Teaser: Anastasia Romanov disappears from the history books
Author's Notes: I'm back in the Shadow Hearts fandom. Though it isn't Nicolai I'm stalking this time. (hmm, maybe later). It's Anastasia. 'Cause, you know, I only played SH:C because I heard Anastasia Romanov was a playable character. Of course, I enjoyed the game but if it weren't for Anastasia I wouldn't have touched it! XD She's my favorite historical figure. Right in front of Theodore Roosevelt… but that's another story.
Oh yeah. This is a historically accurate fanfiction (kinda). So historical that I have historical notes at the bottom. Read and be amazed at my obsession!
Or, you know, you could just trust me.
/Chapter One: House of Ipatiev/
"As the red flag rose I bid Russia goodbye
It was simply a case of Lenin or I
And it all seems do distant it all seems so far
From those glorious days hanging out with the Czar"
-"Shootin' with Rasputin", Her Six Daughters
The Ipatiev House was nestled comfortably in Ekaterinburg, Russia. Ekaterinburg itself was a nicely situated town, miles away from the havoc of Petrograd but not so far that it was impossible to reach the town without a long journey.
Ekaterinburg was not the center of commerce. It held neither the vitality nor beauty of Petrograd or Moscow but it was a warm place, filled with friendly families and welcoming smiles.
Of course, Ekaterinburg was rumored to have grown in its activities, but these rumored activity were not to be bragged of. Most of the residents of moderately sized Ekaterinburg were, in fact, determined to ignore all signs of the Bolshevik touch, content to tell themselves it was merely their imagination.
For Russia was still a monarchy—albeit, a monarchy without a monarch—and the Bolsheviks were revolutionaries and were therefore illegal. Yes, said group had a large amount of both support and power in Russia, but currently they were still radicals and reformists and thus best avoided.
And so, to everyone who was asked, Ekaterinburg was a quiet, peaceful town with nothing interesting going on in it.
But there was no denying the odd occurrences that had begun at the Ipatiev House. The owner of the house, the merchant Ipatiev, was a pleasant enough man though he never stayed long enough in Ekaterinburg to make friends. Most remembered that he was getting up in age and had a kind smile. That was it, nothing out of the ordinary.
Even the house was nothing amazing or splendid. It was a serviceable house, with two floors and a semi-basement, no bigger than the house beside it. It was surrounded on either side by two wooden palisades that—if one remembered correctly—hadn't been there a year ago. But times were always changing and cautious was especially important in these trying times in Russia.
Ipatiev himself was out, which shouldn't have surprised anyone to learn of the fact. But for some odd reason, it did. Ipatiev had seemingly disappeared one night after returning home from one of his long treks across Russia. No one suspected he had died—what could be gained from harming an aging man?—but there were whispers surrounding what exactly was going on in the Ipatiev House while it's master was currently… indisposed with some matter.
After all, it was impossible to forget that Tsar Nicholas Aleksandrovich Romanov had only recently abdicated his crown—and about time, too, if you asked the right people—under the demands of the Bolshevik radicals.
Rumors claim that after the Romanov family had been taken from their entrapment in the Alexander Palace and after their time in Siberia they had been brought back into the country, though for what purpose no one was really sure.
And some claimed that the reason old Ipatiev had evacuated from his house so suddenly was because the Romanovs were now trapped inside.
Yet, despite this—or rather, because of it—most of the villagers stayed as far away from Ipatiev House as they could. None of them even dared to hope for a glance of the royal couple, their handsome son, or their lovely daughters.
No one wanted the wrath of the Bolsheviks brought down upon them.
However, if anyone had cared to look into the window just above the semi-basement they would have had their questions answered.
Anastasia Romanov had always been a striking girl, even at her tender age of seventeen she held the regal grace of the Romanov house. All the female Romanovs did. But perhaps it was her long coils of auburn hair and incredible jade eyes, matched with her sharp smiles and classical features, that made her stand out.
