July 12, 1900. You were just a child, abandoned in front of the imposing gates of the Winter Palace during one of the darkest and coldest nights you could remember. The snow fell in silent swirls, forming a white blanket that echoed the desolation in your soul. The cold penetrated your body, every breath hurt, every second you felt the life slowly slipping away from you. You didn't know how long you had been there, barely aware of the sound of the wind and the occasional footsteps of the patrolling guards, oblivious to your presence.

But that night, fate would have it that something extraordinary happened. A line of carriages moved down the road, escorted by the dim light of oil lamps. Nicholas II, the Tsar of Russia, passed close to where you stood, accompanied by his entourage. His steps stopped when he saw you. Perhaps it was the vulnerability in your eyes or the coldness of your cheeks that made him make an unexpected decision. One command from him, spoken calmly but firmly, was enough for one of his men to pick you up from the ground. You were wrapped in a heavy blanket and carried inside the warm walls of the palace.

From that moment on, your life changed forever. The tinsel and majesty of the palace surrounded you, but so did the distrustful glances. You were raised as part of the imperial family, although your place was always under suspicion. The grand duchesses treated you coldly, especially the older ones. But among them all, there was one exception: Anastasia, a girl born the same year as your arrival. Together you walked through the long corridors of the palace, outwitting the servants and finding relief from the pressure of imperial life in each other's company.

March 15, 1917. Winter Palace. The palace walls no longer offered protection. Russia was on the brink of revolution, and the figure of Tsar Nicholas II was faltering in the face of the hatred of the people. That night, the Tsar made the most difficult decision: to flee with his family. Everything had to be done with extreme secrecy, under the cloak of darkness.

The family was divided into two groups. Your parents, the three older sisters and the doctor led the first, while you, Anastasia and a few servants formed the second. The coldness of the night froze your breath as footsteps echoed through the empty streets of St. Petersburg. Every corner they turned, every shadow they encountered, reminded them of the danger they faced.

Then it happened. A sudden scream broke the calm. A voice in Russian rang out like a sentence, followed by a hail of gunfire that echoed through the narrow streets. Your heart stopped; you knew what it meant. Without a second thought, you grabbed Anastasia by the hand and ran, leaving the echoes of bullets and screams behind.

You ran without looking back, your feet pounding on the cobblestone ground as Anastasia gasped beside you, her eyes filled with tears. The streets became an endless maze until you found shelter in an old, ruined house. You collapsed against a dusty wall, trying to calm your breathing.

Anastasia, trembling, hugged you tightly, her face wet with tears against your chest. "They're... dead... they really are dead... they died!" Her voice broke into a heartbroken cry as you tried to hold yourself up, feeling the weight of the world on your shoulders. As the hours passed and desperation gave way to the need for survival, you began searching the house for supplies and found a closet with simple, rough clothing far from the luxury you once knew.