My name is Anastasia. If you saw me in the marketplace, you wouldn’t notice me. There is nothing special about me, at least not that you’d notice. Everything about me screams normal. But that’s how I want to be seen, it’s not how I really am.
This is my seventh life, for some strange reason, I keep coming back. I have died six times, each time I was murdered. It’s not a nice thing to live through. Each time, it was the same man, I don’t know why he wants me dead, but clearly he won’t rest until it has been accomplished. It’s only been fifteen years since my last death, which is very few to me. In total I have lived almost two hundred years. I don’t know how many more times this will happen but I hope this time, I can live a full life. I want to fall in love, have children, just live. I keep getting murdered before I find out why he is after me or why I am able to be reborn from my ashes. Yes, when I’m killed I burst into flame and am reborn from the flames, like a phoenix. I am fully aware of whom I am and what’s just happened to me, but I am again a child. I would estimate I am no more than three years physically. So, to anyone who sees me now, I look about eighteen. It’s always puzzled me as to why the man would let me live when I revert back to a child, wouldn’t it be easier to kill me in my vulnerable state? I would love to ask him.
Honestly this could have been going on for many millennia. The first life I remember, my parents told me they found me on their doorstep when I was just a child. I didn’t know who I was, or where I came from, or even how I got there, but I knew my name. Anastasia, it means resurrected. Maybe my name is why I am the way I am, some weird twist from the fates. Was I cursed in my past life to relive and be murdered until I paid for something I did?
Maybe I'm the mysterious Anastasia Romanov? So then would the man chasing me be Rasputin? Historically, Rasputin died before the Romanov family, and he was employed to help Alexei Romanov, who was a hemophiliac and heir to the throne. It wouldn’t make sense for him to be the man who constantly murders me. But how should I know?
What could I have done to deserve to be hunted and murdered over and over again? And is this man like me? He hasn’t seemed to age in the many lifetimes we have met.
I have had these questions for so long. And now I face my death again, this time however, I am prepared.
“Are you going to murder me then? I thought it was I who came for you?” I held the gun pointed straight at him. I knew he would come for me eventually, this is the first time he has spoken to me. Time for answers.
“Things change, why are you after me?”
“It’s a game we have played since time began.” He replied cryptically.
“What does that mean, do I know you? Who are you to me? Why do you keep hunting me?”
“Of course you know me, can’t you feel it in your soul? We are each a part of each other; two parts of one whole. You may have forgotten me but I still remember you. My heart still aches from your betrayal.”
“Betrayal? Are you going to tell me anything? Or just keep confusing me? Why do you keep murdering me, what have I done to you?!?”
“I cannot tell you, you must remember. It is part of our curse. Murdering you is also part of it. How long must this go on before you remember?”
“Our curse? It’s my fault this is still going on? That you keep hunting me, I can stop it? How can I remember?”
“Look at me, you know me. We are one; we have a history that can never truly be forgotten. I am bound to you until you repair what you have done. I cannot remember for you.” As he spoke I could see the sadness clouding his bright green eyes. There was so much pain, what have I done to cause this?
I did what he said I looked at him, focused on him. He was a handsome man, I would guess about twenty-five years old, no more. Every life I have lived I died before I reached thirty years of age, he was always a few years older. His green eyes were expressive and beautiful. Soft lips, pale red were fixed in a frown. His jaw line is strong and muscled, sprinkled with a shadow of dark brown hairs. His nose was long and crooked. It looked like it had been broken at least once. His hair was long and the same color dark brown as his scruff. It was pulled back into a low ponytail. His skin reminded me of caramel, it was a beautiful color. Maybe he was Grecian?
When I examined him, he was right, he seemed so familiar. Did I really know him outside of him being my murderer? I hadn’t thought about it until now. I always knew who he was, even in the first life I remember. I figured it was because maybe it wasn’t my first life he was just all I remembered of the previous ones. But that first time I met him, or so I thought it was the first, I did not fear him. I thought he was beautiful, handsome, and wonderful. I didn’t know why, but I trusted him. I came right to him and hugged him, when I pulled away there was a knife in my gut. From then on I resisted the urge to go to him, and I ran when I saw him. Tried to get away with my life, I always failed. If I wanted to live, I’d have to break this curse he spoke of, remember who he is to me.
Minutes passed as I stared at him, turning into hours. It felt like I would be there just looking at him forever. When would it come back to me? I told myself over and over, ‘I know him, figure it out.’
I knew I had loved him, trusted him. How else could I explain my desire to run into the arms of the man who murders me?
He reminded me of my father, not the one I knew in these lives but of one I had long forgotten. My real father. He had been my father’s advisor, I remembered…
He was my lover, my friend, my husband. I betrayed him to my father. My father did not approve of our love and we wed in secret. But I adored my father, I could not keep it from him, I thought he would understand when he knew how much I loved him, Xavior that was his name. The man I loved and lost. My father did not understand, he had him put to death. Before he died though, I drew his blood and united it with my own, our destinies joined forever. I had a witch put a spell on it, a curse. It cost me my memories and my life. If we were to be together again I would have to pay for my betrayal with my life, until I remembered. When he died, so did I. And now, we will be together again, forever in love.
Under the Green Hill by Laura L. Sullivan