The youngest Grand Duchess was looking out the window with an expression of boredom on her face. In fact, her young, plump lips parted with a decidedly long sigh as she surveyed the land spread out before her window.
It was summer in Russia and youths such as the Grand Duchess Anastasia Nikolaevna Romanov should have been outside enjoying the summer air and blazing sun. As it was, most youths were.
But Anastasia was not among them. She had been confined to the Ipatiev House for nearly two months and as the middle of July fell upon her she was well aware of her confinement and its restrictions.
There was little she could do about it, unfortunately. She was old enough to understand that her enemies now held her life—and the life of her entire family—in the palms of their hands. She understood very well that her health depended on both her complicity with the Bolsheviks and their whims.
Still, she yearned for the freedom of being outside.
It was almost impossible for her to convince herself that no more than a year or so ago she had been exploring the world with the wide-eyed fascination of a young girl. She had seen the rivers of Egypt and the wild plains of Scotland and the ancient, powerful ruins of Rome and the hallowed halls of Athens before returning to her beloved homeland of Russia.
And, even more amazingly so, less then three years ago Anastasia had traversed to Japan and uncovered the underlying goals of the Great War. She was one of the few who knew what had truly undermined the World War. Anastasia knew who had been the real puppet master behind the war to end all wars.
No one would believe her, of course, and Anastasia had no intentions of telling them. She was well aware of how farfetched the truth was. Time-traveling, mystic gods, power struggles between men and otherworldly beginnings. Sometimes, upon reviewing, it almost seemed unreal to her.
Except, Anastasia had lived it.
She had stood in front of a man who looked to rearrange the world to his liking, she had fought more than one man who had been consumed by a god and his own lust for power, and she had stood on the plains of immortality with the dread inside her that whispered she could never return to what she knew.
In the Plains of Time, locked deep within the thick walls of the Asuka Stone Platform in Japan, she had been assured that she would not be able to return to the time she had known. That once her boots had crunched upon the soil where Time itself bowed to the whims of humanity, she would never go back to where she had came. She would not be allowed the present.
And she had so desperately wanted to. To go back to her family and the time she knew. To the places that had become familiar and important to her. To be with her friends who had come to mean the world to her.
Still, Anastasia Romanov had not been brought back to the time she yearned for. Instead, Time had thrown her a week into the future. But a week, so insignificant in the great vastness of Time, had hardly seemed to matter to her.
A girl young of fourteen, she found herself free from a great dread that weighed upon her shoulders and she had found herself driven to see the world by a strong wanderlust and her feet had carried her across Asia, and the beginnings of Africa, and then Europe until she found herself content to be back home.
But there was a bitterness to Anastasia's freedom. Of all the friends she had made on her journey to save the world from chaos and madness, only one stayed with her. The rest has disappeared from the pages of history, gone to whatever world they had conjured up as their happiest.
Perhaps she was a little bitter that the world and the time she loved so much—despite it's flaws and gaps—would not be enough for the people who had come to be a second family to her.
Gepetto—the old man with his intriguing doll—had likely gone back to a time where his family in its entirety was alive. He mentioned a daughter to her once—after they had escaped the twists of Dollmaker's House—and she understood enough that the girl had died and the sickness that had taken her haunted Gepetto like nothing else did.
It was hard for her to understand why Lucia had not chosen to come back to their world. She, amongst the members of their ragtag group, had seemed the brightest and happiest. Why wouldn't she come back to the time where she had a woman who was as good as her mother and a man who desperately loved her? And yet there was no sign of Lucia upon Anastasia's stop in Florence and the old woman who loved her had received no letter from neither Lucia nor her fiancé.
Karin's disappearance from time was understandable, even if she was sorely missed. The man she loved couldn't ever truly be hers and her family lay in shambles and wreck. The army she had fought so valiantly for had become her enemy and to return to her country would to be to return to shame and disgrace as well as to betray her friends, who stood on opposing sides. When there was no sign of Karin, Anastasia simply prayed that she found happiness.
