Information

Romanov_626
Legacy Name: Romanov_626

The Graveyard Fester
Owner: Pinto

Age: 14 years, 7 months, 2 weeks

Born: September 18th, 2009

Adopted: 14 years, 1 month, 3 weeks ago

Adopted: March 9th, 2010

Pet Spotlight Winner
November 22nd, 2011

Statistics

• Level: 5
   
• Strength: 14
   
• Defense: 12
   
• Speed: 11
   
• Health: 12
   
• HP: 12/12
   
• Intelligence: 1
   
• Books Read: 0
• Food Eaten: 0
• Job: Unemployed

[wl]

full, uncensored story here

It was raining the night Romanov was adopted from the orphanage. He was seven years old and frightened. It was that strong Russian rain, almost snow, not quite sleet, but thick and heavy. It soaked through his thin coat in seconds as he ran out to the waiting car. Romanov had never seen a real car before.

This one was warm inside, and smelled of peppermint and leather. There was a woman across the seat from him and she smiled, her angular face a strange mixture of kindness and annoyance. She sat straight as the car slowly pulled through the orphanage gates, looking down her sharp nose at him. Romanov sunk down a bit, withering away from her fierce gaze. Her smile faltered for only a moment; Romanov barley caught it.

Romanov wondered how long the ride to his new home was going to take. "Home." What a word. It felt foreign on his tongue despite how often he thought it. How many times he had wished for a home, and now that he was on his way, he was nervous. This woman was smiling, but it was not kind; it was the smile of a woman who had what she wanted, victorious and smug. She looked pleased with herself. For what, Roman could only guess.

He coughed. The woman started as though she was lost in thought and shook her head, as though to clear her mind. "Roman!" she squared her shoulders, impossibly straight. Romanov sat up a bit straighter in his seat too. “You may call me Mama." She reached over and fluffed Romanov's damp hair. "It is nice to finally see you; you are much cuter than in your photograph." She hadn't stopped smiling since Romanov got in the car, so he wasn't sure if it was a good thing, or if she was just stating a fact. He smiled back weakly.

"Thanks." He said.
"Look at my eyes when you speak to me. And you must address me as Mama." Mama was a severe woman. Romanov lifted his head. It was hard to look at her in the eyes. He may have been only seven, but Romanov knew this woman's words were not to be taken lightly. Growing up in an orphanage, he learned these things fast.

Romanov also learned to dance.

"ROMAN! Faster! Curtain call is in one minute! Stop lazing around and get on stage!" Mama wasn't happy. Romanov was leaning against the backstage wall, foot caught in his leggings. His shirt unbuttoned and wig askew, he was in no way ready for curtain call. Where the hell was his assistant?

"Roman? Where are you?"
"Vaslav! I'm over here. Come here and help me get this on!" Vaslav came bounding over, stood a bit too close.
"What do you need me to do?" he asked, dazzling. At times, his smile could rival Mama's.
"Button this shirt, and fix my wig will you? My damned slipper is stuck."

As Vaslav repositioned his wig, Roman gave the leggings one last tug and his slipper popped out the other end. Finally. He leaned against the wall, impatiently tapping his foot on the scratched wooden stage while Vaslav finished arranging the wig.

Vaslav stepped closer and brushed his fingers lightly against Romanov's temple, tucking a stray curl behind his ear, fingers lingering. He looked into Romanov's eyes, defiant, daring Roman to push him away. Romanov dropped his eyes to the ground, unable to meet his gaze, but he stayed unmoving, giving his silent consent. His foot stopped tapping the floor.

Vaslav kissed his cheek quickly and gave him a sad smile before slinking backstage without a word. Vaslav had always been clingy, but lately it was almost unbearable. Romanov wasn't sure why he was still putting up with his's wandering hands. He didn't want the attention from Vaslav. Romanov wanted it from Her. She had recently joined the troupe as his dance partner, and his every moment was occupied by thoughts of her.

Anya was perfect; everything about her. She was beautiful; she was the best dancer in the troupe (besides himself) and she knew it. Her snow-white skin and bright blue eyes reminded Romanov of the angels they hung on the tree at Christmas. He was sure he was in love. The only problem was Anya didn’t know she was in love with him.

Whenever Romanov tried to speak with her, Anya would go out of her way to ignore him. If he was walking towards her, she would turn on her heel and go the other way. If they were stuck together and there was no way out, she would respond with cool, terse replies. Romanov had put up with it for a while now, but he was growing tired of her consistently cold attitude and playing hard to get.

---

Romanov was stretched out on the divan in the grand, darkened living room, head in his mother’s lap. A roaring fire cast creeping shadows on the walls of the darkened room that danced like ghosts. He was falling asleep as he watched them move. “Roman, baby, you were wonderful today.” Mama was saying, smile stretched across her yellowing teeth. “The papers keep calling you the 'Prince of Russia,' the best dancer in the world! I am so proud of my little warrior." Roman shut his eyes and let his thoughts wander. He thought of Anya.

It was quiet for a while then, the only sound the crackling logs in the fireplace. It had been a long day at the theater. The troupe had just ended their run of 'Beauty and the Beast' with Roman dancing the part of the Beast to rave reviews. He was being hailed as the next Nijinsky, the Prince of Russian ballet.

After a moment, Mama cleared her throat, drawing Roman back to reality. “I saw Vaslav helping you with your wig.” He was suddenly very much awake. Her voice was like frostbite. How quickly her moods could change. He sat up on the divan, away from her icy touch. How much had she seen? “What is wrong with that boy? Why do you let him do that to you? Don’t you love Anya?”

