Anna Alexander: queen of fire

Chapter 6.

Back to the past

The grand doors silently stood locked. An unknown force drew me to them, compelling me to reach out my hand. The touch was almost realized when a sound came from behind – a quiet, elderly cough. Turning around, I froze. Before me stood a man about sixty-five, tall and sturdy, with a noble profile marked by a bump on his nose and slightly sunken cheeks. But what struck me most were his eyes – sky-blue, in the depths of which sparkled a warmth that made it impossible to look away. He was dressed in a black velvet coat, beneath which a starched shirt with a high collar peeked out, a brown vest from which a golden chain was showing, a small watch on his wrist, and strict trousers that ended in boots. He stood there, studying me with a gentle and scrutinizing gaze.

It seemed that only a moment passed before he broke the silence. There was a long-held, almost decayed desire in his voice to share words with someone who was outside the house.

– Hello, pretty child! How did you get here? – his question echoed, as if a whirlwind had swept through the hall.

And I, like a lost child, began my short but important story: about the gap in the wall, entwined with enchanted ivy, about the whispering fountain, about that irresistible force that had drawn me here in recent days. He listened, without interrupting, and when I fell silent, his face lit up with a smile, which became a beautiful conclusion to that mesmerizing visage. He approached and asked me to extend my hand. I obediently placed my palm in his hand. That feeling – tenderness, reverence, and a kind of quiet submission reflected in his eyes – settled in my heart for a long time.

It is impossible to convey in words the confusion of feelings that overwhelmed me. It seemed that my world had turned upside down. Thousands of questions swarmed in my head, addressed to this strange old man, who was relentlessly moving away. And when I tried to approach again, he merely gestured for me to stop, as if forbidding conversation. To my silent question answered… silence.

In the blink of an eye, the old man disappeared, as if he had dissolved into thin air, and in his place emerged Arni, the man who brought me to this house. He explained that it is hard for Ivan to see children, for he once lost his own.

– Once, the house echoed with the bubbling joy of children’s laughter, and then trembled with the screams and inconsolable cries of Anastasia Orlova after the mysterious disappearance of the children. The master of the house sank into silence forever, like a tomb, – Arni echoed.

And then he seemed to reveal to me a terrible truth: none of Ivan Lion’s children were ever found!

– They were playing not far from the house, by the pond in the clearing where they loved to catch butterflies! – Arni added bitterly.

He recounted that his master was well aware of the rumors and tales that surrounded the story of the house and its unfortunate family. My heart ached with pity. I imagined all the pain he had to endure, the unbearable suffering, the coldness of loneliness, and the relentless approach of old age.

And indeed, at first glance, one wouldn’t say that this stately man is an old man. There was a fire in his eyes, like an unquenchable spark of hope.

This strange twist of fate, this incredible story, was forever imprinted in my heart from the lips of my new friend. Everything seemed like a terrifying made-up story. After all, a sensible person always distinguishes truth from fiction, reality from fantasy.

Perhaps he harbored some mystical power that drew him back like a moth to the flame? Or, having healed deep emotional wounds, he decided to plunge again into the whirlpool of mixed feelings, where joy once danced hand in hand with sorrow?

I had lost track of time, wandering through the labyrinths of thoughts and shadows. An hour? Two? It felt like an entire lifetime had passed. But one thing I knew for sure: if I didn’t get out of here soon, my parents’ anxiety would turn into a maddening fear that could overshadow even this tragic abode.

I called Arni, who was standing nearby, but he didn’t respond. After a moment, as if answering my unspoken question, he said:

– It’s time for you to return, Miss Anna! May I help you?

I blushed to the tips of my fingers. No one had ever addressed me so respectfully.

– What do you mean, Miss?! – I blurted out so quickly that Arni asked me to repeat. – Please don’t be angry, Miss. In this house, we address all guests as sir or madam, and you are our guest! – he monotonously said.

I was struck by his deliberate slowness in speech, every word seemed to be forged with effort, but firmly. However, I had neither the time nor the desire to decipher this peculiarity, and I insisted that he hurry home.

