Wife of Vladimir ||Book One||

Prologue

"I was born December second of eighteen thirty-six. I was told that night had been the first snow of the year, and my birth directly followed. It had been a beautiful scene; snowflakes were gracefully twirling through the sky as they sought a place to land, trees gingerly accepting each particle of snow upon their branches, and how the lakes began to freeze over just hours before the snow had fallen. It was a picture straight from a dream. Father insisted that despite the calming scenery, my mother was quite the opposite when I was brought into the world. We were lucky even to survive together.

I barely remember my own mother. Faint memories fill my head of her even now, all these years since her passing. She was a beautiful woman who blessed all those she spoke with. Her eyes would twinkle underneath the night sky whenever she'd comfort me while nightmares plagued my dreams, and she always smelled of sweet flowers and honey. What I remembered the most, however, was how much my father adored her.

I grew up watching him caress her cheek every chance he got. He would spin her around the room while she laughed endlessly. Father was always hugging her, peppering kisses across her face. I, honestly, felt as though my parents were born from a fairytale with how they lived. Their love was unmatchable. I knew from a young age that it was how I wanted to be with my future wife. I wanted to marry her out of love. I wanted to have a story with her, one that I had control over.

It's silly to me now, remembering how I once thought about love. I thought it was only achievable if it was the destiny you had chosen for yourself, not one that was given to you. I believed for so long that the kind of love I was after was one that had to be worked towards, not one that was just handed directly to you.

When I was five years old, my mother was expecting another child. Father was ecstatic, and so was I. Many of the servants' children had siblings, and I had been envious of them for some time. I wanted to be an older sibling. I wanted to guide a younger sibling and show them the world.

Unfortunately for me, things would never be that way.

I don't remember much between the time I found out and the time mother went into labor, other than spending hours upon hours helping them with the new baby's nursery. They did most of the work, but I felt honored to help. I always tried to imagine what the room would look like with a crying or giggling baby brother or sister in it. These months were wasted.

When it was time for mother to have the baby, she spent hours in the medical wing. The baby was born sleeping. Mother fell asleep a week later.

I never saw my brother, but I was able to see my mother throughout the days of her illness. When I was a child, it was never explained why the baby wasn't alive and why my mother was becoming iller with each passing day.

Father took me out of the room directly after she had passed with hardly a word. He kept his hand upon my shoulder as we walked together. As we walked to my bedroom, we passed by several servants who were weeping, and I didn't quite understand then. In my eyes, that were now six years old, my mother had only fallen asleep. Death didn't exist for me then, nor would it for several more years.

He helped me into my pajamas, silently lifting me into my bed. When father next looked into my eyes, I saw that he, like the servants, was crying too. I remember being taken aback by his image, having never before seen my father weep.

'Father?' I asked him. 'Why are you crying?'

'Reasons you do not quite understand. I will explain when you're older.' He whispered while kissing my forehead. 'I love you, Vladimir. It's time for bed. Sweet dreams.' Father began to stand, ready to leave me alone in the darkness.

'I love you, too.' With my blankets pulled up to my neck, I watched as my father dragged his feet towards my bedroom door. He slumped himself against my door as he blew out the candles, but not before a wave of sobs fell upon him. My door was shut soon after, and I could hear him running down the hallway by the sound of his heavy boots.