Blanca was a different matter. It seemed all likely to Anastasia where Blanca would be, so she hadn't looked. After all, there had been talk of young girl-child Blanca had trotted after before the mess with Sapientes Glaudio had occurred and Blanca had been fond of the little Japanese girl upon the moment they met. Anastasia had considered the fact that Blanca was likely to have returned to the point in time where she herself had returned to, but figured the wolf would best like to be left alone in his new home.
Joachim was perhaps the bitterest separation she had felt. She had grown so fond of him, though only the Lord knew why. It was likely something in the way his big arms had cradled her upon their first escape from the Winter Palace after Rasputin had worked his evil magick and turned Anastasia's own mother against her. Anastasia had felt safe with Joachim, much in the way she felt safe with her father, and she had latched on to him. And it was a bitter realization that whatever time Joachim wanted to be in, it wasn't with her.
Yuri was impossible to figure out. Anastasia figured he had chosen some time where his lover, Alice, was still alive and well. But the Holy Mistletoe curse that had infested his breast might have indeed killed him before such a time could be reached. Or worse yet his memories could have been erased via the holy curse and he could have been brought back to any time in history when his mind could not grapple with a fond memory to latch on to and pray for.
Of all her friends, Anastasia wondered of Yuri the most.
Absently, drawn away from her thoughts, Anastasia twirled the lovely Golden Angel in her palms. A gift from a man she no longer had the ability to see, the Faberge egg gave her both a sense of strength and a peace of mind that she found herself desperately needing more and more as time grew. The way her fingers traced the intricate designs on its golden surface sent a calm shiver up her spine that had Anastasia relaxing in her chair.
But, even as her body relaxed, her mind continued to spiral. The room she was located in had been her host for two months and its bland, white walls had begun to sting her eyes.
Inside her heart she yearned for those years ago when she had stood with her friends and traveled the world. Yes, it had been dangerous and the stake of the very world had been at hand, but it had been such fun. Meeting new people and visiting new landscapes and falling giddily in love…
At her thoughts, Anastasia worked down her flush.
Kurando Inugami had been the one to return to the time Anastasia had desired with her. He had as much reason to return as she did. He still had a teacher he longed to serve, a mother who loved him, and a village who would one day look to him as its leader. Of all the members in the group, it was Kurando who had as much reason as her to return.
She remembered the way they had clung to each, awash in a golden glow, more brilliant than the shine of her Egg, lifted high above the desolate landscape before them. She had held onto him so tightly, halfway afraid and halfway giddy with happiness to be held. The surprise had come in the strong way Kurando had gripped her. The silent, soft-spoken Samurai who had never given her any special attention had held onto her as if his very life depended on it and did not release her even after they had found themselves safely outside the Forest of the Wind.
There had been such tenderness in his red, inherited eyes when he had gazed down upon her, finding them both alive and unharmed, that it made her body heat to think of it.
It was Kurando who had accompanied her on her journey across the world. She had stayed for a week or two in his village before finding herself yearning to see the world everyone had fought so desperately to save. And though surely he had things he had to do—finish his lessons, protect his Village, ease the burden of Leader from his mother—he had chosen to go on her year tour of the world.
And in that tour year, Anastasia's hard case of puppy love had transformed into something more lasting, and more mature. And she hadn't even realized it until long after it had found its place inside her heart.
But even the journey Anastasia and Kurando had taken together—learning of life and love and happiness—had been marred by a shadow. As the war drew to a stalemate, and then a close, countries turned their eyes inward and Russia found herself wanting.
There were whispers of revolution everywhere in Europe. The Bolsheviks gained power in a frightening way and Tsar Nicholas II was slowly losing his grip over Russia.
Kurando had done his best to shy Anastasia away from the whispers, but she was never unaware of them. She had been the first one to speak of them, years before. She had understood that the people of Russia starved. Starved for food and warmth and revenge and freedom. And she knew Romanov blood would offer all those things.
