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Kleopatra Selene Vice Captain
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 Posted: Mon Sep 27, 2010 7:17 pm
I sit here, writing my story. I have a limited supply of ink and paper, however, and I must be careful with my only pen, so as not to break it in a moment of hasty writing. Besides, should I not treasure what I do possess? Everything that mattered to me is lost. I must be careful with what I have. Perhaps there will be more pens where I am going. More pens, and more paper, and more ink. Perhaps I am a fool for writing this. God knows, if these letters are found, I will be killed, and my presence on this earth will be exposed. And no one can know that I still live. Not while I am here on this earth. I must stay secreted, alone with my only remaining servant and my guardian angel--the savior who saved me, the one I've loved since I was a child, the one who I cannot name--and travel quietly along. I am running. Running and dying--that bullet is slowly killing me, slowly traveling through my bloodstream, and I only have days left in my life. But it doesn't bother me like I thought it would. I've always been the most philosophical of my now-dead siblings, the most caught up in his/her own thoughts. Now, I'm the only one with thoughts. Olga, Tatiana, me, Anastasia, and Alexei... And I'm the only one left. I, Grand Duchess Maria Nikolaevna. Better known as Maria Romanov. But still... Most likely known as Anastasia's, the last grand duchess of Russia, elder sister. I am the only one left.  ((If you've never heard of Grand Duchess Maria Romanov...look her up. If you're searching Wikipedia, it'll be under Maria Nikolaevna. Anyway, if you have heard of her, congratulations! She's a wonderful piece to work on (I hate saying that about a human being, but it all honesty it's true) and I'll enjoy writing about her. Keep in mind, this is if she had survived. It's been scientifically proved that the last czar, czarina, and five of their children were found, but I have a crazy (but it still fits in with the story) explanation for that. Don't believe it for a minute, though. This is a what-if, might-have-been, historical fictional story. Hope you enjoy!))
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Posted: Wed Sep 29, 2010 3:11 pm
Mama,
I am a fool for writing this, I know. You are dead and I am alive--alive, and with a limited supply of paper to write this letter on. You were never the realistic, though. You might not have scolded me for this; but I am a realist, so I must. I could immerse myself in the idea that you are still here; but then I would be mad, locked in the iron cage of insanity. And I am a realist. I can cope with reality; fantasy would drive me crazy.
You would be proud that I am writing in English. You were so proud of English. You taught it to us as if we would ever use it. And, undoubtedly, if you all had lived, we would; but now, only I am left of all of us Romanovs, and I am the only one who will ever use English again.
Do you remember your last moments, Mama? I was so terribly proud of you. You were dead before you hit the ground, but the expression on your face was courageous, brave, honest, true... and expectant. You expected to die, you expected to gain entrance to Heaven...you expected, you expected, you expected. You were always a very expectant woman, Mama. You wanted results, and whether faulty or no, they were always delivered. After all, was that not how the situation with Father Grigory--or "Rasputin", as the public of Russia so kindly nicknamed him--came to be?
I will admit, I was never as much at ease with Father Grigory as my sisters and Alexei, but he treated me kindly. And, the little flirt of the family, I took it to heart and treated him in return--with just a bit more flirtation than he himself had given to us. You were a beautiful woman, Mama, a beautiful tsarina...
I must finish this letter later, Mama. The train has stopped...and I must see what has happened.
...To Be Continued,
Your Loving Daughter,
Grand Duchess Maria Romanov.
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Kleopatra Selene Vice Captain
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Kleopatra Selene Vice Captain
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Posted: Wed Sep 29, 2010 5:32 pm
Mama,
There was only a minor delay on the train. There was fear of a stowaway that had not paid, but the unnamed man's ticket was found and the theory disproved. Our train began again, and now Elisone (you always hated her name, Mama, don't you remember? It reminded you of "Elsinore", and, oh, how you hated Hamlet!) sits with me and stitches the hem of my old dress. She had only time to snatch one during her escape (we met up later, and I promise, Mama, I will soon explain what really happened) and, naturally, it did not fit.
