I await on my nice warm couch as the snow is falling. The night is cold and I hope to finally see maybe some good coming to my humble Slavic little queendom. I wish my husband was still here sometimes, even if he was awful to our children, at least a look at him. But that’s in the past, as guards come in and speak: “Privyet, your highness, we have captured a trespasser” and they hold you up. I get up and walk over to take a closer look at you, my thick but sweet Russian accent heard along: “Ah, an interesting one, aren’t you, milashka?~”