this caused a major problem for Petyr and Leni. They tried to tell them that they didn't know, but the men - named Ned and Gregoire, as Elena later found out - wouldn't listen.. and, after hours of threats, yells, screams, and abuse.. they left.
Leaving nothing behind but a bullet in Petyr's head.
Out of fear and anxiety, Elena left Russia as fast as she possibly could.. packing up her things and just leaving, at the drop of a hat. She thought of going back to California, to stay with Mama Dot.. but that was entirely out of the question. She'd already put them through to much.. she couldn't do it all over again. Besides.. she was a "big girl now". She had to learn how to take care of herself.. which was why, when she reached the airport in New York City, Elena realized the weight of responsibility on her shoulders.
She left for South Carolina the following day, using money she'd unwillingly taken from Petyr.. we just won't get into that. Though, before she left, she made one major decision.. she changed her identity. Within just twenty-four hours, Elena Athena Khaligaris became Grace Elisabeth Taylor.. and Elena, aliased Grace, entirely put her past behind her.
She arrived in South Carolina in due time.. but probably not in the best conditions. For one, everything she owned was packed in two suitcases.. for two, she was almost entirely broke. For three, she had no job.. for four, she hadn't finished her education [nor had she finished paying for it], and for five, she never found out what the anagram meant. Being princess of Russia meant nothing now.. now that the current Prime Minister was in no way, shape or form related to her.. that hadn't been what she'd wanted to know, anyway. But because she was, indeed, an heiress.. she'd been led to this. To standing outside of an airport in South Carolina in the pouring rain, soaking wet, and trying to catch a taxi to take her anywhere dry.. and, not to mention, she had to change her name. Grace Elisabeth Taylor? Alright, well, she could live with it.. but it was so hard to have to introduce herself as anything but Elena, or Leni. It was uncomfortable, in a way.
But then again, everything about this entire situation was uncomfortable.
Eventually, she flagged down a taxi and jumped inside.. ordering the driver to take her anywhere.. a hotel would be nice. A place with a bed, in the least.. and before long, she found herself not too far outside of the city, on a humongous plot of land, standing in front of a huge white southern-esque house with her two suitcases in hand. The driver had called it the Bed-And-Breakfast.. said that the owner, Noah Ryan, was one of the kindest people out there.. and Grace could do nothing but take his word for it.
She slept soundly that night, despite the current hell she was placed in.. it hadn't been until that morning that the nineteen year old girl had met Noah.. a handsome young man, no younger than twenty-two. You could say it was love at first sight.. you could even say it was more than that. But Noah was honestly the first man that ever made Grace weak at the knees, and at a loss for words.. she couldn't do much of anything but sit there and smile and laugh.. otherwise known as, make a complete fool of herself. It was only time before Noah asked dear Gracie out for a night on the town.. and they were an item faster than you could spell L-O-V-E.
Gracie loved Noah in an almost desperate fashion.. in a way, almost too desperate. They were a lovely couple.. really, they were. Whenever they were together it was as if the Gods were smiling down upon them.. heaven, was the best form of explaining it. Noah and Grace fit together like the most beautiful puzzle - at least, when they were in the eyes of the public. In the privacy of the two individuals, they fought like no other.. over the most horrible things. Over Gracie's habit of biting her nails. Over Noah's lack of pessimisim. Very, very insignificant things.
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Post by >>[ N A T A S H A ] grey. on Aug 9, 2006 6:28:50 GMT
And even though she and Noah loved each other crazily, Gracie couldn't help but wonder, in the back of her mind, that she was doing the right thing.. staying in the Southern countryside with this man, when she should really be out there, furthering the legacy that she was born into. And then she reminded herself that this was the whole point of moving to America - a break. Just a simple, calm, relaxed break.. time to take in everything she'd learned of her long lost family.. her long lost past. And then came Noah. Her time with Noah was time well wasted.. even if there were days where she wondered if he even knew she was there. She'd do anything to shine in his eyes - she'd fight and suffer, no matter what the cost. Gracie was quite the actress. If Noah wanted her mad, she'd be as angry as she possibly could. If he wanted her happy, she'd be elated. It all depended on Noah.. even if he was the man she loved to pieces, and the same went him to her. She was like a slave, trapped in an almost too-perfect love affair.