(My English is almost perfect, Mama, is it not?)
I miss you dreadfully, Mama, no matter how comforted and calm I appear. Underneath the eye of the storm is a raging hurricane; you of all people know the power of storms. You had a storm inside you, Mama. When you wanted something, you got it; you expected nothing less or more than what you rightfully required. You required the status as tsarina; it was granted. Before you even wedded, you required Father's love; it was given to you.
Was that not how your love child was conceived?
Ah! You expect that I did not know of it? I know, Mama, I know of Alexandria. Alexandria, the eldest of your children, the one I met only a day before she was executed. You were also executed; you, Olga, Tatiana, Alexei, Ana, and even Father. I myself was also nearly killed...but how I escaped death, you shall not know now. Soon, Mama, very soon.
But now the end of this letter is growing nearer; for you are dead, and I have accepted that. And I have forgiven you; forgiven you for the one thing I always wished blame on you, the one that I wished you would regret or feel guilty about.
I forgive you for loving Alexei more.
I realize you might not think this a sin or even guilt-worthy, but you know that all of us--Olga, Tati, Ana, and I--lived under Alexei's shadow as soon as he was born. He was the precious son, the sickly child, and you loved him best. I no longer hate you for it. No, no; I never hated you, but now I do not blame you for it. To love a son more than a daughter now is not all that uncommon, but a daughter will always feel bereft and confused until she learns; the son is given everything the parents earned, while the daughter only gets a dowry that her husband uses as he wishes.
I forgive you.
And, Mama, I do love you. You are the best woman I ever knew; you taught me humility and vanity and pride and piety. You taught me to flirt subtly (and not-so-subtly) and you taught me to love marriages and children. And you taught me to be myself.
I love you.
Your Loving Daughter,
Grand Duchess Maria Romanov.((This is a picture of Alexandra Romanov **Maria's mother, the one addressed to in this letter, the last tsarina in Russia** and her son, Alexei.))
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Posted: Sat Oct 02, 2010 4:32 pm
Dear Olga,
My beloved sister. You were always so kind and so compassionate. You were moody, to be sure, and at times could be cruel and disdainful towards me, but you were normally a loving sister that I adored and cherished.
Now you are dead.
And I loved you, loved you so fiercely that I cannot name. And you loved us all--Tatiana, myself, Annie, and Alexei--and of course Mama and Papa--
So did you love Alexandria?
When did you learn of her identity? Were you even told? Did you die thinking that she was a short little girl who was older than you and looked remarkably like Mama and myself?
You were wrong. She was our sister, Olga, and we never even knew of her existence until but a few moments before her death. Her death and yours. I myself was also shot at...but in a place that only bled for a while. The bullet is still lodged in my shoulder, which makes it painful to write, so forgive this letter if it is sloppily handwritten, for I am forced to write with my left hand. Perhaps one day the bullet will kill me, and perhaps I will simply let it stay in while I grow and let the bullet become a part of me.
It is the last thing I have left of Russia, other than Elisone and that last dress she grabbed. She has fixed it now, but I do not wear it. I wear the only other thing I own of Russia--the clothes on my back, a ragged gown that barely fits me. Elisone will have to fix that, as well. I used to know how to sew--and the way to do it sitll remains in my memory--but I cannot do it, seeing as to my injury that keeps me from straining my right hand.
Anyway...back to Alexandria. She was Mama and Papa's first child...a love child, born between them before their marriage. Is that not strange?
My dearest Olga, I know that you cannot hear me or see this letter, and nor will you ever. I will burn it before my death, or Elisone will after I die. Maybe I will die young, or mayhap I will die at the age of eighty. One can never know. You never knew, until you died.
