A small tendril of anger flairs up within her, the ever-present spark seizing hold of his words and using that to grow. Anya knows that life isn't fair, that it doesn't always make sense. She's only been here a little while, in a city full of lights and madness, but it has done little to dissuade of her that notion. But this sliver of anger is more than that. It's at the unfairness that she lived a life that exists only in flashes, that she believed that her dreams were based in fact. That she was made to believe someone she wasn't at all.

Hearing Gleb's words, the conviction in his voice even as it quiets frustrates her. How dare he repeat what Dimitry and Vlad made her believe, what she wanted to believe. That she had a grandmother who lived in Paris, that she was a lost princess, that she had a history that others knew and could help her remember. He's repeating this lie that he warned her about.

He's acting like it's true and she hates him a little bit for it. For believing what she can't, what she won't any longer. For coming to Paris knowing if he's right, if she was Anastasia, than she would not be allowed a happily ever after. She would not be left alone.

"No, you're wrong," she repeats with a fervent shake of her head, a defiant set of her chin. "I can't be here. The Dowager Empress wouldn't even look at me, she told me to go away. That I was a liar like the others. Why would she change her mind?"

The whistle and click of the tea kettle startles her. "The water's ready. I should get the tea. We need tea."