They were the most adorable couple, nevertheless.. with Noah's bright blue eyes and dimpled cheeks and Gracie's gorgeous smile and lengthy red-brown hair, the folks of their small town always insisted that should the couple ever reproduce, their children would be 'as beautiful as Jesus himself'. And to say that the two were well liked was the understatement of the year - Noah's irrisistable southern charm and Grace's reluctant ingenue were often the talk of the town.. the epitome of perfection, they were.
They married the year Grace turned twenty.. but the pregnancy had been entirely unexpected.. and the miscarriage, even more so. The minute that Grace learned of the child she was carrying, questions filled their minds faster than lightning, itself. Did they want a baby? Were they ready to be parents? Could they afford it? It's an understatement to say that the two were scared.. they allowed their fear to take over, to rule their lives. They were so frightened, it was hard to even move.. all they could do, really, was sit and stare off into another world, all day long. They couldn't sleep, they couldn't eat, or speak, or even look at each other.. how were they going to handle this? They didn't know if they were ready, they didn't know if they wanted this.
They never learned the answers to their nerve-wracking questions until it was too late.. until they'd lost the one thing they'd unknowingly wanted the very most. The miscarriage of Noah and Grace's baby had been both a blessing and a curse - it had helped them realize what it was they truely wanted, but knowing it at the time they did, sent them into deep remission. To keep his mind off things, Noah worked overtime in their bed and breakfast, and on remodeling the house.. and Grace, poor, innocent Grace.. couldn't do anything but lie in bed and gaze up at the ceiling, wondering what she was missing out on, and if she had known that she'd wanted a baby in the first place, would the miscarriage have ever happened? The period of silence, which Grace and Noah later referred to as, "The Dark Ages", lasted for a month and a half.. six long weeks of sadness and regret, awkward dinners together and a river of tears, until Noah asked Grace the one key question that changed both of their lives, forever.
"Do you really want that baby, Grace?"
And you could tell, by the look in her eyes, just how much she wanted that baby.. how ready she was to be a mother, to raise a little girl or boy she could call her own. It was only nine months later that she gave birth to her beautiful daughter.. Abigail Nicholle Ryan.
Abby, as they called her, looked almost exactly like her mother: except for her eyes. Looking into Abby's eyes was like looking directly into the sea.. you could never tell if they were blue or green, or both.. they often looked dreamy, as if the child's mind was off in some form of a Neverland.. or, in other words, she had Noah's eyes - heavily fringed with sweeping lashes. Her hair was the same exact color which Gracie's had been in her own childhood.. down to the same loose curls at the very tips. She'd been rather small for her age, so small that Noah could hold her like he would a football, cradled in one arm - though, he didn't do it often, considering Gracie was so afraid about him dropping the baby, or something along those lines. Nevertheless, Noah and Grace thought that Abigail was the perfect, most darling baby in the entire world.. they were crazy in love with her.
It almost bordered on obsession, honestly. Gracie spent every waking moment with the baby.. never once letting her outof her sight. Wherever Gracie went, Abby came with.. and vice versa. It was hard for Grace to comprehend anything of this life she'd stumbled into.. the wonderful life that she'd recklessly chosen. In her opinion, it was pur luck that she'd ended up in such a fortunate state - living in a stunning old southern manor with Noah, the love of her life, and a newly born daughter. Or was she only dreaming? Surely she didn't deserve this much bliss and happiness - what had she done to receive all of this?
Contemplation was, obviously, something Gracie resorted to often, when spending time with the quiet, precious Abby, the angel baby who never made a peep. Grace spent days on end with the baby, just holding her in her arms, as she walked around anywhere her legs would take her.. usually, it was just around the bed-and-breakfast, where they lived on the entire top floor [otherwise known as the sixth.. not including the attic]. Grace showed Abigail every single room inside, while chattering away nonsense things about the house itself, or how about "Daddy" - Noah - was making Abby her own little nursery, just like he'd made "Mommy" a room used solely for painting - a hobby she'd taken up only recently. Gracie talking about painting to Abby, and told the baby of books which she'd read.. and eventually Grace emigrated outdoors with the child, either out on their porch, or on their large lawn.. Abby's favorite spot, especially as she grew older, was right underneath the willow tree in which Gracie, Abby, and even occasionally Noah would picnic every day for lunch. Somethings, Grace even ventured into town with the girl in her old, dainty baby buggy, stopping at a few stored to buy this and that, and say hello to whomever. Everone adored baby Abigail - always commented on how much she looked like her mother. They completely ate the child up - her loose curls and lace dresses. As for Gracie, with pink flushed cheeks and a constant smile on her face, it wasn't hard to tell that Grace was a proud young mother.. and a good one, at that.