Olga, you cannot hear me or see me or even smell me--you always claimed I smelled too much of soap to be Anastasia's sister, since she was always climbing trees and becoming dirty just after her baths--but I am still with you, or, to be correct, you are still with me. You and Tatiana and Annie and Alexei and Mama and Papa, and those soldiers we cared for at the hospital. You were a nurse, as was Tati, but I and Annie were too young to be nurses.
Did you meet those soldiers in Heaven?
There is one soldier with me, Olga, and his name is Johan and he is the smartest, kindest, most handsome, most passionate man I have ever met. He is barely two years older than me, Olga.
And I love him.
Not in a brotherly way. If you were all still alive and I was still the grand duchess--not just some girl who is on a train to nowhere, without identification and with a nameless past that I can never speak of--we could never be together in the way that we wish.
Yes, Olga, I said we --for he loves me, too.
He loves me, Olga, oh, how he loves me. When Elisone is not around, he kisses me most passionately. Oh, how I long for his kisses. And, oh, how I long for his tender whispers in my ears.
Now that I have no past, when we reach our destination--for can I not speak of it? indeed, I will--which is that of Siberia, which will be cold and bitter but still better than the Russia we left behind--we will marry and have children and live happily ever after.
You had no happily ever after, Olga, and I can only wish that you are now happy in Heaven. When I die, I hope to join you with my Johan and mayhap even Elisone, and greet you first. I will hug you most softly and gently and murmur into your ear: "I told you we would be together again", and you will nod and agree.
That is my dream, my hope, my wish.
I wish that you will remember me when I meet you at the gates of our Lord's domain.
I am forever yours,
Grand Duchess Maria Romanov,
Your Beloved Sister.((This is her sister, Olga Romanov. Which you probably guessed.))
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Kleopatra Selene Vice Captain
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Kleopatra Selene Vice Captain
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Posted: Mon Oct 11, 2010 3:08 pm
I wonder how to compose a letter to Tatiana. She was the most beautiful of all four of us girls--everyone agreed, but she valiantly denied it--and the most vain and proud. Not in a bad way, to understand, but in a confident way. She believed she could do whatever she wanted and if we chose to get in the way, then doom upon us. I loved her for her strength. True, true, there were times that I condemned her as a petty, selfish, foolish girl that never paid attention in her studies and only flirted with boys. But how could I know she was so much more than that? --Maria Romanov. Beloved Tatiana,
Do you remember the day you began working as a nurse? I do. You were ever so excited. You felt sympathetically for the wounded soldiers, so I think you took the greatest pride, pleasure, and committment in healing their wounds with Olga. Sadly, I was too young to join as a nurse, so I sat and told them stories with Annie while you and Olga took care of them, seeing to their needs and supplying them with their medications.
It's strange, that's the thing I think about when I think of you.
But you were so much more than that. You were kind, and flirtatious, and funny, and smart, and rebellious. You were our "Governess", the girl who liked to be in charge. Though Olga was eighteen months your senior, she didn't mind in the least, and neither did I, Ana, or Alexei.
And then you died.
You're all dead. Are you in Heaven right now, smiling down upon me like the Bible says you're to be, or are you simply lost? Elisone says to me repeatedly that she's sorry for my loss, but what have I lost? You are not lost. Lost things can be found, and you cannot. Therefore, you cannot be lost.
I think you would be proud of my reasonable deduction.
Wouldn't you be?
I have nothing against you, beloved sister. Therefore, I will make this letter short. You were the least spontaneous, the frailest, the most compassionate of all of us sisters. You loved me and I loved you.
What more have I to say?
Your beloved sister and dear friend,
Maria Romanov. ((A picture of her sister, Tatiana Romanov, in youth.))
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Posted: Tue Oct 26, 2010 5:11 pm
Dear Annie Anastasia,
Strange, my dear Annie, how my first impulse is to call you by that playful nickname only I called you. Everyone else called you "little imp"; but you like my name better as you got older, insisting on being called Annie instead of little imp. Perhaps because it was undignified for an older grand duchess of Russia.
