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Jesus, she was chatty. Feliks had been expecting some simple, unrevealing “I’m an orphan” answer, not a life story. Not to mention the sickening optimism. He would have envied her her naivete if he didn’t think it was so foolish. Of course, as he listened, admittedly intrigued by Katya’s memory loss, his mind couldn’t help but wander to the possibility… 

[color=8FA1B4]“A lot of children were lost in the siege,”[/color] he said absently, eyes on the fire. Nearly frozen to death in an alley, huh? He supposed he could relate, though his circumstances immediately after the siege had also involved a pile of corpses and a gunshot wound. 

There was a silence between them for a moment, Feliks turning his options over in his mind. He knew it was foolish, and impossible, but he simply couldn’t keep Katya’s eerie resemblance to Katerina from his mind. But Katerina was dead, he was sure of it. So why did he keep wondering if it was possible?

He supposed the ten million rubles might be part of it. 

But it was ridiculous! What, was he meant to believe that God happened to smile upon him today, inform him of the reward offered by the Dowager Empress and then just drop a reincarnated Katerina in his lap? Preposterous. She was dead, long dead, along with the rest of the Vasilievs. Along with his mother, and every other innocent soul the Bolsheviks thought deserved to die that night. That reward was just the last remnant of desperate hope from a heartsick old woman in Paris. 

[color=8FA1B4]“...I’ll see about those papers,”[/color] Feliks said finally, grasping the arm of the chair by the fire and using it to hoist himself painfully back to his feet. He clenched his jaw with the effort, but held in his usual groan, not one to complain around company. Already stiff from having been kneeling, his limp was a bit more pronounced than normal as he made his way over to his shelf, pulling out a folder and flipping through some delicate-looking documents within. Feliks stared intently at them, thinking. She needed a permanent exit visa to Paris, fine, but that meant she needed a passport to attach it to, which meant she needed a picture and a full name, information on her date and place of birth, occupation, marital status, all manner of overbearing government-required personal details. From someone who remembered none of it. Excellent. 

They were just going to have to get creative. 

He fingered through some other documents on his shelf, grateful to find a blank copy of a passport document ready to go. [color=8FA1B4]“I’ll need some more information from you - we might need to fabricate a lot of it - and you’ll need to get your picture taken,”[/color] he explained, not looking over. He pulled a few more things from the shelf and crossed over to the document-strewn table, sitting gratefully at it.[color=8FA1B4] “I know someone who can do that for you, though he doesn’t work for free. Once that’s done, I can have your documents completed in about a day.”[/color] 

Finally he looked up, over his shoulder at the girl by the fire. [color=8FA1B4]“Are you living nearby? You won’t want to go too far.”[/color]