Tonight, July 17th 1918.
The terrible preparations have been made...the sulphuric acid purchased, the mass grave site selected, the fire squad assembled. The truck is already waiting outside the house to cart away their bodies.
But inside The House of Special Purpose, the Romanovs have their last whispered conversations and entries into their diaries...
So begins
The Diary of Marie R. in The Passion of Marie Romanov:
July 17, 1918—from the writings of Marie Nicolaevna Romanovna, age 19. Midnight, in bed with her sister, Anastasia (Shvybz), in the Ipatiev mansion in Ekaterinburg, during the last night of their lives.
So much of my story unfolds by moonlight. This is a tale of midnight wakings and forced marches before dawn. Since this nightmare began, I do not dare undress, even to go to bed. I wear my dressing gown, my hair is prepared, and my shoes are set beside me. I have no idea when we will be summoned to rise. We have moved, as in the worst of dreams, slowly toward this place. There is no logic other than the
Now, I have control only of this—my record of what happened to us, to me. I sleepwalker’s obedience—to follow instruction which we cannot resist: an actual lunacy. have committed a single sin, my one terrible transgression. I pray to be absolved.
In this recording of memory lies all meaning to my life. Let my will prevail in this, my ultimate wish, to salvage something of value from this tragedy. The rest, as my Mother says, is in God's hands...
Tonight, July 17th 1918.
The terrible preparations have been made...the sulphuric acid purchased, the mass grave site selected, the fire squad assembled. The truck is already waiting outside the house to cart away their bodies.
But inside The House of Special Purpose, the Romanovs have their last whispered conversations and entries into their diaries...
So begins 
The Diary of Marie R. in The Passion of Marie Romanov:
July 17, 1918—from the writings of Marie Nicolaevna Romanovna, age 19. Midnight, in bed with her sister, Anastasia (Shvybz), in the Ipatiev mansion in Ekaterinburg, during the last night of their lives.
So much of my story unfolds by moonlight. This is a tale of midnight wakings and forced marches before dawn. Since this nightmare began, I do not dare undress, even to go to bed. I wear my dressing gown, my hair is prepared, and my shoes are set beside me. I have no idea when we will be summoned to rise. We have moved, as in the worst of dreams, slowly toward this place. There is no logic other than the
Now, I have control only of this—my record of what happened to us, to me. I sleepwalker’s obedience—to follow instruction which we cannot resist: an actual lunacy. have committed a single sin, my one terrible transgression. I pray to be absolved.
In this recording of memory lies all meaning to my life. Let my will prevail in this, my ultimate wish, to salvage something of value from this tragedy. The rest, as my Mother says, is in God's hands...