She Knew Me...But How?

We walked by the Kremlin, Anastasia and me, as she was telling me how much it must of hurt. I asked her, "how what hurt?". Anastasia grinned, a very, very rare, beautiful sight to behold, and proceeded to decribe, in detail, how the reaction to the chemicals were so painful. How the head and face swelled. So much so, that the eyes were but slits to peer through. She described the blistering and weeping of the scalp and the stinging pain which accompanied the constant ache of the head. I said "Anastasia, my love, is this what had happened to you?" Her eyes peered deeply into mine and she told me "No. That it was the color." The color of blood and death?, I asked. She said the attempt at the change to color. To color hair from a not so lightly grayed to a darker color. The skin would not permit this and reacted violently. So violently that a doctor and serious, strong medication was needed to quell the revolt the body was making or poisoning would have occured and possibly death. I asked her "Was this what happened to you?" Then suddenly I awoke. All I have told you is true. It was written. There for anyone to see. Some time has passed since that eerie day and I've grown to love this girl. I don't really know her. I think of her daily. Of how time can seem so misaligned that we did not meet when we could have shared times together. I don't know how this happened. How she described this thing and it appeared in writing. Only a very few people knew exactly what happened. Most thought it was because of a battle, a fight. But she exposed me completely and lovingly, I thought. Almost taking the burden upon herself. I had been exposed! v