Ghost (Anastasia)
Not poto, forgive me. Some ghost Gleb for my Anastasia friends. I Tried I guess. Oh well.
http://archiveofourown.org/works/12536008
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Anya swirled her pen on the page. Sitting in the deserted four in the morning inn courtyard, she felt weary. She couldn't sleep, that's why she'd snuck past the sleeping Dmitry and come down here. To think. To write. She kept a meticulous journal now, she never wanted to forget a single thing again. But no words came. The gray coldness of very early morning was approaching. She'd gotten no rest, and every time she thought she had something it turned to mist. She just needed to leave France. A different country, different people, new memories. She'd spent so much time trying to learn who she was that she'd lost track of who she actually is. She put her pen down and tried to rub the exhaustion from her eyes.
"Anya? Is that you?”
She jumped out, nearly falling out of her chair. She looked up and saw Gleb Vaganov. Gleb? Tracking her down? He looked pale. Sick, ill. Concern came over her face, “Gleb, we can't be seen together. It's not safe. How did you find me?”
He looked around, and that's when she saw it. The back of his head was a gaping hole. He wasn't ill, and the most wasn't tricking her. He really was slightly not there, translucent. She pinched the skin on her arm, trying to wake up. Wake up wake up. The others were probably near. The same old nightmares now with fresh perspective, context.
I’m going to die soon.
If you really are Anastasia, do you think history wants you to have lived?
He had almost killed her, but now he'd died because of her. This was the first time someone had died because of her. She opened her mouth, and at first didn't speak. She should run. Or wake up.
“Anya? What's happening? I don't remember.” He started to twist. He pulled out a gun, "There was a Good and loyal Russian. Who had a gun. He looked at a Good and disloyal Russian with a gun, and he must have pulled the trigger.” The mist swirled angrily within him, “I wasn't given what I expected, and I gave my life, because you rose up and destroyed me.”
“Please go, haven't I been haunted enough?” Anya cried.
“The only way forward is through destruction, Anya. My father had a gun too. I've been wrong, nothing is simple. You taught me that.” His gun was gone. Not tangible. A memory.
She wiped tears from her eyes and looked up, “Gleb?” She looked around, “Gleb? Gleb!”
She was shaken awake in a cold sweat. Dmitry stared at her. She sat up in shock. Of course it was a dream. It was nothing. She was used to it. She glanced to the side, not even processing what he was saying to her. Her journal lay open, she noticed fresh writing in it, she reached for it, only to be stopped by Dmitry shutting it.
“Hey, we need to get a move on. We need to meet with this guy today or it's no deal, Anastasia. Rise and shine,” he said.
She nodded, and he backed off. She was filled with too many emotions to talk right now. She knew her suspicions were right. She had no proof and she shouldn't even care but she knew. One thing had become clear to her now.
Gleb Vaganov had never even made it back to Russia.
