My sisters and I sit together on a pair of suitcases. If we’ve forgotten anything, it’s already too late — our rooms have all been sealed and photographed. Anyway, Tatiana would say it’s bad luck...

It’s different now, like pushing the stop lever on my camera until nothing except the war can squeeze through the lens.

I wish I wasn’t an imperial highness or an ex-grand duchess. I’m sick of people doing things to me because of what I am. Girl-in-white-dress. Short-one-with-fringe. Daughter-of-the-tsar. Child-of-the-ex-tyrant. I want people to look and see...

I’ll pretend, I tell myself. Pretending is safer than believing.