"Don't let go," she cried, tears streaming from her eyes.
A hand tightened its grip on hers. She looked up to see a pair of old, blue eyes. Eyes she knew she knew, but could not place. Her hand was suddenly pulled from the one she was holding, and the eyes vanished.
She woke up with a start, and sat up. Sweat was rolling down the side of her face, and the back of her head was aching. She glanced around to make sure none of the others had woken up. When she was sure, she laid back down, and rolled over on her mat, pulling the blanket with her.
She tried to remember the face behind the eyes, but, like always, was unable to. All she could remember was a sense of familiarity.
She wiped a tear away from her eye. She wouldn't cry anymore, not even in the safety of night when no one would see her. The blue eyed person was obviously not looking for her.
She grasped her necklace, the single object she actually owned. If they weren't looking for her, she would have to look for them.
She would have to find her way to Paris and find them.
I don't own Anastasia, that's Fox.