And she had told Kurando on the early start of 1916 that she had to return to Russia, to stand with her family as the Grand Duchess Anastasia. No matter how much she enjoyed her travels, her place was with her family.
She had expected the stony samurai and herself to part ways then. He to go back to Japan and she to Russia, with the promise of letter exchanging, of course. But Kurando had merely stated he would take her to Russia and deliver her into the welcoming arms of her family.
But he hadn't merely taken her to Russia, he had stayed with her. Stayed through the speculative glances of her sisters—and then the shocked laughter when they learned that it was Kurando Anastasia had seen the world with, and without a chaperone—and had handled the tension between himself and Anastasia's father until Kurando had earned Nicholas's trust. Alexei had fallen in deep hero-worship with Kurando and the samurai had earned Anastasia's mother's respect with his polite mannerism.
For close to three months Kurando had stayed with Anastasia in Petrograd, often acting out the part of cool bodyguard. And three months were more than she had expected. Which was why she did not cling when he was called back to Japan.
He had gone because that was his duty and place, but Kurando had promised to visit her. And surely he would have, but Japan and Russia were eons away from each other and Russia's state didn't allow much travel and safety.
And when the February Revolution occurred and her father was forced to withdraw from his throne and they were moved to the Alexander Palace, Anastasia realized it would be too dangerous for Kurando to come back and had repeatedly told him through her letters that it was best if he stayed away from Russia.
But she missed him so terribly, and so completely, that Anastasia nearly wept from it. And yet the level on which her feelings for Kurando resided made the ache of missing him somewhat bearable.
"I know who you're thinking about," a light, airy voice said from a distance.
Thus, Anastasia was brought from her recollections with a jolt. She blinked her emerald eyes and glanced at the owner of the dreamlike voice.
Grand Duchess Maria Nikolaevna Romanov was the closet thing to a saint that the Romanov family could claim to have. Her guileless blue eyes radiated poise and perfection, matched by a wavy mane of silky brown hair.
Despite Maria's aptitude for being the perfect daughter there was a witty underlying look in her eyes and it came out in the way she teased her sisters, so subtly that the sting of it would bother them for days before they realized what had occurred.
But Maria had been so quiet these days Anastasia didn't mind the teasing.
"You mean that charming samurai fellow?" chimed in another of Anastasia's sister. The second eldest of the Romanov daughters.
Tatiana Nikolaevna Romanov—who bore the title Grand Duchess prouder than any of her sisters—turned her thoughtful gray eyes away from the window she had been staring out of to smile at her youngest sister. Her hair matched the color of Anastasia's but it gave Tatiana the appearance of a stately lady, heightening her slender and long body. She had been a favorite of both her mother and the boys in Russia since she had been young.
Their words had the affect they wanted on Anastasia. She felt her cheeks heat up and she instinctively stuck her tongue out at her sisters, secretly pleased that they were still young enough to enjoy such foolishness.
And it brought their minds away from the difficult subject at hand.
Maria lowered the book she had been reading onto her lap and grinned at her sister. "If a handsome man like Lord Inugami was chasing after me, 'Natsya, I sure wouldn't be complaining."
"Assuredly," Tatiana said with a sniff of her nose, her pretty eyes twinkling. "We all know that Maria wants herself twenty children and a nice, plump Russian soldier to care for."
Together they laughed but to Anastasia's ears it sounded hollow and weak. Especially when she could so vividly remember the good laughs they had had together, sitting on Maria or Tatiana's bed and gossiping.
But those days were long gone.
"Girls do not tease your sister."
The laughter stopped as the three of them turned to face their mother, Queen Alexandra Fyodorovna Romanov, as she glanced up at them through the blue eyes she had given Maria. The hair that was pulled into a bun on top of her regal head was the same color that blessed Anastasia and Tatiana, a gift she had given them from birth.
