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Natasha Gone

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      Natasha sat on her white sofa, absent-mindedly stroking the red blankets. She was tormented by her choice to break with Andrey Bolkonsky to elope with Anatole Kuragin.
That man, however handsome, wasn't to be trusted. He never told Natasha where they were going, never told her when, never even told her that he was married. When she found out, she had wept for hours, feelings of betrayal overtaking her. Natasha guessed it was fitting, she betrayed her fiance and was betrayed by her secret lover. Karma, I suppose. God, how could she have been so stupid? She had loved Andrey for over a year, and instead chose to leave him for a man she had spoken to twice over the course of three days. Her cousin, Sonya, had reported to her just under an hour ago that Andrey didn't want to ask her for her hand again. Sonya had held Natasha as she cried, stroking her hair, whispering comforting words. However much Natasha had wanted to hate Sonya for ruining her elope, she couldn't bear to have no one. Besides, Anatole hadn't truly planned to marry her anyways, he just wanted his pleasure. Sonya had saved her. Just after, Marya came in, apologizing for her scolding. She knew how sad Natasha was, now that she had forever lost both her loves. Now, however, Natasha was alone.
      On this very couch was where she had lamented about Anatole. Marya had been so kind despite her anger, giving Natasha blankets, a pillow, and flower water. She had acted like a spoiled little girl in that moment, and shied away from the unhappy memory. However, now all her memories seemed unhappy. Even the joyful ones made her want to go back and warn herself that it couldn't last. Nothing seemed truly happy anymore. The pillows seemed to blur into the sofa, the blood red blanket now looking more rust colored. Natasha wanted to claw off her beautiful fur coat, rip into shreds. On one hand, it would be a punishment, because she felt as though she didn't deserve anything that nice. On the other hand, destroying the coat would destroy a bit of her past life, help her start over. But a nudge wouldn't be enough. Maybe starting over in this life simply wouldn't do. Maybe she had to erase herself from this reality, this world. She knew how, had almost achieved it a few nights before. But, with all the arsenic in the house gone, what could she do? Was she doomed to suffer on this Earth until it really was her time? What if...what if this was her time? How would she know? How could she know? Natasha would just have to guess. If it was not her time, she would simply live, and have to try again later. If it was...
      Natasha hurried to the dressing room, grabbing her handheld mirror. It was nice, really, covered in jewels and engraved designs. Almost a bit of a shame to ruin it like this. Well, Natasha thought, sometimes you must bring others down with you. She walked calmly to her room, before she was struck with an idea. If she laid on a red blanket, no one would see the blood. Natasha grabbed the blanket from the couch, wrapping it around her body like a cloak.


      Sitting on her bed, blanket drooping off of one shoulder, Natasha pondered her decision. She knew she may regret it, that it would hurt others in her life, but now was not the time to be cowardly. Nearly all her life, she had taken the safe route. Today, that would change. Before she could back out, Natasha threw the mirror at the wall, shattering it. It felt nice, seeing the beautiful thing shatter into oblivion. Just like she was about to. With shaking hands, Natasha picked up the biggest shard off the ground. Turning it over once, she saw her reflection. A blotchy, tear stained face was all that could be seen. She no longer shone, no longer smiled. If this is what she was reduced to, Natasha wouldn't take it. She rolled up the sleeve of her coat, and, before she could change her mind, dragged the glass down her wrist. One cut for every person she had hurt. One for Sonya, one for Marya, one for Pierre, one for Anatole, and most importantly, one for Andrey. It was unpleasant at first, but now, laying on her bed, she felt only the sun from the glass ceiling on her skin. As the last of Natasha's vision faded away, she could have sworn she saw a swelling of light. Maybe that was death, just light. Ah, but it couldn't be, because here she was, still hearing, nearly asleep. Just before drifting off, perhaps forever, she faintly heard someone shout out: