The queen raises her golden index finger and nods yes. Before the crowd, the Illuminata makes the king’s children appear, one in each of the queen’s arms. They don’t put the noose around her neck. They put the royal cloak around her shoulders as she holds her children.

All three executioners spend the afternoon trying to put the noose around the Illuminata’s neck. But each time they think they’ve succeeded, her head is somewhere else. Two of them end up hanging each other. Only one remains. Obeying the light emitted by this frozen woman, the last executioner puts the noose around his own neck and hangs himself.

When night falls, the queen goes to the window. Her children are sleeping. The king is attending to his duties. The queen mother is plotting; rumors are flying in the court. The Illuminata passes in front of the royal palace followed by the youth of the city, celebrating with pipes and drums. Some dance, others turn somersaults, some stamp their feet and sing. They’re drunk with joy.

Because she’s alone, Anna, the Forest Girl, Cinderella, the queen, tries to speak. At first, all that comes out is a rasping sound, but then her throat clears, and a stream of words tumbles forth—everything you have just read.

Part Five: Finale: St. Petersburg, June 1905

PART FIVE

FINALE

St. Petersburg, June 1905

39. After Reading

39. After Reading

Claudia finishes the last line of Anna’s manuscript. “That’s it?” She’s not satisfied by the ending. She flips through the other version of the novel to see if it had a different one in its previous incarnation. “What? This other manuscript is completely different! No girl, no Illuminata, no queen, no king, no stepmother, no witches, no fairies. It’s a completely different story about Peter the Great’s African, Gannibal, an adventure. I’ll read it tomorrow.”

The sun has yet to rise. Claudia has a long, difficult day ahead. She carefully returns the second manuscript to its box. When she’s about to set the bound manuscript on top of it, a loose page slips out.

It’s a different kind of paper entirely, pale pink, a faint trace of scent remains: “A perfumed letter.” It’s covered from top to bottom in handwriting even smaller than the second manuscript’s, tight calligraphy traced carefully by Karenina. Like the words have been painted. At the top, it says, “Strictly private. For A.V.”

“It’s a love letter!” Claudia’s heart skips a beat. She’s thrilled; she adores a love story. “A.V.? It’s for Vronsky! What does it say?” Claudia reads it aloud quietly, in her own sweet voice. “My love: what I have experienced with you is shameful, but I’m addicted.”

She stops reading. Without realizing what she’s doing, she has pressed the note against her breast. She’s deeply moved. She sniffs the paper again.