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[Please scroll all the way above to get a better understanding of the story settings: Place, characters, and religion so as to avoid confusion. Thank you!]

I peered out of the windowsill to look at the chickens that I owned clucking away in their coop. I couldn't understand how they could roam around their coop as if that was all their world was restricted to. I couldn't even bear to stay in my room for a whole day, but I was grounded, for the umpteenth time this Jahr, for 2 whole weeks. Understandable, with all the, ah, illegal running around that I have been doing.

As I watched the chickens strut around in their own tiny little plot of land, I heard a soft rap at my door. I spun, my dull grey dress spinning along with me. I strode towards the door and waited. The stainless steel door inched open and a tray with delicacies and a teapot holding Jasmine tea was slid through the gap. I ignored the tray and stared down at the servant who had brought the tray to me. At a height of 1.9 meters, I easily stood over almost everyone in the palace.

"News, Peter?" I drawled. I wasn't expecting anything, really. His past visits were all the same: he brought food and absolutely no news at all.

"His Royal Highness said he misses you, and he'll let you go soon. Please be patient, good Tsarevna-"

"If he misses me, he'd have visited me at least once, but I haven't seen his face through the crack nor his feet step through the door as of yet."

"Ah… I…" Peter stuttered, peering up fearfully at me. I squinted at him, wondering why on the good green earth was he so scared of me.

I gave a suppressed sigh. "Enough. Begone, and do your duties well, Peter." I waved him away.

"Yes, your Highness, I will." Peter bowed, locked the door once more, and scurried away. I let out a breath I didn't even know I had been holding. What was it Mamochka always said? To have faith and believe in the Slyevskaya, the Holy Book? That book sure wasn't helping now.

I grabbed the tray and dumped it on the bed, grabbing a Pavlova cake from the tray and pouring tea into my mouth right after. I sat on the edge of my bed and sighed sadly. Didn't anyone care about me? No one, except good Peter, the manservant, came to visit. I didn't even get visits from female servants at all, and I had to do pretty much everything myself the moment I knew how to speak and write. I finished the delicacies within minutes and left the tea on the bedside table to cool, as I continued to stand at the window.

The sky darkened and two bright blue moons gradually rose into the sky in place of the sun, and yet I still stood at the window. A cold gust of wind blew into the room through the window and I was jolted out of my reverie. I huffed and trudged to my desk to grab a piece of parchment, my quill, and inkbottle to write down a piece of poetry that had popped into my head. On it, I wrote:

The unfaithful find not what they seek,

Because the faithful hold it all

In their grip of faith.

I kept my quill and closed my inkbottle. Holding my parchment up against the moonlight, I admired the words. My handwriting was getting much better. I was sure that with gradual practice, my blocky letters would gradually straighten out into nice, elegant cursive letters. I sighed with satisfaction, placed the parchment on the table, and climbed into bed under the soft satin sheets. It wasn't long before I fell into a deep sleep.