Beside her was Anastasia's eldest sister, Olga Nikolaevna Romanov, her blue eyes—though not blue like her mother's, but like her father's—narrowed with steady concentration and the chestnut-blonde hair secured in a tight bun at the base of her neck gave her a deeply scholarly look. Olga had always been the most studious of the Romanov women and also the most mature.
Even so, it was always Tatiana who became the leader, driven forth by her vigor and energy. But Olga didn't mind. When the time came, it was to her they turned to for advice and support.
Both women were concerned only with their task. Five gowns were laid out before them on the small table that divided mother and daughter. Two were already glittered with encrusted royal jewel—everything from diamonds to emeralds to sapphires—and Olga, being the best sewer of the household, was nearly done with the gown laid out before her. Alexandra had passed the halfway mark, but was lagging behind her daughter.
"We weren't teasing, Mama," Tatiana was quick to protest, catching Maria's eyes and speaking in the silent way of sisters.
"Oh no. We were simply being envious of our dear shvibzik, weren't we?" Maria agreed, her voice carrying her sweet, well-natured tone even as underneath it all she was laughing at her own cleverness.
"Envious is too soft a word!" Anastasia proclaimed, pointing at her two sisters. "They're jealous of me because I've found a man before they have!"
"If only I were Olga," Tatiana mourned softly, glancing at her older sister. "I would have married that handsome Prince of Wales!"
"He was a bore," Olga said casually as she pulled her needle once more through the long gown that Tatiana claimed as her own.
"I favored the match," Alexandra pointed out as she slid her needle into the soft silk gown that, if she had been going to a party, Maria would have worn.
"Mama, you favored Prince Carol of Romania as well, remember?" Olga said with her courtesan voice alight with a smile. And still her concentration was never broken.
Together, Anastasia, Tatiana, and Maria cried, "Ew!"
"Girls," Alexandra warned and the room fell silent once more. Maria turned back to her book and Tatiana resumed her staring. Olga and Alexandra cared little for small talk and were content with the silence.
Anastasia was not. She felt fidgety, her feet itching to do something. She yearned to be outside, but the Bolsheviks had forbid it.
Papa and Alexei can go out, she thought darkly, feeling a jealousy that she had grown accustomed to during their months-long stay in the Ipatiev House. Her brother, being the youngest of the Romanov children at thirteen, hadn't been able to handle sitting in a quiet room all day long and Anastasia's father—likely feeling the same way—managed to gain the right to take Alexei on walks around the Ipatiev House's backyard and garden.
But the women were to stay indoors.
She had pouted over it and kicked and complained in a proper manner befitting a princess, but it had done little to change her current situation and every day she found herself being drawn into the bland, off-white room to watch everyone around her mourn as if they were already dead.
Sometimes, Anastasia yearned to be a man. She would lay in bed and think wistfully that if she had been born to her parents as a boy-child things would be better in Russia. Never mind that even as boy she could do little in a child body.
Things around her had grown so out of control and Anastasia felt as if her whole world was teetering on a brink that spiraled down into darkness. She grappled uselessly to hold onto something, and found herself groping the air and falling headlong into the darkest parts of her nightmares.
With the feeling of loathing ripe in her veins, the Russian princess found herself up on her feet and pacing the room. She longed for the days when she was free to come and go as she pleased. Days when she imagined herself fighting bravely for Mother Russia and bringing justice not only to her beloved homeland but to the world.
But she knew, as well as everyone who happened to live around her, that those days had ceased long ago.
"Anastasia," Alexandra warned lightly when the sounds of Anastasia's footfalls on the carpet grew heavy. "Peace."
"Mother," Anastasia retorted and stopped her tirade, sliding closer to her dear mother, pressing her slender palms onto the woman's bony shoulders. "Why are you sewing diamonds into our gowns?"
Alexandra drew one of her own slim fingers across the jewel, nearly unnoticeable in the frills of the dress's undergarments and thread that had been used to keep it locked tight against the fabric.