"Of course I do, Mama!" Roman insisted, propping himself up on his elbow. "I don't like it when he does that to me, either!"
"Then do something about it, you fool! People are beginning to talk about the two of you! I will not tolerate those rumors any longer!"
"But Mama, Anya won't give me the time of day! It's hard to get close to her when she is always running away!" Roman couldn't tell her why he put up with Vaslav; his twisted need for affection.
"Don't raise your voice at me, boy," Mama snapped. "Your father and I saved you from that horrible orphanage, it would make our lives so much easier if we just brought you back!"
"No, no, please! Mama!" Roman slid off the couch and kneeled at her feet, balled his fists in her skirt like a child.
"That's what I thought." Mama smiled as she looked down her nose at him. "Do as I say." She ruffled his hair. "I don't care if she won't give you the time of day. You are handsome; any girl would love to be your wife. You are already 23, you should be engaged by now. I don't care what you have to do to get her." She waved her hands airily. "Do what you must. Anything, everything."
"Yes Mama, of course." Romanov laid his head in her lap as he sat on his knees in front of her. He hated his mother for how she acted. He hated Vaslav for what he kept doing. He hated how he was too weak to push either of them away. He loved Anya, with all his heart. She just...

---

"Romanov! What are you doi-"
He cut her off with a sloppy kiss. Anya tried to push away, but Romanov had his arms around her shoulders in a vice grip.

Rehearsal was over. It had been particularly grueling this night. The ballet company was opening their first ever production of Swan Lake the next night, and everybody was pushed to their limit. Romanov had been watching Anya. She had been dancing as though she was hypnotized, floating on top of the stage like a ghost. Like an angel. Romanov was consumed by his total obsession. She was his life. What he lived for. Her white blonde hair, how it stuck to the back of her neck, slick with sweat. How her bowed lips turned crimson as she danced, blood pounding through her veins. When she had her back to him Romanov could count her ribs, shadowed beneath her ivory skin. He wanted everything that was Anya. Her body, mind, soul. Her heart.

But Anya's heart was confused by a man named Gustav. Romanov hated him. Anya spent all her time with Gustav, making Romanov very jealous. She even started a rumor about getting engaged. That was going too far. He wanted her; she obviously wanted him back but was playing hard to get. Romanov was gorgeous. He was the best dancer in the troupe; he had money, prestige, he could give her anything. Everything. Anya was the only thing he lived for, and now he had her.

She was trying to get away, struggling in his iron grip, clawing at his face, his neck. But now that he had her in his arms, he wasn’t about to let her get away. He could feel her pulse getting weaker; he was holding it in his palms. He was in control. Romanov didn't notice when she passed out.

Roman's ears had been deafened by lust. When the door to the dressing room burst open, he stumbled back in surprise, tripping over Anya's body.

"WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON IN HERE!?"

"Anya!" Gustav shouted and ran forward, throwing himself on the floor beside her. He pulled her limp body into his arms. He brushed the damp hair out of her eyes, used his sleeve to wipe Roman's blood off her face. He looked up at Romanov. "You're a monster." His voice was steely, barely above a whisper. "Get out of this room now. If I ever see you again, I swear to god you'll be a dead man."
Roman almost laughed. "I'm the Prince of Russia," he spat out, forcing the words between his teeth. "There is NOTHING you can do to me." Roman turned on his heel and walked out, the broken wheels in his mind beginning to slowly turn with thoughts of revenge.
Mama was pleased her son had finally taken some initiative. The rumors of Vaslav and her son were now about Romanov and Anya. Mama was pleased; she could have cared less about Anya, as long as those despicable rumors were silenced.

---

It was opening night of Swan Lake, intermission. Roman was in his dressing room with Vaslav, surrounded by piles of roses; their heady scent clouding his mind. He was already in his white feathered frock and stockings with Vaslav touching up his makeup. He was almost ready.

"Roman darling, you look spectacular." Vaslav stepped closer, his hands fiddling with the hem of Roman's suit, adjusting it needlessly. "What are you doing after the show?"
Roman wasn't really feeling talkative. "I'm going away."
"Can I come with you?" Vaslav stepped even closer, their knees touching. He wrapped his arms up around Roman's strong shoulders, leaning his head against his chest. "Where are you going?"
"I'm going out. You don't want to come." Roman was lost in his mind, far away from Vaslav and the theater.
"I'll follow." Vaslav whispered, leaning up on his toes and brushing his lips against Roman's. The touch jolted Roman back to earth. He pushed Vaslav away roughly. "I told you to stop doing that!" He wasn't quite shouting, but Vaslav backed away. Romanov could be very intimidating.

Mama poked her head into the room and frowned when she saw Vaslav. "Roman, darling, you must be on the stage in three minutes. Get out here now." For the first time, Romanov could not read any emotion in her eyes.

He left Vaslav behind, standing amongst the roses in his room without a second thought. He had one thing on his mind; Gustav.

Roman found him easily. He was in his dressing room, preparing for the second half of the performance. Romanov stepped in the doorway. "Good evening Gustav." He was careful to keep his voice steady. Gustav turned form where he was standing, adjusting the back of his wig with a hand mirror.
"Get the hell out of here." he spat, venom dripping from his words.
"I don't think you know why I'm here."
"Enlighten me."
Roman stepped inside the room, closing the door quietly behind him. He took a slow step forward, then another, kept moving until they were face to face.
"You stole Anya from me."
"Wha-"
Roman lunged at Gustav before he could finish speaking, arms outstretched. He grabbed his neck and dragged them both to the floor with a thud. Gustav landed hard on his elbow with a crack and cried out, dropping the mirror still in his hand. He was strong, but down an arm, Roman had him pinned in a second, knees on either side of his head. His hands never left Gustav's throat, tightening his grip. Gustav choked opening and closing his mouth like a dying fish. He was flailing under Romanov, trying to push him off. It was only a matter of time now. Romanov smiled.

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