Could he have already passed? Is his ghost saying goodbye to me? Am I ready? No, of course not!

It didn't sound like Alexei, unless I didn't hear properly. I was asleep, after all.

I fumbled for a match to light a candle. "Who's there?" I hissed in the dark. The moonlight wasn't aiding my vision. "It's Shura," the voice replied as another candle was lit. "Shura? What's happening?" I asked, fearful like a child. "It's your father. He called asking for his children to come quickly." I heard rustling, then a lamp turned on.

Dread came over me. He was slipping away. "He'll wait for the schwipsig" he isn't waiting for me. Shura fetched my robe and we packed clothes hastily. I don't even know what I packed. I threw clothes, my diary and a knitting project into my suitcase and dashed out to the corridor. I rushed down to the foyer, where Pierre stood, holding luggage for him and Shura. We climbed into a car and the chauffeur took off. I was exhausted but trembling from anxiety. Every once in a while, a weight would pull me down further than I already am sinking. It was setting in; he was almost gone.

After nearly about a half an hour, we arrived at Alexander Palace, my childhood home. I caught a glimpse of a clock in the foyer, it was nearly one thirty in the morning. I ran up to his bedroom, where I found him surrounded by Mama, Papa, Ileana, Olga and Tatiana. Olga happened to be visiting when he had his accident, so she has been here since yesterday morning with him. Tatiana, too, was urged to come, like me. I didn't see Maria. Perhaps she hasn't arrived yet, I'm sure they wouldn't forget to tell her.

"Nastya," Alexei spoke softly.

"Alyosha," I gasped. "I'm here."

No one spoke. The room was absolutely silent. No one cried, either. Mama's eyes were glazed over, she didn't cry or acknowledge me. She didn't say a word or prayer. Papa gave me a kiss on the forehead. "Welcome home, Nastasia." He said. Some welcome! I'm coming home to my suffering brother!

Ileana's eyes never left Alexei's face. Olga only glanced at me, unable to speak. Tatiana gave me a worried look.

I don't know how long we sat there. Alexei often groaned in pain, his head massively swollen. Ileana would drape wet cloths over his injury. I hadn't noticed Dr. Botkin and Dr. Derevenko sitting in the corner. The room was dark, and every once in a while they took his pulse and examined his head. They looked as though they were near falling asleep.

At two thirty in the morning, the door burst open. Maria entered, and immediately burst into tears. She lived in St. Petersburg most of the time, although Louis often went away to England. She immediately kissed Alexei's face and fussed over him. Every once in a while we would fuss over him in some way, embracing the last hours of being able to do so.

One may wonder, where is Rasputin? The doted upon mystic who should save my brother? He was at his home in Siberia. Mama called him on the telephone, sent telegrams, letters, and even messengers to Siberia, but never heard a response. Had she given up? One of the worst parts of Alexei's suffering is that Mama must be feeling so abandoned. The one man she thought could save her son would speak to her. She's given up all hope, I believe.

At four in the morning I finally dressed in a simple white blouse and grey skirt. I did my hair correctly again, anxious to dress quick to ensure I didn't miss him if he goes.

We were balancing on a cliff. No one knew when he might die, and the uncertainty was unbearable. No one wanted to leave the room or look away for even a moment. None of us could bear receiving the news second hand.

Soon after I returned to the room, Alexei said, "Olishka, come here." She went to sit at his head. We all moved to the other side of the bedroom. I still heard their conversation.

Alexei said, "Olishka, I know you're struggling with Carol. But remember you have a lovely family that will support you even if Carol doesn't. Don't let him ruin your spirit with his foolishness. He's an imbecile not to love and adore you every waking moment." They both gave a small chuckle. Tears filled Olga's eyes. "Alyosha, thank you. I'm going to miss you more than you'll ever know!" Tears slid down her pale cheeks.

"Also," Alexei went on. "I'm sorry for slapping you," Olga looked confused, and so he continued. "When I wanted to join the parade. You stopped me, as you should. I slapped you in anger." Olga laughed. "Oh, of course you are forgiven! I cannot believe you thought I wouldn't!" They both laughed for a moment. "Well, I do remember that. I've never eaten more dessert than that week," Alexei smiled. Olga kissed his cheek. "Will you fetch Tatiana?" He asked. She nodded, and Tatiana stood.

