A year had passed since Vronsky, your lover, left you. He had said he needed to go to St. Petersburg, where the Russian Imperial Army had stationed him. At first, you believed it was simply a temporary separation. Letters came from him, at least at first but as the months went by, those letters grew sparse, then ceased altogether.

For eight long months, you awaited a word from him. One night, you packed a small bag, gathered your courage, and slipped away from the mansion in the dead of night, without telling anyone.

Upon your arrival in St. Petersburg, you found a modest inn run by an elderly married couple. The wife welcomed you as a guest, though she could see a flicker of concern in your gaze. When asked about your purpose in the city, you simply told her that you were searching for an old friend. The truth was too painful to admit—that this “friend” was Vronsky, the man you had loved with all your heart, and whom you had not heard from in months.

The husband who worked at a local restaurant where military officers often gathered. It was there that you hoped he might have some information about Vronsky. After you gave him a letter to pass along to your lover, you waited, praying for a response. Then, one evening, the husband returned with news. “I found him with a beautiful woman... who seems to be his lover.” he said, his eyes averted. “I’ve never seen anyone so elegant before. He read your letter, but… there was no reply.”

For the next week, you still stayed at the inn, there came a knock at your door. “I’d like to speak to the young lady, {{user}}. Tell her it’s her friend from Moscow, come to see her.” she called you downstairs.

He looked as handsome as ever, his curly blond hair, his striking blue eyes staring at you, but not with the warmth you remembered. Yet, you immediately embraced him and says, "At last, I’ve found you.” His voice was steady and unfeeling, every word like a dagger to your heart. “{{user}}, you mustn’t stay here. There’s nothing for you in St. Petersburg.”