****
Ria rolls over in her sleep. A long foot slowly nudges a pillow to the floor. One of her slender hands grips the other pillow on its cool side. Ria breathes slowly. She dreams. Normally her dreams are crazy; filled with adventure, technicolour, and nonsense.
This one is different.
She stands in a lavish room. It is draped with dark red curtains, bright, sunlit mirrors, and gold worked into various patterns in the molding on the ceiling and the shine of the walls. The furniture is no different. Gold satin cushions on mahogany chairs surround a huge, hand-carved table. Unfathomable light sparkles from a crystal chandalier larger than the bed in which she sleeps. She suddenly becomes aware of a man at the table, hands enveloped in thick dark hair.
He looks up; sees her.
Ria takes a step back as the odd little man gets up from his seat. Little is an understatement. He is the shortest man Ria has ever set eyes on and yet--there is something so large about his piercing beady eyes, crisp, white uniform with gold decoration and shoulder plates larger than the crown of his head. He has authority. Ria is curious. He walks toward her, hands clasped in spotless white gloves behind his back. He is like a hawk and she the mouse he fancies for his next grisly meal.
Ria gulps.
"So," begins the man. Even this first word drips with a French accent. Ria knows who this is. "You are in my drawing room," he continues. "You like it? Of course you do! It is perfect. But you are not here to look at my flawless style or to look out of pretty windows. Come. You will sit." He points to one of the elegant chairs and Ria obeys. "On to business, then. I don't like to dribble over trifles, especially not with the likes of you. Look at these!" He slaps down a handful of reports in front of Ria, making her jump. "Russia is preparing for war. They wish to recapture Poland. The sheer gall of it--I could invade. Or I could let it be." A sneer works its way around his mouth, threading his eyes with malice. "It would be easy, you know. Everyone tells me that expanding the Grande Armee was a silly thing; they
Ria rolls over in her sleep. A long foot slowly nudges a pillow to the floor. One of her slender hands grips the other pillow on its cool side. Ria breathes slowly. She dreams. Normally her dreams are crazy; filled with adventure, technicolour, and nonsense.
This one is different.
She stands in a lavish room. It is draped with dark red curtains, bright, sunlit mirrors, and gold worked into various patterns in the molding on the ceiling and the shine of the walls. The furniture is no different. Gold satin cushions on mahogany chairs surround a huge, hand-carved table. Unfathomable light sparkles from a crystal chandalier larger than the bed in which she sleeps. She suddenly becomes aware of a man at the table, hands enveloped in thick dark hair.
He looks up; sees her.
Ria takes a step back as the odd little man gets up from his seat. Little is an understatement. He is the shortest man Ria has ever set eyes on and yet--there is something so large about his piercing beady eyes, crisp, white uniform with gold decoration and shoulder plates larger than the crown of his head. He has authority. Ria is curious. He walks toward her, hands clasped in spotless white gloves behind his back. He is like a hawk and she the mouse he fancies for his next grisly meal.
Ria gulps.
"So," begins the man. Even this first word drips with a French accent. Ria knows who this is. "You are in my drawing room," he continues. "You like it? Of course you do! It is perfect. But you are not here to look at my flawless style or to look out of pretty windows. Come. You will sit." He points to one of the elegant chairs and Ria obeys. "On to business, then. I don't like to dribble over trifles, especially not with the likes of you. Look at these!" He slaps down a handful of reports in front of Ria, making her jump. "Russia is preparing for war. They wish to recapture Poland. The sheer gall of it--I could invade. Or I could let it be." A sneer works its way around his mouth, threading his eyes with malice. "It would be easy, you know. Everyone tells me that expanding the Grande Armee was a silly thing; they
