I Believe

A Boy, Alone

Hey!! Warning: there's plenty of self hate in this, and very obvious murder/suicidal stuff!! Please don't read if that would harm you!! Also this will be added too!! Please please comment I'm so desperate for validation lmao!!! Enjoy!!!

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I am the Grand Duchess Anastasia Nikolaevna Romanov!

Those words should have been enough for him. They should have caused the trigger to be pulled, and they should have been what inevitably ended the Romanov line.

And yet, the Grand Duchess was alive and well.

His brain played the scene over and over, repeating each mistake with painful clarity, like he was being drowned in ice water. All he needed to do was aim the gun, and pull. But he faltered, the gun dropped, and he ran away from Anastasia.

Now, he stood, watching over the Seine that was nothing like the Neva, not even close. He could think of billions of ways the Neva was better as he climbed onto the railing, and sat, looking across Paris. The city of light, indeed. But all he wanted to do was be doused in darkness.

I couldn't do it.

His body shook, and he felt an empty, sickly feeling crawl inside of him.

I'm a failure, father. I'm so sorry.

He wrapped his quivering arms around his torso, like a lost child. Maybe he was.

I tried, I tried so hard, I really did- but I'm too weak. Too cowardly. I'm so sorry.

He hugged himself tight, because no one else would. They never did. It has been years since he had been given a friendly smile, much less a warm hug to comfort him.

You're a general. You don't need comfort. You were supposed to be strong, you idiot.

An involuntary sob broke the peace of the cool Parisian night, and before he could process it, Gleb Vaganov was crying on the bridge, his entire body twitching violently. Some of the things he told himself he would never wish to say to another being- no one. But he deserved it, didn't he? Too weak, too weak to kill Anastasia, too weak to fight back against his orders, too weak.

The gun was still in his hand. It was still loaded. Still ready.

Someone had to die tonight, someone deserved it.

The gun was cocked, and trembling, he held to up to the side of his head. His eyes closed in fear.

Just like you, father. When you killed them. You closed your eyes, just like this. I saw you, I remember. You cried, like me.

He drew in a sharp breath. He wasn't in control anymore. Not of the workers at the capital, not of Anastasia, not even of his own body, proven by the sobs and breaths that were otherwise alone in the night. But he could control the gun in his hand.

I'm so sorry, father. But I'll see you soon. I'll say hello. I haven't said hello to you in so long. I'm sorry.

He waited for his finger to pull the trigger. The pain, the loud crack, the blood to pour out and maybe even into the Seine. Oh, he waited.

But nothing came.

His hand just shook, and with a broken cry he realized he couldn't even end his life. He was a coward, and a bad man. And he couldn't even shoot a damn gun.

The tears poured out, and his loud crys came in waves. The gun fell to his side, and he hugged himself so tightly as if he would fall apart if he let go. He had lost all control- even his own death was far away from his grasp. He was powerless, and worse, he was so, completely, alone.