"Ah, Tatya. Come," he waved her over. She took Olga's place at his head.

"I'll never be tsar." He took her hand. With a horrified look in her eye, she gave a small nod.

"It's only the truth," he tried to get her to look him in the eye. But she didn't want to cry looking at him.

"I know," she whispered.

"Do you know what the first thing I'd do if I were tsar?" Tatiana shook her head.

"Well," he continued. "I would make sure that a daughter of a tsar could become the next ruler of Russia. So that if a tsar half as lucky as Papa has a daughter even half as amazing as you, he would pass knowing his country would go into the responsible hands of her." Tatiana finally met his eyes.

"Oh, Alexei!" She cried.

"Goodbye, dear Tatiana." She paused then stood to fetch Maria.

"Mashka, I will miss your strong arms carrying me when I was hurt." He chuckled. Maria wept while quietly laughing.

"I was terribly disappointed when I couldn't carry you anymore. You grew into a man." She said sadly.

"In Heaven you'll carry me again, I know it." Alexei almost tripped over his words. Maria nodded and kissed his cheek. She adjusted his cloth on his head and walked to me.

He wanted to speak to me. I know I'm not ready. I cannot face him on his deathbed. What will he say to me?

I walked with a churning stomach and shaking knees. I sat at his head, like my sisters.

"Nastya, I know you aren't married. Quite honestly, I remember clearly that evening back in 1921, when our sisters were getting engaged and married, and I was falling in love with Ileana. You had rejected a marriage proposal, we were in Livadia. You fought Mama, who wanted you to accept the proposal, and we took a walk in the garden, late in the night. You told me how much you didn't want to marry, and how you couldn't believe Mama would force you to marry someone you didn't love."

"I remember," I squeaked. I did remember that. A distant English cousin asked for my hand, but I said no. Mama was furious, and I wrote all about it in my diary.

"Nastasia, don't let them force you into what you don't want. It's not fair to anyone, especially not yourself. Be your own person, a new type of grand duchess. You can, and should. You'll always have my support, no matter where I am." Tears filled my eyes.

"I have something for you," he said, a sad gleam in his eye. He has something for me? He's on his deathbed and he's thinking of something to give me?

He pointed to the top drawer of his side table. I opened it, and he took out a small leather book. It was an olive green, with my initials engraved. I can't recall what it was.

"You gave this to me after Spala. It's a book of jokes for me to read when you couldn't recite them in my room when I was hurt." He handed it to me. I carefully unclipped the gold latch, to reveal to the world old pages of my handwriting when I was eleven years old.

The first page said "October 4th, 1912. For Alyosha Nikolaevich, schwipsig loves you." The book was full of jokes of all sorts, short humorous stories, riddles, and tongue twisters. Suddenly I remembered sitting in a dim bedroom at Spala, at my desk ignoring my French workbooks. The candlelight was dying and the room was dark and musty. I spent days after the beginning of the attack thinking up every joke I've ever told and writing it down. I wanted him to always have a bit of happiness with him when I couldn't be with him, which was often. Our parents often didn't like us in the room unless we tended to him. I think they didn't want to suffer the stress they could bear themselves.

"I forgot," I said in a hushed, shocked voice. He remembered?

"You still have this?"

"Of course! I brought it anywhere we traveled. Who knew when I would have an accident? And now it's yours again."

"Thank you," a tear slipped out.

"You're welcome, perfect Nastya."

I didn't realize I was back on the other side of the room. I was crying until I sat down in my chair again.

Mama stared at my lap, where my joke book lay. "Mama?" I asked softly.

"Spala," she said, deadly quiet.

"Yes. Do you remember?" I asked gently. It was the first time I've heard her speak yet.

"What a horrible few weeks."

"Indeed."

"If we get through that, we can get through this." Papa said with hope that none of us believed.

"No," Mama said, and we all turned to look at her.

"This is not the same. We will never be the same." Each word of her last sentence was like the gong of a grandfather clock; slow, long, echoing in our minds forever.