"When the times comes, shvibzik, we will use these jewel to buy our freedom," Alexandra offered simply. "For now we must clutch them close to us and protect them from the Bolsheviks."
Under her breath, Tatiana uttered something unkind concerning the Bolsheviks.
"Tatiana!" Maria chastised lightly, though not nearly wholeheartedly since it was likely she shared a similar opinion.
For her part, Anastasia stared at her mother, moved by the sheer determination that underlined this regal woman. For two years they had lived in the shadow of Revolution, moving from place to place, with their lives hanging on the whim of an unstable government, but Her Highness Alexandra Romanov did not lose hope. She and her family would escape and she would thus hear no more talk of death and worry.
Fervently, Anastasia wished she shared the same feelings, but there was a deep dread inside her marrow that she could not ignore.
"Oh, Mama," Anastasia whispered and buried her nose into Alexandra's neck, fighting an overwhelming sense of fear.
But the fear was broken soon after.
In slid the Tsesarevich Alexei Nikolaevich Romanov, his sunny smile a match for his nearly blonde hair, offset by only the slightest red. His cheeks were slightly pink from a rough wind and his blue eyes spoke of brighter days in the Winter Palace. His slim body was perhaps a bit too slender for a young boy of thirteen, but Anastasia often noted that none of their bodies fared well since their father's abdicated of the throne.
"Alyosha," she called him affectionately, wrapping her arms around his thin shoulders and holding him tight to her. "You have news for me?"
There was something wonderful in the way his boy-body held Anastasia's so tightly. She felt her purpose upon holding Alexei to her. Anastasia might shake and quiver with fear, but Alexei's merry, carefree smile reminded her that she would fight for him and for all that his eyes beheld in his future.
She loved her sisters dearly. They were more than mere sisters. They were her blood-bonds. The people whom she clung to when the nights were dark and long and the eyes of those she had seen and killed haunted her. Maria soothed, Tatiana entertained, and Olga maternally took care of her.
But Alexei was everything Anastasia fought to protect. In his eyes Anastasia withdrew hope and brightness, and all the things that she had thought once diminished from her life. She was closest to Alexei of all her siblings and she felt that transcending mother-to-cub feeling that was primitive and inherited in every woman.
"Letter for you," Alexei said cheerily as he withdrew, smiling up into her face with casual grace of a boy-prince. "From Kurando!"
The smile that worked across Anastasia's lips matched her brother's and, for only moment, she was just as young and fanciful as he, unaware of the dark shadow looming above her head, haunting all pleasant endeavors she attempted to achieve despite everything that daunted her.
Alexei worshipped Kurando much in the same way he had found himself chasing after Gerard the merchant when Anastasia had stood beside her friends once upon a time. It was the cool grace that Kurando exuded that captivated Alexei—while it was his deep kindness and soft smile that held Anastasia—and his stay in the Winter Palace had been Alexei's fondest memories. Chasing after the samurai, begging for sword practice, and interrupting whatever time with Kurando Anastasia had managed to procure for only herself were the flashes that kept him laughing for hours.
"It was redirected from the Alexander Palace. It's nearly a month old."
Unlike his son, Tsar Nicholas Nikolaevich Romanov did not slide in. He walked stiffly with military decorum and a stiff upper lip. His regal posture made up for his boyish features, which often found itself hidden underneath a dark beard. His blue eyes reflected at Anastasia with slight humor. Humor that had been dulled in a series of two years. War and Revolution had forced a normally friendly man to fall back on hard reserve and a weary tiredness.
"It doesn't matter!" Alexei proclaimed with merry childishness. He grinned at Anastasia. "Open it! Open it!"
"You best," Nicholas agreed.
Without further encouragement, Anastasia tore into the letter, missing the sigh Nicholas released upon seeing her glee with a letter from the boy.
