“so you really think i'm... her?” anya has always been an optimist, clinging to hope with an impenetrable grip with bright eyes set to the future, but staring into the face of the girl she supposedly was is almost too much. that girl is foreign to her, left in another lifetime that she doesn’t recognise, and the estimated death date beneath her picture scares anya even more. how can she be anastasia romanova-- a heiress presumed dead? and after all of these years of searching for her family, a single click has laid out her entire history in faces she scarcely remembers and deaths she never got to grieve. it feels unreal, and although she appreciates his faithful certainty, it’s not enough to calm the doubt festering in her head as she hovers hesitantly over one of the few remaining members-- her grandmother. “dmitry thinks i should contact someone, but i don’t know... this has to be some kind of mistake. i don’t know what i should do.”