– And now let me see off you, for it is already getting late, and you may encounter troubles! – Arni continued, as if reading my thoughts.

To my surprise, Arni was extremely reticent. His eyes squinted after each of my words, as if he were recording everything in his head. He seemed to me a conversational partner whose mind sparkled like dew in the sun, just like the owner of this house, steeped in silence. But the strange thing was that neither of them had a passion for conversations, although…

– You still don’t know much, Miss! – and a smile touched his lips.

I smiled slightly in response but remained silent. I had no more questions for Arni.

Thoughts returned to Lyon once again; I hoped to get answers from him. But Arni, as if anticipating my intentions, quickly stepped away from me and then disappeared altogether. A few minutes passed, and his silhouette appeared in the distance again. With the lively energy of a young man, he approached me, looked me straight in the eyes, and made me promise that I would never try to open that locked door.

I blinked, and the only thing I remembered was the snap of fingers. And then I was already beyond the fence of the house. As it turned out, time had flown by unnoticed there, like in a magical dream.

The sun was setting, and a storm was approaching. I hadn’t seen such black clouds since our basement got flooded. I looked around and saw strangely dressed people, as if I had spent several decades in captivity, and time had reversed. Everything around me was different: a different style of clothing, strange speech, as if I had entered the era of serfdom, unfamiliar plants, trees…

None of this resembled what I had left when I entered the house behind the fence. I didn’t understand where I was. The place I had left did not match where I found myself now. It felt like Arni’s snap of fingers had transported me to the past.

– Why here, why at this time, and to this house where there is no one I know?! – I asked myself aloud.

The realization of whether this was somehow connected to me, to that house, and to the events that had happened here once, wouldn’t let me rest. I had completely forgotten about my hunger. A wave of foreboding, sharp with novelty, washed over me in this place where dreams become reality. Turning back to the house, I recognized in its facade the echo of that home I had seen in dreams.

Warm walls, the same roof – the building remained in the same condition. True, the fence became lower, not as high, but the ivy still covered the facade of the building, although with not very dense vegetation. The fence was a beautiful wrought iron design with sharp spikes at the tips of the bars. An unspoken silence reigned in the yard, and to reach the house, one had to trudge down the alley where dwarf trees, as if in eternal bow, leaned all the way to the ground under the onslaught of the fierce wind. Through the intertwining branches, like guardians of twilight, lamp posts stood, emitting a ghostly light.

I had nowhere to go, and I sat down to rest by the house. The ground was warm after the sun, and I allowed myself to think for a moment. Thirst and hunger began to haunt me. The thought of finding a place to stay lingered in my mind like an unsolved puzzle, and just as I was about to get up, I noticed a middle-aged woman approaching me, short in stature, with a mane of fiery-red hair, like tongues of flame, and a blissful smile lighting up her face. It seemed that she was completely oblivious to the clouds gathering over the city, and with undisguised, almost childlike joy, she started talking to me.

– Are you a maid? Did you come to work for us? – the question sounded.

I had never worked before, but I knew that any work was useful, even at my age, and to my surprise, I nodded affirmatively. I hastily got up.

The woman looked kind and well-groomed. There was nothing off-putting about her appearance, but nothing particularly attractive either. She was herself, and I felt drawn to her, as if to an old acquaintance.

The road was smooth, with fine gravel underfoot. My red-haired companion was mumbling something to herself, occasionally glancing back at me as if she were afraid of losing me.

– Please don’t lag behind! We have important family events coming up soon, and we need fresh energy! – she said as if to herself.

The woman led me through the front entrance to a spacious living room with many windows. To my surprise, everything in the living room was arranged with great taste: a massive table, six carved chairs, two armchairs to match the interior stood on both sides of the brown sofa. In the middle stood a small glass table, on which a lamp flickered, filling the room with the aroma of a coniferous forest. Over the fireplace, like a trophy from frozen eternity, a deer hung with extinguished eyes, and at its foot, like an obedient guardian, the skin of an unknown beast stretched out.

A huge chandelier with multi-colored lamps, an open black piano, several large paintings, among which the majestic canvas “The Last Supper” stood out, and many other interesting things.