You were my most playful, daring, courageous sister. You climbed trees and flirted with boys and detested sewing--more than anyone I have ever known--and did everything Olga was too scared to do; did everything Tatiana was too frail to do; did everything I was too weak-minded to do. You were a grand duchess of Russia, my dear, but only when it suited you.
Bah! Why do I speak of you, when it is I who have great news to tell? Ah, Johan has proposed to me! If you have been paying attention, love, in Olga's letter I called him my beloved and now he is in every sense of the word. We are engaged. I shall have to have a new identity first, but I should still like to be called Maria; it is a common name and won't make much difference where we're going. Siberia seems harsh, but we will survive. My dear Elisone has packed some money that we will use; not mention Johan's money from when he served as a soldier.
Should I tell the truth?
Very well. I will tell you what happened the night that you were all shot. When I myself was shot. It's true, there's a bullet lodged inside of me. I was shot exactly when you were, in the same room. I nearly died. But Johan was there to save me. He, in fact, was the one who shot me, and made sure that he hit me in a non-fatal place.
He protected me, taking my unconscious body away from the rest of the corpses (you and everyone else, beloved sister) and replacing what should have been my body with the corpse of my half-sister--our half-sister, Alexandria, the sister we never knew from before Mother and Father were married, when they had just met, before they were even engaged; she went home and hid herself for nine months; had a baby, a child, and gave it to a servant--who had been secreted as a servant in the same place where we were imprisoned.
And we never knew.
But she had been shot, and killed, in the mass hysteria. As a short girl, she was put in place of my body; that and she looked enough alike to me that no suspicion would be immediately raised. She had my blood and my hair and my eyes; who would suspect? No one.
So, we fled, with Elisone, her money, his money, a few of our things, and train tickets to Siberia.
Yes, Siberia, the cold lands, the coal lands, the land where there is never enough money or even warmth. There will never be heat enough for me not to be cold. But I will never feel colder than I did when I learned you, Papa, Mama, Tati, Olga, Alexei, and Alexandria--yes, even the sister I never knew--were dead.
I will never be colder than that.
Now, I must go, for my soon-to-be husband calls me. The train has only a few more hours of travel to go; it is nearly light now. I always write my letters in the dark. I think better after midnight and before sunrise.
I will write my letters to Alexandria, Alexei, and Papa later--not in that specific order, but I shall still write them. Later. When I am left alone. I must pour my heart out in these letters, but not Alexei's. He was too young, too innocent to know. I will not bear the burden of telling him of the horrible, terrible world he was born in--the world that killed him while he was still so young and sickly.
Till the day I die,
I am yours, your sister, your survivor,
Maria Romanov.(A picture of Anastasia Romanov.)
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Kleopatra Selene Vice Captain
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Kleopatra Selene Vice Captain
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Posted: Fri Nov 05, 2010 7:10 pm
My dearest Alexei,
It is I, your beloved sister Maria Romanov. You and I were always close, but I will not burden you with a long letter. With luck, my fiance and I will join you in Heaven, and you will know none of this world's evil. I will not be the one to speak of it to you, even in a letter.
Am I deluding myself? In thinking that you hear me, that is. I know, somewhere deep inside me, that these letters are a sham I have deluded myself into believing. You are not really ever going to read this. But I still will not taint your memory with evil information and the wicked intentions of your murderers and my would-be killers.
It is true, you died. But I hoped you would be happy in Heaven, with Mama, Papa, Olga, Tatiana, Annie, and, yes, even Alexandria.
Ah, yes, Alexandria. Our sister. I will not tell you why we never met her. It is not important. All you need know is that she is your sister, and you must trust her and love her as you would myself.