Whatever qualms he had for Kurando were merely the tight worry a father had over the attention his daughter received. He had been against both of Olga's arranged marriage for that fact as well. Nicholas had come to understand that Kurando was nothing but honorable and he himself had witnessed the protectiveness in which Kurando handled himself around Anastasia.
The Tsar could respect and admire that. The father could not.
"It's so romantic," Tatiana sighed and Maria twittered happily. Olga merely rolled her eyes at her sister's antics, but her eyes were drawn away from their task at hand to watch Anastasia read the letter.
"Suppose he's written a long ode to your beauty, 'Natsya?" Maria asked giddily, nearly jumping from her seat. "What beauty there is, anyway."
Her answer was a rude gesture from Anastasia, which was missed by both her parents. Of course, she knew that Kurando's letter were formal to the point of nearly being written in stone. Kurando would never ink down his emotions.
But she had learned over a year of letter exchanging to read Kurando's words and take them for their hidden meaning. Kurando's emotions were, indeed, there but in such a subtle way one could miss them entirely.
There was no mistaking these words, however.
"What is it?" Olga demanded when a frown worked its way across Anastasia's lips. "'Natsya?"
Beneath her fingers were only two words, written in clear Russian letters, albeit a bit incorrectly.
The Bolsheviks was the name for the communists group that came into power following WWI. Their initial leader was Lenin, who became the Dictator of Russia following the end of the Russian Revolution, and was later headed by Stalin. Bolsheviks have a deep history and a very complex back-story that I'm not going into. XD
Ipatiev House was the real name where the Romanov family was held just before their execution. There are many ways to spell Ekaterinburg, with Y and an I, but this was the most common one. There aren't many historical notes on whether or not the residences of Ekaterinburg knew if the Romanovs were being held at Ipatiev House, but there were certainly speculations.
The February Revolution (1917) was the first major break-out of the Russian Revolution. Angry mobs of citizens stormed Petrograd and rioted in the streets. The riots and the Revolution was caused by a lack of strong leadership in the absence of the Tsar. Also, many Russians were not pleased to have Alexandra as their figurehead in Nicholas's absence as Alexandra was a German. Nicholas hurried home upon hearing the news and was advised to abdicate his throne. Nicholas did so, but also for Alexei, who many believed would become the Tsar afterwards. The Russian people had also wanted Olga to act as Regent for Alexei.
Upon the Tsar's abdication of his throne, the royal family was moved to the Alexander Palace, fifteen miles outside of Petrograd, for their safety. When the Revolution became even more violent, the royal family was sent to Siberia by the current ruling government. When the Bolsheviks seized a strong grip in the government they had the royal family brought back to the Ipatiev House for Ekaterinburg was a Bolshevik headquarters.
Both the names Natsya and shvibzik were affection nicknames used by the royal family for Anastasia. Shvibzik is a Russian word that virtually means 'trouble-maker' which was a perfect nickname for Anastasia, who had been considered the trickster of the family. Alyosha was an affection nickname for Alexei.
Anastasia was predicted to be the Tsar and Alexandra's first male child but, obviously, they were given the Grand Duchess Anastasia instead. Because Anastasia turned out to be female and not male it was predicted that she would leave an interesting mark in history as well as leave an unique life.
Alexandra did indeed sew the Romanov Jewels into the bodices of her and her daughters' gowns sometime during their captivity.
There was talk of Olga's engagement to either the Prince of Wales or Prince Charles of Romania but Olga didn't like Charles at all and then all talk and negations were put on hold during the onset of the war.
The Romanov Females, while not shown at all in Shadow Hearts: Covenant, should be noted that they are nothing like they are hinted at in the game. Each girl was an individual and witty. Maria, the innocent, Olga, the motherly figure, and Tatiana, the beauty. Each was just as brave as Anastasia but that was likely overly looked in SH:C because they didn't want to go into three other strong women.
Boy, that's it. But that's the most historical facts that'll ever be in a single chapter. I think…
Next Chapter:meanwhile, back in Japan…