“Why is everything here different from where I was a few moments ago?” – I asked myself.

Upon reaching the door of the office, my companion froze, and I, obeying an unspoken signal, stopped behind her. She turned around, casting a fleeting glance, and asked me to wait until the owner was ready to receive me. Well, I had no choice but to submit. Resigning my impatience with thoughts of life-giving moisture and perhaps a modest snack, I settled on an inconspicuous bench against the wall, like a shadow waiting for its moment.

I must have sat there for an eternity, eagerly absorbing every corner of the room with my gaze. An indescribable feeling, as if I had returned to familiar places, did not leave me. Hunger, tension, and the kaleidoscope of experiences I had endured relentlessly pushed my body toward sleep.

The agonizing wait by the office door stretched long. Hunger gnawed at my insides, and I wished for just one thing: for my future in this house to finally be clarified. And as if in response to my thoughts, the door silently opened, revealing a man to me.

At that moment, I was pierced by the icy touch of unprecedented terror – as if a ghost from an ancient legend had appeared in the gloom. But it was not a vision, it was the very old man, sixty-five years old… only young, as if time had turned back. Stunned, I froze like a statue, unable to utter a word. The blood receded from my fingertips, turning them to ice, and when he stepped forward to greet me with a beaming smile, fear reached its peak, severing the thread of consciousness, and I fell into the bottomless abyss of oblivion.

In an instant, a small circle of worried servants formed around me, while Lion, a bit further away, kept his eyes fixed on me, sitting in an armchair. When consciousness began to return, confusion arose in the crowd, and he quickly rose and approached me.

That time became a priceless revelation to me about the tragedy of a family I seemed to have known my whole life, but could never have imagined I would become part of its story.

The paths of fate are unknown, and my fate was no exception.

A thick fog of voices, like a shroud, enveloped me. Faintly discernible voices, timid and quiet, as if afraid to disturb my sleep, hurried footsteps of the maid and the rustle of starched skirts sounded like a silent dance of falling leaves. All of this wove into a ghostly image of a serene harbor, a dim premonition of approaching happiness. The distant crowing of roosters, the timid whispering of birds behind the huge window, the muffled barking of yard dogs, and someone’s gentle, enchanting singing, filling the heart with a bright, poignant sadness – everything breathed such simple, fragile, piercing soulful warmth.

All this reached me as if from afar, through the wavering veil of drowsiness. When I finally emerged from oblivion, the face of a woman was leaning over me, and her voice was so tender that, were it not for the dazzling rays breaking through the parted crowd, I would have mistaken her for an angel descending from heaven.

Propping myself up on my elbows, I tried to make out the features of the wondrous stranger. Her beauty was otherworldly, as if woven from moonlight and morning dew.

– Perhaps you could tell us where you are from and what your name is? – her voice suddenly sounded.

I was seized by anxiety, my fingers nervously tapped on my leg. I had never felt such shyness among people before, but everything was different here.

– My name is Anna, I far from… – I hadn’t finished speaking when Lion interrupted me, as if warning me against saying too much.

– The girl needs rest! Everyone return to their duties, she needs peace! – he commanded authoritatively, and as if by the wave of a magic wand, the entourage vanished, absorbed in the whirlpool of everyday affairs.

My eyes must have grown wide with astonishment, which did not escape her perceptive gaze. She slightly opened her mouth as if about to say something, but the words froze on her tongue. Lion, watching this scene, crouched down next to his spouse and was the first to break the silence:

– What has struck you so, my dear? – he asked with a tender smile.

– I’m just feeling unwell, – I whispered, my voice betraying me with a tremor.

– We can call a doctor, if you wish. Let him see what has clouded the radiance of such a beautiful creature and frightened it so, – he gifted me with a warm, reassuring smile.

– Oh no, thank you, – I barely breathed out, feeling my strength leaving me.

The woman standing next to me was Anastasia Orlova. It seemed to me as if I were dreaming; her beauty appeared so unreal. Her slim waist, delicate hands wrapped around me as she helped me up from the couch, were so soft that down felt like a rough piece of iron in comparison. My heart raced wildly, trembling before the embodiment of grace and femininity, at the mere thought of this woman.