I can only hope that when I see you, you will not know of the world's evils. You were always so innocent to me, so sweet and cluelessly happy. If only you knew, my beloved brother. Unfortunately, I will live a long life. I will know more of it than you. I may very well know more than Olga and Tatiana ever did. And God forbid Annie knew more than I will. I hope that you will still recognize me when I die. I hope you will understand why I could not follow you to Heaven. I hope you will still be the same. Know that I needed you, Alexei. You were a sweet, light burden, one that we were all joyful to carry, even though your disease kept you incapable of doing most things. You must never think of yourself as a burden. Know that you were a joy. Know that I will always think of you as a beloved brother.
Know that I will always love you.
Sincerely, dear brother, I am yours,
Maria Romanov.(The picture above is Alexei Romanov.)
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Posted: Fri Nov 05, 2010 7:29 pm
Alexandria,
I cannot refer to you as 'lovely' or 'beloved' or even 'my dear sister' because I never referred to you as such while you were alive. Then, I did not know your true identity. It is true, I never thought you could be related to us. You were my size and weight--for you were quite small and petite, strangely--and I thought you my age. If you were my age, then you couldn't have been our sister, for you would've been raised with us, since you would have been legitimate.
However, you were even older than Olga by quite a while, you were not raised with us because you were illegitimate, and you could never be acknowledged by my--our--parents. Mama and Papa must have been ashamed. Mama most especially. She was always so proud of herself and her identity. She must have been ashamed and angry to have Papa's baby before their marriage. Their matrimony was one of concealed love. They did love each other, I think, but in specific ways--Papa loved her strictness, her formality. She was something for him to lean on. And she loved his carelessness, his foolish pride, his quickness to defend those he was loyal to and those he loved.
He loved us. He was loyal to us. He died for us. And we all died.
Except me.
It is my main point in these letters--to stretch this truth: I did not die. It means, I suppose, that God has given me another chance to live. I am a pious girl, though not as pious as dear Olga was. I believe in God. I believe his purpose is mysterious. Just like my purpose, too, is mysterious. Why has God let me live? All I feel is love for Johan and the blistering cold piercing my bullet wound and seeping into my bloodstream. I fear I shall die of cold. I have known cold before--great cold--but never great cold whilst just after being shot.
It has only been a week, and Johan cannot fully heal a bullet hole that quickly. He is not a doctor, and there is not one on the train. I cannot save myself. I fear I shall die of the bullet wound. It still bleeds--slowly, but it bleeds.
Alas! I fear I have never introduced myself. You always knew who I was--imprisoned in the same building as I and my family were--and you bowed when I passed, curtsying politely, and I nodded my head, never once suspecting that you and I shared blood!
I can still remember the look of the blood on your shirt. It is true, the bullet didn't graze very far--I doubt it even hit bone--but it drew too much blood. While I was rushed from the building by loyal friends, I plucked the bullet from your chest. You were already dead, I thought, but then you shot out your hand and stared at me.
"Sister...I'm your...sis...ter," you choked out, and Papa supported it. He said:
"It's true, Maria," he echoed, "Alexandria is your sister. Illegitimate. Born before your mother and I married. She is a b*****d. She could not be kept." I suppose the guards thought he'd died immediately, but he was still barely alive, Alexandria, just like you.
And then he died. And then you died.
Mama had died almost immediately, as had Alexei. Olga and Tatiana had both survived a brief few seconds, then died. Annie survived the longest, staring at me with a bloody bullet in my fingertips, whispering to me, "I love you, Maria. I will wait for you...in Heav--"
Then, in the middle of "heaven", she died.
Is that any way to die?
Sometimes I wish I had died in your stead, as I was meant to--but you had been told by Papa to stand in for me while I secreted away to meet Johan secretly in the kitchens, and by the time I found you were all nearly or already dead, I didn't understand why you were in my place. But you already knew who you were--of my blood, of Papa's and Mama's blood--and you were proud to die in my stead, weren't you?
Then, I remember my fierce love for Johan, and I feel all of shame and guilt and regret and love.
I may not have known you, dear Alexandria, but I love you.
I can now call you my beloved sister.
