Bronya Zaychik was not thankful for a lot for most of her life. It was enough to just be thankful that she was alive despite all the horrors she had lived through. Lately, though, she had begun wishing that she could go back to those days, where all that mattered in her life was that she was alive to perform another assignment. Life felt so simple back then, when all that mattered was her skills as an assassin; none of this complicated mess about feelings and friends and precious belongings.
She shook her head. She was getting too caught up in her thoughts. She had to do this. She had to return back to her home at the Orphanage. The first home she ever had. Even as she stood in front of those grand doors, that nostalgia was all she could think of. It was better than thinking about the awful timing she had. She had returned to Siberia on the week before Thanksgiving, a holiday celebrating family unity, in order to inform that an adopted family would be forever broken. It was a burden she would not wish on any person, especially when she was the one responsible for breaking that family.
Bronya tapped at the button to hear trilling of a choir of bells. Even after all these years, the bells still rang as clearly as she remembered. She stood uneasily in front of the door while her thoughts raced about who would answer. She hoped that it would be أنت, at least they'd be able to listen. She'd even missed them a little, having lost contact after leaving for Saint Freya. Suddenly, she heard the door click. The door tenaciously opened up and...her eyes opened. This person was different, but it was still أنت nonetheless and she looked no different than she did years ago. "Hello, أنت. Bronya...I have something that I must discuss with you." Her grey eyes looked up at you, bearing a wavering resolve you don't recall her ever having. "I request permission to enter..."