When Gracie wasn't spending time walking with, feeding, or hushing the baby into slumber, she was either asleep herself, or was with Noah. Even if Abby was the most angelic child in the world, she definitely ruptured the close relationship that the two had once held.. no more late-night walks to look at the stars, no more glasses of wine together at eleven A.M. While Grace was out with the baby all day, Noah was.. well, working. What with having taken up remodeling the bed-and-breakfast, the project had been taking much of his time away from his family.. it wasn't as though he didn't love them. No, he loved his wife and baby to death, and beyond that, even.. but what with the remodeling of the house, the most he could do was lunch under the willow tree, and sleeping next to his wife at night. It obviously took a toll on Grace and himself.. the two constantly fought, even more than they did before they were married, and before Abby's birth, if possible.. their relationship was stressed and unhealthy. And the one time things were going absolutely wrong.. Grace didn't know anything else to do but run.
Yes, run. Abigail was six months old and continuing to grow, Noah was completely indulged in his project, and Grace was nothing but unhappy with her life during that very time.. so she just.. packed up and left. It wasn't like she was crazy.. I mean, haven't you ever needed a break from something, even if it was just for a while? Grace was continually growing even more curious about the life she'd left behind.. the life which Noah had absolutely no idea about. She'd never told him about Russia, or about Greece.. for all he knew, she was an accentless girl from Louisiana, whose parents were both dead.. Noah had never known about the hidden money, or any of that. Determined to try one last time, Grace up and left in the middle of a summer night, taking her two suitcases full of already-packed belongings and just disappearing from the house.. leaving nothing but a sorry letter for Noah behind.
She flew back over to New York that night.. and the research began that following morning. She rented a room in a motel and literally sat herself down on the floor, staring at pictures and sidenotes and a bunch of things that she and Petyr had come up with back in Moscow.. trying to figure everything out. And suddenly, with a glance at the note, she realized the sentence at the bottom.. the sentence that she and Petyr had never taken into account.. they'd never even paid attention to it.
It read, translated: Has he hidden the money with Ustet?
And a bell went off in Grace's mind.
All she had to do was find more about this "Ustet".
A Pharoah, she already knew.. Ustet had been one of the less-common Pharoahs hundreds of years ago. But that was all she knew. The books didn't say anything else about him.. except the fact that he'd had sixteen cats. And then she turned to the unsolved "anagram" for help.
She couldn't find anything.
That didn't stop her, though.. by this time, Grace Ryan had become human dynamo.. she took a flight to Egypt the following morning, staying in yet another hotel with her papers scattered around everywhere, trying to get closer to the end of this, and trying not to think of how she'd abandoned her husband and baby daughter.. until she got a reminder similar to a slap in the face.
So, she hadn't exactly expected it, you know? It'd almost two years since she'd left Moscow and changed her identity.. she hadn't expected them to find her.. and a simple knock on her hotel room's door hadn't raised her suspicion any higher. However, the moment she'd opened the door, she'd been pushed inside.. pushed inside, by a man dressed entirely in black.
Gregoire. She knew it was him, because he'd been the bulkier one of the two. He was back.. he'd been following her for years, he'd said. He wanted the money.. the money her "jackass father" had taken from his family all those years ago.. and that was when Grace realized his motive.
Revenge.
But he had an entire plan set up.. he was a smart cookie, honestly. Not only was he there to make sure that Grace finished her job.. but Ned.. Ned was back in South Carolina, making sure of the same thing. He had Noah and Abby hostage, according to Gregoire. And if she didn't get their money, they'd kill them, her husband and daughter. They'd slaughter them like animals.
Gregoire was like a ghost, honestly.. haunted her like crazy. When she tried to solve the puzzle, tried to figure out where the money was.. not because she wanted to know, but now because she had to save the life of her daughter.. Gregoire was there, pushing her forward, threatening to even kill her if she didn't get this money.. it's needless to say that she was frightened. She was frightened to death. She couldn't bare to know that she'd put her family into this mess.. it was only her duty to get them out of it, no?
But she just couldn't figure out what the anagram was.