– You’ve come to work in our home, and we accept you! We lack such a pure and open person. I can’t say that my servants don’t meet our standards, but we need a breath of fresh air! – he said almost in one breath.

“An extraordinary voice!” – echoed in my mind.

He stood two steps away, and a mysterious smile played at the corners of his lips. Then the man nodded affirmatively to his wife. Anastasia bestowed upon him a radiant smile, like a ray of sunshine, and turning to the servants, commanded them to teach me the intricacies of household management. She herself, easily rising from her knees, flitted away to the nursery, where the children, like whirlwinds, raced around the room, filling the house with ringing cries and unbridled energy. Lion, on the other hand, swiftly crossed the space and disappeared into his office, located behind a wall, as if behind an impregnable fortress.

Time slipped through my fingers like sand. And so, the clock struck six, but it was not eighteen; it was six in the morning!

Noticing a young girl nearby, I hopefully addressed her:

– Is it really dawn?!

– Indeed it is, my lady, – she replied with a courtesy so rare in these parts that it seemed before me stood not a peasant’s daughter, but a young countess, who had somehow gotten lost among the labyrinths of houses.

– But how? Everyone is on their feet, everyone is bustling around, is that even possible?! – I couldn’t stop my questions.

– We are always on alert, miss, that is our job. And I believe you will soon come to appreciate the charms of our way of life, – the maid whispered with a barely perceptible reproach.

At that moment, another maid entered and announced that breakfast was served. For a while, we sat at the table, enjoying breakfast and laughing at the jokes of the young people who had joined us. But there was something attractive, something magical about these people, something more than just family ties or friendly relations. Lyon’s nobility combined with the ethereal purity of his wife. Lion and Anastasia were the perfect couple, that harmonious tandem that every family dreams of. My desire to stay in this house grew stronger with every hour, watching the relationship between the hosts and the servants. I was an additional source of light for them, just as they were for me…

Chapter 7.

The smell of home

– Girl, wake up! Time doesn’t wait, it’s time to get up! – the persistent voice of the maid buzzed insistently at my ear.

Her sharp call pulled me from the embrace of sleep. A hum, like a swarm of bees in a hive, filled the space around me. The mixture of voices, requests, and quiet bickering created a cacophony, but there was neither malice nor reproach in it. Everyone seemed to be floating in the current of their duties, and in this whirlpool, a strange idyll reigned.

Everything around spun like in a kaleidoscope. As soon as the name Lion was mentioned, the servants scattered to the corners like frightened mice. The man was neither a tyrant nor a despot. He was respected by everyone, both within the household and beyond its walls. He was loved even by the neighborhood children, not only for the Christmas gifts generously showered from his hands but also for the huge heart that had become a rarity in our day. But he was strict – strict with his family, with the servants, with the workers, of whom he had quite a few. This strictness gave him a gloomy appearance, but at the right moments he was open and kind to everyone.

This peace-loving and freedom-loving man was so immersed in his thoughts that he did not notice the loud laughter of his children, who, according to their mother, were having quite a romp. He slowly headed to his study and began his paperwork.

– He needs to leave soon! You’ll have time to get to know each other better, but for now, back to work! – interrupted my thoughts the maid.

– Leave? How far? – I asked again.

– First to France, and then to Brazil, just for a few weeks! – she chirped.

I found the girl’s speech interesting. She was responsive and quite talkative.

– What’s the reason for his trip? – I couldn’t help but ask again.

– It’s about the factory! Our master has a lot of forest under his ownership! – she said and smiled.

I smiled back, touched by her childlike spontaneity. This naive openness or perhaps skillfully feigned nonchalance seemed like a good omen for our future friendship.

The steps of the steep staircase, like the agitated keys of an old piano, led upwards. Flickering candles in the candelabras placed along the walls cast ghostly reflections, emitting not only light but also a slight chill mixed with a barely perceptible scent of incense and dust. My timid knock on the door dissolved into silence, and after a torturous three minutes of waiting, I, filled with disappointment, turned to leave.