Beloved Sister, I bid you farewell as,
Your Sister,
Maria Romanov.(This is a picture of how I imagine Alexandria Romanov might have looked if she had, in fact, existed.)
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Kleopatra Selene Vice Captain
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Kleopatra Selene Vice Captain
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Posted: Tue Nov 23, 2010 8:49 pm
Alas, Papa,
Oh, Papa, how I've missed you. Alas, I am not the one writing this letter. I am dictating my words to Johan--no doubt, you know of him, for you always called him a "bright young soldier" whenever he was mentioned--and he writes them. I am too weak to write. We were married, Papa, Johan and I. We love each other deeply, Papa, and we were married but an hour ago on the train. We have reached Siberia, and are living in a house that I have paid for with some of the jewelry I wore when...it...happened. It is true, I gave away the emerald necklace you loved so dearly and gave to me as a birthday present, but it was for a noble cause, love, a noble cause. This will be the home that I will live in until the day I die. And Papa, I hope to not die for a very long time. This bullet in my shoulder weakens me, and the cold of Siberia weakens me, but I am only weak for the moment. I shall not die anytime soon, to the best of my knowledge, and I do not hope to do so.
You see, but a while ago, as I wrote these letters to you, Mama, the girls, and even the half-sister I never knew of until now, I claimed that I wanted to die and meet them in Heaven. I know better now. I want to live my life to the fullest, to live and die as an old lady, warm in my bed next to my husband. I want to go to Heaven white-haired and then transform into a young girl again. I want to be the daughter that lived, not the one that pined for you and died a short time later of a bullet wound. I will not do that. I think you might conceive it as a worse fate than if I had died that night, and now I agree with you.
I love you, Papa, and I shall miss you forever and a day until my death, but I have a husband to love, children to create and care for, people to know and cherish for a lifetime, and a lifetime to live. And that is eternity to me. I hope to die old and gray, but I also hope that you will never forget me, and forget that I am the daughter who lived. Similarly...I will never forget you, Papa, nor Mama, nor Olga, nor Tatiana, nor Anastasia, nor Alexei, nor Alexandria. I will always love all of you, but I have Johan and children and an entire lifetime to consider and love. You will always be my beloved father, my dear last tsar of Russia, but I cannot always be your little girl. I may be your daughter, but I am a grown woman now. I grew into a woman the night you died. I watched blood pour out of you and I saw your eyes stare into nothingness. I did not cry. I could not cry. I will not cry now. I will not weep like a little child. I am not a child any longer. I am yours, true, but I am yours to remember until the day I enter Heaven. And though I hope that is quite a far away time, I still will long for that day.
I will never forget you, Papa.
May you never forget me, either.
Your beloved daughter,
Grand Duchess Maria Romanov,
Wife of Johan Niketan,
Mother of an Unborn Child
September fifteenth, 1918
Siberia.All my love.
I belong to your memories forever.
As you belong to mine. ((The first picture is of Tsar Nicholas II, the last tsar of Russia. The second picture is of the entire family: (top row, left to right) Tatiana, Olga, (middle row, left to right) Maria, the tsarina, the tsar, Anastasia, (bottom row) Alexei. The third and last picture is of Maria Nikolaevna Romanov--one of the last four grand duchesses of Russia.))
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Posted: Tue Nov 23, 2010 9:00 pm
If I die young, bury me in satin
Lay me down on a bed of roses
Sink me in the river at dawn
Send me away with the words of a love song... Thus ends the dramatic conclusion of Maria's Letters, my short series of letters that Maria Nikolaevna Romanov, one of the last grand duchesses of Russia, MIGHT have made if she had survived the slaughter of her family. However, she did not, and there are no real letters. None of the Romanov royal family survived that night. DNA has proved it. Thank you for reading my series! Penny for my thoughts, oh no
I'll sell them for a dollar
They're worth so much more after I'm a goner
Then maybe you'll hear the words I've been singing
Funny when you're dead how people start LISTENING.
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Kleopatra Selene Vice Captain
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