Until one particular night.. she'd just been lying in bed, Gregoire sleeping like a baby on the floor with his gun in hand.. when all of a sudden it just.. occurred to her.
But that was once upon a time, very long ago.
If you switched the letters around, you'd get this;
Go to Ustet, the man below Cairo.
With the letters Y, A, A, U, V, P, N, G and N left over. It was like a puzzle.. what could those nine extra letters mean? Were they meant to be discarded, or did they truly have significance? Was this anagram not what Aleksandr had intended it to be? Perhaps this line from her favorite childhood song had never had any sort of connection to the millions of rubles that Gregoire and Ned were searching for. Maybe it had never been anything but a silly childhood song. But Gracie just couldn't believe that.. she refused to. There had to be a reason her father had sung her this song every night.. a reason why he'd made these words the very last words he'd ever say to her.
Go to Ustet, the man below Cairo.
Grace remembered hearing of a man named Ustet, vaguely. When she'd been living in Greece, they'd been building the Mosque of Ustet somewhere near central Cairo. The project had finally finished in 1994, and Grace hadn't heard a single thing about the Mosque since then.
Y A A U V P N G N.
She just didn't understand. They were nonsense letters, really. They had no meaning. And anyway, why would she be drawn to a Mosque in Egypt? A Mosque that had been built six years after her dear father had robbed Russia of its money and hid it in 'a place where no one could find it'. The Mosque had been built six years too late of the moment Aleksandr had informed her of his secret.. the secret she'd promised never to murmur aloud ever again.
And suddenly, it clicked.
Yekaterina, her name of origin.
Aleksandr, her powerful father.
Anna, her lovely mother.
Ustet, the Pharoah in question.
Viktor, the man that had tried to sell her in Greece.
Petyr, the one who told her everything about her life in Russia.
Noah, the only man she'd ever love.
Gregoire, the man who was looking for the money Aleksandr had stolen.
Ned, Gregoire's accomplice.
Coincidentally, each person of who was represented by those letters, had something to do with Gracie finding this money.. it was as if fate lead her to them, and to the "treasure in Egypt".
Fate can play tricks on you.
Reluctantly, she told Gregoire of everything she'd figured out.. he ordered her to pursue the matter further. In his words, so fucking what it the Mosque was built six years too late? Research it, anyway. And that was exactly what Grace did. She researched for an entire two weeks, hardly able to keep the lives of Noah and Abby in the back of her mind.. she had to keep reminding herself that she was doing this for them.
And then she hit the jackpot.
According to old newspapers and other miscellaneous things she'd researched, the Mosque had been built around the time she'd thought.. though, just before the building process had begun, the prime minister of Egypt issued an emergency extermination of the area.. meaning, a dig for Ustet. His reason had been that he didn't want anything valuable damaged in the process of creating this Mosque, even though the Mosque was originally going to be built as more of a shrine to the Pharoah. Though, the head of the assignment was much more important that the reason for it.. for, it'd been none other than Russia's leader, Aleksandr Rostoslav, himself.
According to reports, the team had run into troubles during the dig through the gravesite, and evacuated the project after only going so far.. but Grace didn't believe any of it. She had a feeling that they'd done something important.. that Aleksandr had buried the money there and then ordered the team to withdraw.
And then they built the Mosque, not only as a shrine for Pharoah Ustet.. but to make sure no one tried to steal the money.
The Mosque was in Cairo. She was in Cairo. It was absolutely perfect.
Except for one thing.. Gregoire. She couldn't do it with him here.. she needed to do this herself. She'd give them the money.. anything to keep the lives of her daughter and lover safe. But she made a simple mistake.. really, she just didn't understand how one small thing could create such a disaster. For, when she tried to tell Gregoire how she needed to do it on her own.. he completely freaked out.. and she only responded. Wouldn't you use self-defense if someone was abusing you? She just punched him back.. square in the jaw.
And he was pissed.
Their frequent "check up" calls to Ned, and Ned's frequent "check up" calls to them, had never really had much meaning until this night.. after Gregoire and Gracie's.. confrontation, Gregoire called Ned. And he told him what had happened.
And Ned was pissed, too.
Ned told Gregoire to put Gracie on the phone.. and he did. And Grace was given the privilege of hearing her six month old daughter being slaughtered over the telephone, until there wasn't a single breath in the baby's body.