Suddenly, it became stuffy from the locked windows and doors, despite the wonderful weather outside. I made my way to the long sofa by the window, but my gaze was caught by a painting modestly hanging across from me. It depicted a shipwreck; the sound of waves and the creaking of wood reached me with such intensity that it stirred deep emotions within me. My thoughts turned to Sania and Herman, and a sense of longing crept into my heart.

Surfacing from the depths of my own thoughts, I noticed the bustle of the servants. Like agitated bees, they hurriedly donned their finest attire and polished everything with renewed enthusiasm. And then, like thunder on a clear day, the news arrived – Lion was hosting a ball in honor of his daughter’s birthday!

“A real ball… I have never been to a real ball!” – the thought pierced me like a spark.

Shaking off my stupor, I jumped to my feet and, brushing off nonexistent dust, hurried after the servants into their bustling hive of activity, anticipating the magic of preparation.

The soft atmosphere of the laundry room, where Azazel, the head servant, had brought me – the very girl whose room was behind the eerie staircase – resembled a dollhouse more than anything else. The laundry was filled with dolls, hundreds of dolls. Small, huge ones the size of a human, medium, girl dolls, boy dolls. Nowhere, in my opinion, could there be as many dolls as in Lion’s laundry.

Of course, I couldn’t help but wonder why so many dolls were needed and who they belonged to, and why they were located in the laundry instead of a children’s room or a specially designated room?!

And here is the crazy story I heard from Azazel, who herself was deeply impressed when she first saw them here.

On the fortieth day after the birth of their firstborn Ivan, an unusual old man wandered into their house. No one knew who he was or where he came from. He wore a black cloak with a hood, boots matching the cloak, a small bag over his shoulder, a long white beard down to his waist, and an unusual knitted pouch in his hands the size of a matchbox. The old man constantly moved the pouch from hand to hand, as if playing dice. With a slow gait, he approached Lion and, glancing over Anastasia’s shoulder at the child, began to mumble something. Everyone froze in anticipation, trying to understand who this old man was and what he was saying.

Suddenly, the old man, grinning, looked closely into Lion’s face. Not taking his eyes off him, he began to recite either prayers or quatrains resembling songs of the Renaissance. His smooth hand movements and harmonious nodding created a soothing effect on everyone. It took less than five minutes for everyone in the hall, except for Anastasia and Ivan, who were surrounded on all sides by columns of lions, to freeze. Monotonous music played on the orchestra’s instruments, and the enormous ballroom started to shrink to incredibly small sizes. It seemed as if the old man wished to fit everyone into his small bag, which he had not parted with for a second.

The attendees shook their heads as if frozen in time. In their misty eyes, no emotions were reflected, only emptiness. There was neither fear nor surprise, just wonder around.

The old man’s sleep was interrupted by a conversation that he himself had started. Glancing at Anastasia, he whispered. In the blink of an eye, the faces of Lion and Anastasia twisted, while the old man continued to whisper, just a little louder:

– It’s too early for her to appear in our age?! – he suddenly scolded himself.

– Who is this ‘she’ you are talking about?! – asked Lion.

– There is no point in continuing if that girl is here! Send her away immediately! – the old man insisted again…

Lion didn’t understand who was being talked about! He realized that the old man was losing his mind and therefore was speaking strange words.

– If she stays, misfortune will befall you, and dolls, gather many dolls. They will protect your home from her and from him too! – he continued.

Then the old man, as if lifted by an invisible hand, twirled in a whirlwind of dry leaves and was scattered by the autumn wind. As if a veil of oblivion had descended upon all those in the hall who heard his words, erasing the very memory of the meeting. Lion, convinced that this was merely a warning from the uninvited guest, allowed his anxiety to recede slightly but ordered to acquire as many dolls as possible and hide them where children’s eyes would never find them.

But who were these “he” and “she”, Lion struggled to understand over time!

Having finished her mysterious tale, Azazel placed her finger to her lips, as if sealing my mouth with a spell of silence. She told me the past of the dolls and the eerie story of the old man not for idle discussions, but so that I would become yet another keeper of the secret that hovered over the slumbering toys in this house.