Rasputina swayed with the gentle, rhythmic rocking of the train as she flipped to the next page of A Tale of Two Cities. 

“And the new era began. The king was tried, doomed, and beheaded; the Republic of Liberty, Equality, Frater—a-atishoo!” She suddenly sneezed and rubbed her nose in dissatisfaction. “Is someone talking bad about me?” 

While muttering under her breath, she looked up from the book she had been reading aloud and gazed at Anastasia lying supine on her bed. The soft yellowish light from the table gas lamp flickered upon her face; her expression was serene, as if she was in a deep reverie. Her eyes were closed, and her rosy lips curled into just the faintest smile.

“She actually fell asleep in minutes…is this story truly that uninteresting?” Rasputina closed the book on her lap and turned to the window. Pale silvery moonlight cast onto the olive expanses of the steppes slipping past the train. In the distance, velvet silhouettes of snow-capped mountains loomed against the murky night sky—which didn’t give her a good premonition. 

She stared at the ominous sky for a while. With a light frown, she pulled the curtain shut and closed the valve of the gas lamp. Though she had tried to make as little noise as possible, the hiss of the lamp caused Anastasia to furrow her brows ever so slightly. 

Rasputina tensed and looked at her, making sure that she didnʼt accidentally wake her up. 

The frown on Anastasiaʼs face eased, softening into a light smile, and she turned to the side facing Rasputina in her sleep. Beneath her thin batiste night-rail, her milky white breasts rose and fell evenly with each breath. She was the perfect combination of innocence and allure, and in that moment, Rasputina couldnʼt resist leaning in and kissing her softly on her forehead. 

“Have a good night, Anastasia,” she whispered and stepped out of the compartment, closing the door behind her.

The Wagon Lit conductor sitting in his seat at the end of the carriage hurriedly stood up upon seeing her enter the corridor; she waved him down and placed a finger to her lips. 

“Bonsoir, Your Grace,” he said in a lowered voice, bowing politely. “Are you going to retire now?” 

“I’d like to have a nightcap first, are you still serving drinks?”  

“Yes, Your Grace. What is your preferred mix?” 

“A pint of table beer, a tablespoonful of brandy, and two…no, three teaspoonful of brown sugar, if you may.” 

“Bien sûr. Please rest in your compartment first, I will bring it to you once it is prepared.” 

She nodded her head. “And did you bring me what I’d asked of you earlier?” 

“I’ve prepared one copy of the evening paper in the coffee table of your drawing room, Your Grace.” 

“Thank you very much, um…what is your name again, sorry?” 

“…Machel, Your Grace.” 

Rasputina gave him a pleasant smile before entering her own compartment. The brass gas lamp, which she had left burning throughout the night, illuminated the drawing room with a gentle aureate glow that invited warmth and cosiness. She placed her book down on the coffee table and picked up the complimentary newspaper; sitting down with her legs stretched out comfortably on the sofa, she licked her thumb and flipped through the newspaper until she found the desired headline. 

Vezmiali Sultana Departs Constantinople for First International Visit in Two Years — 50,000 Attend Send-off Ceremony at The Seraglio.

“The Sultana of the Federation, huh.” She pursed her lips in thought. “If I recall correctly, sheʼs the daughter of the ruling Sultan, nicknamed ‘The Butterfly Enchantressʼ…an interesting person, indeed.”  

Rasputina traced a finger around the Sultanaʼs alluring face in the vignette photograph, who had a small, enigmatic smile playing on her full lips.

“I eagerly anticipate our first meeting, Vezmiali,” she murmured.

 

---

 

Voiture-Salon

In the lounge car, two gentlemen sat across each other in deep-red velvet upholstered armchairs. The wan light, cast by the table gas lamp in between them, reflected off the smoke rising from the tip of Theo’s lit cigarette. 

“Monsieur Cath, do you have any family?” Alphand asked casually as he cracked open the tin of tobacco and slowly filled the bowl of his pipe. 

Theo took a small drag and exhaled, tasting the sweet nicotine on his tongue. “My mother and sister. I haven’t seen them since leaving my hometown, however.” 

“Younger or older sister?” 

“…younger. She’s a fainéant, that little rascal.” 

Alphand chuckled as he used his thumb to pack in the tobacco. “I have a younger brother, so I understand your agony, Monsieur Cath.”

Theo merely gave him a wry smile. “Iʼd prefer a brother over a sister, if I have to be frank.” 

“No, no, having a sister is better. Think about it, if you run out of options, thereʼs always your sibling to rely on,” he argued. 

“Thatʼs supposing I have a close relationship with my sister,” Theo said dismissively. “Incest is out of the question.” 