She followed every single rule from then on.. but she made sure not to show her devastation. She took full responsibility of her baby's death, but it was harder to do than to say.. she'd.. heard her die.. one of the most horrible, frightening things she'd ever experienced. Abby, her miracle child, was dead.. Noah was all she had left. She couldn't screw this up.
And she didn't. All the way to the point where Gregoire told her to throw the grenade inside the Mosque of Ustet, to the point when the two of them got down on their knees in the midst of all that dust to dig.. she dug faster than the speed of lightening, through streams of tears and pain in her hands from the shovel she held.. Grace was determined to get this over with.. to have Noah in her arms again.. to mourn over the loss of her baby.
She hadn't even been able to experience life itself, and she was dead. Just like that. And it was all because of her brain dead mother.. the mother who abandoned her to look for money so selfishly.
All of this was Gracie's fault.
They found the money, alright.. it'd been right under the surface, surprisingly. Gracie and Gregoire filled that sack full of rubles, until it was brimming with them.. and then they escaped the crime scene before they could even be caught. It was almost too perfect, really. But the moment the two of them had taken their gas masks off, Grace sensed something was wrong.
Gregoire pulled out his cell phone and called Ned. He told him they had the money.. and then he told him.. the two most dreadful and life-wrecking words Grace had ever, and would ever hear.
"Kill 'im."
The moment those two words had been uttered from Gregoire's dirty, rotten, foul mouth.. something happened to Grace. A sudden feeling of rage rose up in her chest and she pounced on the man, literally.. and this time, Ned was able to hear as his accomplice was shot to death with his own gun, by none other than Grace, herself.
She killed that fucking bastard.. shot him, and punched him and kicked him.. cried her pretty little heart out. The imbecile deserved it, didn't he?
Well, she happened to think so.. and frankly, at that point, she didn't care what anyone else thought.
She allowed a few days to pass before she left town.. the sack of rubles were exchanged for "American money" at a local bank, which were then placed in a heavy-duty suitcase and hidden under the seat of a cheap car Gregoire had bought almost a week before.. she figured he wouldn't need it now, anyway. The case fit perfectly underneath the seat, in a small, hidden compartment.. no one would ever know it was there.
But she needed somewhere to go still.. and by now, she didn't have any reservations when calling her Mama Dot and asking to come live with her for a while.. but the news she got was entirely unexpecting. It always was, wasn't it?
Dorothea, the paraplegic, had recently passed away.
And Gracie was invited to the funeral.
And that's what she's doing now, in California. She took a flight over to New York City, where she waited for the shipping of her car, which held the money inside it. From there, she drove all the way across the country, until she hit California. But she isn't Grace Elisabeth Ryan, wife of Noah Ryan and mother of Abigail Nicholle Ryan, any longer. Nor does she consider herself Elena Athena Khaligaris, the angel-child turned bad-ass. And we can safely say that Yekaterina Alisse Sofiya-Krystine Rostoslav is no longer, as well.
Meet Natasha Rosaria Isabella Grey.
She'll be staying here for a while. For a long while, actually. She's an intern at the hospital, you see? But no one knows anything else about her.. no one. She's just another one of California's mysteries.
Perhaps you'll stop by and greet her one of these days? Your choice, of course. Or perhaps it isn't at all. Perhaps you are nothing but a piece of play dough in the hands of fate. But watch out, darling.
Fate can play tricks on you.
career;
Surgical Intern at Hope, Wish, Love Hospital.
education;
Finished high school, and college/med school, while she was staying in South Carolina.
dorm;
no thanks
pets;
Natasha isn't much of an animal-person, really.. it's not like she's afraid of them or anything; she just happens to think that animals do nothing but get in the way. However, she's been providing food and shelter for a stray kitten in her apartment for a few weeks now, and no matter how much she says she hates animals.. Tash sort of has a soft spot for this one. She calls the kitten 'Little Ninja', due to its black coat and its overall territorial nature, which extends to the point of the cat attacking you if you were to go anywhere near its favorite mouse toy. [meet Little Ninja.]
sample;
Annah had never felt so terrible in her entire life.
Well alright...so, she had...but very few times had anything ever surpassed this horrible melancholy that just wouldn't escape her. She'd tried to drown it out...but four glasses of wine later, hardly anything had changed but Annah's state of mind...and her intoxication level. She wasn't a lightweight...most certainly not...and she'd keep drinking even more if she could, but that was were the problem started.
