Finally back, you lovely people! I still don't own Natasha, Pierre, and the Great Comet, though.


YEAR FIVE

Seeing Masha with her mother was painful to Lisa. It should've been. She had her father and she loved him very much. But ever since she was very young, she had wondered about her mother. Lisa had to have had one at one point. Yet, her father never talked about her.

It was the opposite for Masha. She had begun to love Pierre like a father. Sometimes, she wondered if he was her father. He treated her like a daughter. Masha knew that he wasn't. It was all a fantasy that she wouldn't live. Thinking of Pierre like a father seemed like she was betraying her own. Whoever he was.

The girls tried not to have any secrets between them. They talked about their parents all the time. Not the parents that they were missing. That was the only secret that they kept. It was too personal to share. But it was healthy to not tell everyone everything. Right?

Summer was approaching fast. Before long, their exams were over. Their rooms all packed up. And carriages arriving to take them home. Masha, like always, was going to St. Petersburg for holiday. The girls would have to make do with writing letters.

A familiar sleigh was approaching them. Lisa picked up her bag. She turned to her best friend. They shared a quick embrace.

"I'm going to miss you, Masha," Lisa whispered.

"Yeah, me too."

Lisa entered the sleigh. Pierre was beaming. The father and daughter shared a quick hug before she took a seat. Before leaving, she vowed that during the next two months, she would ask him about her mother. Now was not that time. They had so much catching up to do. Lisa could do that later.

Perhaps, her friend was wearing off on Masha. The day after they arrived in St. Petersburg, she approached her mother right away. Natasha was writing a letter to someone (the name on the paper was Pierre, but there were several people named that, so Masha couldn't be so sure) when she opened the door.

"Good morning, Masha," her mother greeted with a smile.

"Mama," might as well go straight for it, "I was wondering about my father."

Natasha paled, setting her quill down. "Why do you ask?"

"I just want to know who he is." Masha shrugged, sitting on the floor.

Her mother thought for a moment. Then, she took a deep breath and pulled up a chair which she sat in. Natasha took her child's hands. It had been so many years since she had held those hands for the first time. Even now, her heart blossomed with love for her.

"You are thirteen now," Natasha began, "It's about time that you knew." She sighed. "I met your father for the first time at an opera. I was engaged to be married to someone else then. A prince. But your father-Anatole stole my heart. . ."

With that, she told Masha everything. About how she had to stop her father from dueling Anatole. And how heartbroken she had been when she found out that he was already married. At the moment that they were supposed to be married. Masha listened, on edge the entire story. Once Natasha got to the end, she asked,

"And you haven't seen him since?"

She shook her head. "No, darling. But if he ever came back to meet you, I just know that he would love you. Masha, I don't want him in our lives. If you ever think that he's here, please tell me. I can't have him ruin our lives again."

Trusting her mother, Masha nodded her head. "I promise, Mama."


Lisa, however, wasn't have much success. She wanted to know more about her mother. Sometimes, she had dreams about her. But every time that she vowed to herself that she would talk to her father, Lisa found an excuse not to. He seemed busy or she just wanted to have a peaceful meal.

She had another one of those dreams again. This time, it was of a woman. Dead. On the floor. Her body spread out. Lisa had gone down the kitchen in the dream, thirsty. Instead, she found this woman. She had dark skin like herself. Her curls were spread over the floor. Lisa knew that this was her mother. A bottle was besides the woman. Her mother.

Having those dreams, put her in a quiet mood. At dinner, usually, she would be bursting with excitement and stories. Instead Lisa was pushing her food around on her plate. She wasn't hungry. Not anymore.

Pierre noticed, of course. So he did as any good parent would do. He asked her what was wrong. Lisa sighed. But opened her mouth to speak.

"I've been wondering about Mama," she told him.

Ice seared through Pierre's chest. She was thirteen. Of course, she was going to wonder about her mother. He could keep the truth from her forever. Though, Lisa was going to be killed when she found out that she was the illegitimate child of Dolokhov and Hélène.

"Your mother. . . Your mother, my wife." His face was already turning red. "Hélène, she had an. . . affair with a man named Dolokhov. And from that. . . came you."

Lisa paled. "Are you sure that you aren't my father?"

"Your mother refused to. . ."

"Oh," she interrupted so he wouldn't continue. This was no proper conversation.

So she was the child of a wh*re. Her stomach dropped. Lisa wasn't who she thought that she was. She wasn't Lisa Bezukhov, like she always thought she was. Now she was Lisa Dolokhov. Her birth father didn't even know she existed.

It was numb. Everything was after that. Then, late at night, as Lisa thought about her parents, her mind came across the possibilities that could have happened to her if Pierre hadn't stepped up and took her in. She loved him like a father. That was what he would always be to her. Lisa climbed out of bed to find him in his study. He looked up.

"What are you doing up, Lisa?" he asked, gently.

Lisa didn't respond. She just held him tight. She couldn't explain her gratitude.

"Thank you," she whispered into his shoulder, "You'll always be my true papa."

"And you'll always be my true daughter."


Thanks for reading!