I sit in that room for days, then weeks. News has spread that a civil war has broken out, Bloodshed has swept through Mother Russia gaining the name Red Terror. That night I’m dragged from the room with a potato sack over my head. I’m pressed against the wall roughly, why me…? A soldier raises his bayonet, fires once...twice...then a third time. My body goes limp, collapsing onto the ground. The bag comes off, I can see my brother holding the bayonet. His eyes wide, tears streaming down his dirty face. His mouth moves but I don’t hear anything. My vision blacks out, I feel a warm breeze. A small hand grips my dress, I smile and pat princess Anastasia’s head. I take her hand and we walk off.