She'd gotten home today from possibly the most horrible shift she'd ever had to work at La Tour d'Argent...extra hours, because Jeannette had called in sick...at first it'd been alright, but then chaos began to run amuck at one of the tables she'd been serving, and because Jeannette wasn't there, Annah didn't understand a lot of what was going on for she had no one there to translate for her...and that, in itself, had been stressful. Once a kind, both French and English speaking gentleman explained to her what was going on - {someone had ordered filet mignon, and had gotten something entirely different...why she hadn't understood something so simple, she didn't know} - Annah tried to help...but was merely pushed aside, considering she couldn't communicate to the customer without requiring some sort of translator.
Nearly four and a half hours after that dilemma, Annah returned home with a horribly stained apron...and not to mention tear-filled eyes...on her way home she'd heard someone talking about John...about a new film that was coming out, which he starred in...the very film that'd been shot in Paris, and therefore was translated into French so everyone in this 'city of romance' could see it all with their very own eyes.
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Post by >>[ N A T A S H A ] grey. on Aug 9, 2006 6:30:43 GMT
She didn't know if that'd been what'd made her crack...but she was so close to breaking down, and needed something to keep the tears in, for at least a little while...she figured she'd just drink herself to sleep, right? Wrong. When she'd reached her 'wine cellar' - which was, in itself, merely a walk in closet - Annah had only one last bottle of port left on her racks which she could drink...and she nearly dropped to her knees and started bawling right then and there...it wasn't as if she were going to drink more than a bottle of wine that very night, but she hated having to go out anywhere in public when it wasn't the park, or the restaurant, and most certainly wasn't looking forward to going 'wine hunting' anytime soon..
She drank it, though. There was enough left for, say, a glass, maybe even two...but the alcohol hadn't kept her tears in, like she'd hoped it would...in fact, it'd actually forced them out...only half-way into her first glass, Annah was bawling her eyes out...by her third glass, she'd moved her episode into her bedroom, merely laying upon her bed and sobbing continuously, with the occasional sips of red wine here and there. But by her fourth...Annah had literally gone crazy...ceased her crying all of a sudden, stood up and just trashed the room, throwing things every which way.
"God...I hate you!" She'd screamed repeatedly as she'd continuously thrown things down, across the room, or anywhere else that she could think of...although, the sentence was more directed to herself than anyone else...and pretty soon, the shouts of disapproval towards herself had turned into mere sobs as she flew out of the bedroom and into the living room, collapsing upon the floor and sighing shakily, tears still flowing down her cheeks silently..."You never deserved him..." she muttered with closed eyes and a soft whimper, slowly forcing herself up into a sitting position, leaning against the wall and cradling her head in her hands.
A knock at the door caused Annah to cease her crying immediately, and she wondered who in hell would be visiting her so late...what was it, 3 AM {or something like that}? It was only then that Annah realized how loud she must've been over the past...god knows how long this'd been going on for. Inhaling deeply, the woman slowly stood herself up and stumbled towards the door, leaning against the wall beside it once she'd reached it and fumbling with the locks, before turning the doorknob and opening the door, looking down at the ground shamefully, without so much as a 'hello', or even a glance upward see who it was that'd come a-knocking.
misc;
As a sidenote, I'd like to mention that all of the historical events/facts in Natasha's entire history are completely fictional, except for the existence of the Romanov rulers. From what I know, there was never a Russian president who went by the name Aleksandr Rostoslav, and there was never actually a Pharoah [or Mosque of] Ustet.. all was created merely for the purpose of your enjoyment. 
ohhh.. and sorry the history got so choppy towards the end. I just wanted to finish this fucker.  ;D
and, of course, i <333 megz & shan. :]]]
if happy little bluebirds fly beyond the rainbow..
why oh why can't i? [/blockquote][/sup] |
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Post by C A S S I D Y ford xx on Aug 9, 2006 9:38:25 GMT
Sweetie, I ain't even gonna BOTHER reading that.
You're TOTALLY accepted. How on earth did you come up with a history like THAT!
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Post by :: Drew Walker :: on Aug 9, 2006 13:20:25 GMT
HOLY CRAP WOMAN!!! I was wondering what on Earth was taking you so damn long last night, and now it's so blatanatly obvious to me. Good Job!!! I am IMPRESSED!!
~Caitlin
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![>>[ N A T A S H A ] grey. Avatar](http://i5.tinypic.com/23wqhk5.png)
;D
