@simpleduty ----- all aboard the feels train!
He still calls her ANYA, though her true identity is so far from the orphan street-sweeper that she almost laughs. He calls her that, when she stands in front of him, swathed in red silks and rubies and the golden imprint of a double-headed eagle so clear on the front of her dress, the insignia of her family and the dynasty she was meant to carry on.
“I am still that street-sweeper, Gleb, do you remember her? I know you are still the same man who offered me a cup of tea when I was chilled, who showed me such kindness when I didn’t deserve it.” She looks at that gun in his hands, and forces herself to stand taller. If she were to die here, she would do so with dignity. “If the rest of my family is dead, and I am still here, don’t you think that means something? That I was supposed to make it here? We needn’t be enemies! What harm can I do here, in Paris, so far from your precious Leningrad?”
