Monologue Of A Romanov Woman

— Take a deep breath, close your eyes, and imagine another time, another world

You knew love, once. But where once was love, now remains longing. The sky showed first signs of winter when they found you: a helpless girl, lost in a world that had not at all been introduced to her properly. The soot from the night prior and the snow from the early morning clung to your hair and skin, just as you had once fastened yourself to your parents’ side. Those who found you knew you as much as you had known yourself. To them, you were not the Romanov girl, descendant of a prominent political family: you were but a lost child who spoke no English; who knew nothing — not even her name.

And so you were christened with a new name — an identity that seemed
She seemed kind at first, the lady who found you. Soon, however, you realized that she was just eager to remove you from the side of the road right by the entrance of her home.

❝Well, the kid seems to be speaking some sort of...Ukranian? Czech? Russian? I don’t know. Why don’t you put that on your founding certificate.❞ The woman seemed to notice your eyes light up at the mention of the word ‘Russian’. A fleeting but noticeable look of acknowledgement etched her features and she began scribbling.

❝Certificate of finding,❞ The woman was quick to correct her companion, who was even less eager to undergo the entire process your discovery has subjected them to. ❝ I’m just spitballing here. How many Russian surnames do you think I know, huh? They won’t know if it’s bullshit, right?❞ The scribbling persisted along with the exchange. You did not understand a word of their dialogue, save the occasional mention of the R word.

❝Who cares if they know it’s bullshit? You found her, that’s your good deed for the next five years. Now just hand her over to the nearest orphanage so we can get outta
Five years and a quarter passed, and with a decided heart, you escaped the dreariness of the orphanage, finding refuge — somehow — in the hustle and bustle of the streets. It did not give you what you needed, but it allowed leeway for distraction: the danger of living on the streets burrowed straight into your most carnal impulses, redirecting your attention from the search of the past to the preservation of the present. Here, it was harder to survive; but this adversity permitted your mind to deviate from the hunt for a greater meaning. With this grew courage — sometimes a fool’s courage — but it was courage, still.

It did not take a long time for a new road to be laid at your feet: one that you cannot avoid, for it is where your past, present, and future all reside. It led, without straying away, straight into the town of