TWENTY ❈ HUMAN
PRINCESS OF RAVKA
* This character is a demigirl and uses she/her and they/them pronouns.
Adoration and ardor are the only song that she has ever known. It was whispered in the quiet of the room, when her eyes first opened and her lips first parted. From the first breath she took, it was a sweet croon of affection. From the first cry that rang through the halls, it was but a most beautiful wail of praise. Since then, it has been sung back each and every day – not only to those who are obligated to hear it; brothers, friends, loved ones – no, this song is the one that she sings to Ravka. For, they have adored her so devotedly and have shown her their love with little inhibition, they have given her little choice but to show them the same steadfast devotion in return. There are many who contributed to this almost religious fervor in the princess of Ravka. Perhaps it was her mother, who would whisper to her the tales of the Saints that would bless the poor of the country, ridding them of the plagues and diseases that the rich and haughty were loathe to deal with. There were her brothers, each of them her knight tending to a piece of her heart; just as they were a piece of her heart, they represented the pieces of Ravka she adored most. Ivan, with his nobility. Anton, with his courage. Viktor, with his ambition. What was she, then? What was the little princess of Ravka to be if not noble, courageous, or ambitious? She was to be its heart.
Her heart, though tiny, always aimed true – but it did not bleed its first until the day she first wandered the out of the gates of the Grand Palace. Although to say she “wandered” was not correct for she went out there with full intent to know what lay behind the gates of her gilded cage. But when she slipped past, wrapped in the ill-fitted clothes of her cousin, she wandered until her feet grew weary. They were not, however, as weary as her heart. It quivered each time she passed widows begging in the streets, children crying for their stale bread, and parents who cried for their children who had none. There was no sweetness to be found in the streets that her people seemed to languish in. Everywhere she looked, she saw sorrow beset her people like the Lady’s Plague – it was inescapable, save for the one refuge where frivolous joy seemed everlasting. It was the one place she knew as home and never before had she been so disgusted to know it as such. Then and there she decided that the only home she will ever know is in the dingy homes of the people who suffered, in their beds made of straw and hay. She would forsake her hearth and home until the day that the starving children and weeping mothers knew the comfort that she lavished in. Only then would her heart stop bleeding.
Initially, she thought that her mother’s and father’s hearts ached as hers did – she did not believe that they could sleep so restfully, so peacefully when, just outside their windows, their people slept upon cold cots and wet straw. Young Anastasia thought that they were all of one mind, that her and her family’s heart beat the same. The day she realized that such a thought was naive was the same day she donned her little costume for a second time. Each time she promised herself it would be the last – for what a scandal would it be, if one were to find out that the princess traipsed about the city each night. But each time she made that promise, she broke it; it felt right, it felt true. Like breaking the lock upon her cage and flying free each night. What a cursed thing it is, though, to have to return to the cage each morning and sing a pretty tune of innocence and harmonies of superfluous flirtations. She did not remember when the crown began to feel like a costume, when the costume began to feel more like a fitted crown. She was more earnest to don the rags that her people wore rather than the silver and gold that her mother and father plied her with, that her brothers sent to her wrapped as pretty presents. At first they did not understand why she would curl her lip at that little glittering things that they held out to her – as if she were still a child, to be soothed with dolls and pretty dresses. But all too quickly, she learned to guard the openness of her heart and the smile that she gave in turn was just as beautiful and dazzling as the prizes that were laid at her feet.
So she learned to stifle her beating heart, to mask it as if it was one of the politicians of the royal court. Donning the likeness of sycophants like a great actor upon a stage. Lies were ever present on the tip of her tongue, willing and ready to guise her true intentions in superfluous conversation. Anastasia learned to become the princess that they wanted, but she would never be the princess that they thought they knew. No, she was much too clever for that – not that the courtiers who simpered at her feet would ever think her intelligent enough to be so. But the stars that watched her steal away from the castle like a thief in the night knew. The moon that guided her from her balcony, calling her to her people knew. The sun that greeted her each morning as she slipped back between her sheet kept her secrets, like an ever-watchful confidante. Even the people that she served – blessing them with the gifts that she could – kept the secret of the living Sankta that put bread upon their doorstep and clothes upon their windowsill. All the celestial bodies adore her, all her people do too. So what a sin it would be, she thinks, to not show her gratitude for all the blood that has been spilled in her name. What a sin it would be to not bleed for those who have bled for her.
ANTON & VIKTOR LANTSOV: They remember a time when their kinship was whole and unfettered. But time is an enemy to all and as it is likely to do, it wore away at their love for one another relentlessly, leaving something a bit worn but unbroken, all the same. When Ivan was lost, Anastasia remembered the inhuman moan that had escaped their lips. Was that not understandable when part of one’s heart was torn from one’s chest? They sought solace in Anton, but they knew it was likely to be for the last time. Anton, their beloved brother who they longed to emulate in all things (but who had ever heard of a princess becoming a soldier?), now bore a cross that they could not help shoulder the weight of. Viktor, the closest to them in age and shared secrets – who taught them the power and bloodshed that could be reaped at their fingertips – was slipping away as surely as Anton was. They could not remember a time when the Lantsovs felt less like a family and more like a name. A label. Something as symbolic and useless as the crown.
TATIANA LANTSOV: Darling, darling, darling Tatiana. It’s a mantra that they often repeat to themselves so as not to strangle the likes of their cousin when they think her voice to be particularly grating upon the ears. They don’t remember when Tatiana turned into the shrieking little harpy that she is, but they do remember what fun they used to have as children. Anastasia knows that their cousin does not know this, but it was she who had smuggled them out and urged them to step upon the streets as a common servant – for they had just been read the tale of a king who had done the same. Tatiana had encouraged it for the romance of it all, Anastasia had done it for the adventure. Though their cousin has changed, they still believe that in the depths of that frosted little heart there still remains warmth in there. For, they sigh, what else could keep it beating?
MAKSIM KAEV: Disconcerting. Nosy. Intuitive. Those are the words that sit there on the tip of their tongue whenever they are confronted with the personage of Maksim Kaev. It is because it is easier to criticize him in their thoughts than reflect on the duplicity that the exchanges between them often entail. See, Anastasia is able to lie like Kerch trader to all the courtiers that simper and croon whenever they deign to converse with the princess. But when Anastasia is confronted with Maksim, they find themselves in a rather difficult position because lying to Maksim makes them feel rather guilty. Perhaps it is because, whenever he looks at them, it seems as if he is searching for something; namely, the truth. However, in the Royal Court, secrets are held at a greater value than gold. Every Ravkan knows that.
ANASTASIA IS PORTRAYED BY ASHLEY MOORE & IS TAKEN BY AJ.