“Must be tough, huh…” Alphand lit the bowl with a match and inhaled deeply, closing his eyes for a long moment. “I have an engagement with my cousin of the same age, and if things go smoothly, weʼll be having our wedding next year.” 

“Bien fait, Monsieur Alphand.”

“H-hein? Monsieur Cath, you mean to congratulate me…right?”

“Well, of course. Bien fait for securing a stable marriage and my best wishes to you and your cousin.” 

Alphand frowned, but gave a small shrug and drew another puff from his pipe. “So, are your mother and sister doing well?”

“I guess…” Theo sucked in his cigarette and exhaled the white mist. “Last I heard from them, my mother found work as a milkwoman, while my sister managed to get a loan to study at the local art school. Itʼs been an ambitious dream of hers to become an artist and have her paintings displayed worldwide for everyone to admire.” 

“Thatʼs good, pretty good indeed. One should always follow where their passion leads to.” Alphand chuckled ruefully. “Just be sure to follow the right passion, I must add. My brother, he became an engineer—a dream of his as well—but is planning to quit the profession once he finishes up his last project.” 

“What happened?” Theo asked concernedly. 

“Have you heard about the controversy over the new tower they are building in the centre of Hacerne, in Elvetica?” 

“A tower…ah, you must be referring to the Eiffel Tower? Itʼs being built as an attraction for the Exposition Universelle, isnʼt it?” 

“Yes…thatʼs the tower my brother designed. A magnificent feat of engineering, if you ask me, but thereʼs just too much criticism over the appearance of the tower from the public and higher-ups.” Alphand sighed and drew a long drag from his pipe. “The original plan was to build it in the capital, but it was rejected and relocated to Sirap. Yet, the Grand Duke opposed its construction as well, and now itʼs a mere temporary attraction in the Exposition, ready to be demolished right after it has served its use. Such a humiliation is too much for my brother to bear, regrettably.” 

He nodded his head, flicking the ashes from his cigarette into the glass ashtray. “A shame, truly…”

A low rumble from outside the carriage interrupted their conversation briefly. 

“Thunder?” Theo asked, mildly surprised. 

“Seems like it,” Alphand replied, gazing skyward out of the window. “A violent tempest is probably on its way.”

He finished his cigarette in one inhale. “Hopefully there wonʼt be a snowdrift because of that.”

“Canʼt do anything against an act of the Lord, eh? We will see what happens when we wake up in the morow.” Alphand knocked the ashes from his pipe into the same ashtray and  tucked it in his shirt pocket. “Letʼs go back to our compartment, shall we, Monsieur Cath?” 

 

---

 

“So that bastard Prince Arthur is attending the opening day too, huh…” Rasputina murmured to herself as she read the list of guests expected to attend the inauguration ceremony of the Exposition Universelle on the fifteenth of Solis. “…another troublesome fellow. I should warn Anastasia of him before we reach Hacerne.” 

She wrote his name down in the list on her notepad and let out a tired sigh; there were so many guests to keep track of that it hurt her brain to remember all of their names. 

Looking up from her notepad, she watched as water pelted the windows of her compartment. The dark streaks blurred the outside view and turned the distant mountains and steppes into a grey, indistinguishable mess. The pitter-patter of rain, mixed with the gentle clickety-clack of the train gliding along the track, soothed her nerves somewhat. 

She was on the verge of closing her eyes for a light doze when the Conductor knocked on the door.

“Your nightcap is ready, Your Grace. Compliments of the Wagon Lit.” 

“Please enter,” she said absent-mindedly, rubbing her eyes with the back of her hand. 

“Pardon my intrusion.” Machel stepped into her compartment through the door, holding a gold-plated serving tray on which a rotund, low-slung snifter filled with a brownish-red liquor to the curve. He glanced at her and quickly averted his gaze down to the coffee table. “Shall I put your drink down here, Your Grace?”

“Mm, merci.” 

He gracefully set the glass down right next to her book and took a step back, clasping the tray against his chest as he bowed deeply. “Then I shall take my leave, Your Grace. Bonne nuit.” 

“Bonne nuit à toi aussi…” Rasputina mumbled, wondering why Machel’s cheeks were oddly flushed as he hurriedly left the compartment. Then, her eyes flicked down to her open legs, poised in an accidental indecent position, and the answer immediately became obvious. 

“Oh…”

She realised there wasn’t any use demanding Machel to erase a sight that he had probably burned into his mind forever, so instead, she grabbed the snifter and downed her drink in one sorry gulp. 

“How am I going to sleep like this?!” she sobbed while simultaneously throwing the glass onto the carpet so that she wouldn’t break it. “Fuckkkk!!!”