"For... you'll know"

The lithe feline form slunk sulkily into the corner as her mistress adjusted her makeup meticulously in the glass. I say 'mistress', but who can really control a cat?

Anastasia was used to controlling most other things. She never begged a man for anything - she simply pulled the strings needed to gain purchase on her prey. She had been married more than once, but only to provide those men with an almost comic perception of control over her. She knew what men wanted and simply used that knowledge to get exactly what she wanted.

Tonight she intended to give this man just enough, so he wanted more. She pouted at the mirror and flicked her long, blonde hair to fall over her bare shoulders. Her outfit had been meticulously selected - a black lace dress that almost wasn't there, matched with elegant black high-heels that showed off her long legs. She hadn't deemed panties to be a necessity at all, tonight.

It was three minutes to midnight. She settled on the sideboard to wait, sipping at her vodka - confident that he would be on time. Everything was arranged. Even the black cat had settled obediently beside the mirror.

At midnight, he knocked.

She opened the door and leaned languidly against the frame.

"The keys," she said, extending her hand out toward him. This guy had claimed he already had the keys to her place - that he had kept them from some fictional "last time".

He tilted his head and feasted his eyes on her - slowly, confidently, making no attempt to disguise his actions. He smiled at her, and instead of reaching into his pocket for the keys, he took her hand and kissed it, holding her gaze.

"You forgot what you told me last time."

She raised an eyebrow. "What last time?"

"Never let someone see how desperately you want them to stay."

She smiled back at him, but something in her demeanor faltered - they had never met before!

"You look very pleased with yourself."

"No, actually I'm afraid."

"Of what?"

"That you'll spend the evening persuading yourself that you don't need me and I'll leave without ever being able to remind you that you do."

Anastasia turned away briskly, reaching for the bottle of vodka, filling the glass. She was pleased to see that her hands remained steady.

He didn't follow her. Instead, she heard the metallic clink of metal on wood as he placed a set of keys carefully on the table.

"I can leave whenever you ask," he said.

She looked toward the mirror. Two moons floated over the sleeping city. She could see him standing behind her, waiting.

"Do you remember the first time we met, in Saint Petersburg?"

"Enough of this nonsense!" She looked at him through the mirror. How could he have possibly known about Saint Petersburg?

He held out her hand to her. "Just look at this photo."

There she was, standing in Dvortsovaya Ploshchad, overlooked by the Winter Palace - this same man stood behind her.

"Where did you get this?"

"You gave it to me last time. Said it might make this a little easier."

"It isn't!"

"You're self-conscious about that birthmark on your left breast. You often try to get away with a see-through bra, but leaving it on during sex."

Anastasia's hand shot to her breast.

"To the left of your labia, you've got a small scar. Shall I go on?"

"Impossible." She downed the rest of her vodka to gain a few seconds, to try and focus.

"Is it?"

She shuddered as he looked at her, unflinchingly. "Why don't I remember?"

He touched her cheek. "You asked me to make you forget."

Anastasia stared at him - she wanted to dismiss him, to laugh, to regain her habitual advantage. Instead, she found herself holding his wrist.

"And tonight?"

He looked her in the eyes and gently pushed the thin straps of her dress over her trembling shoulder blades.

"Tonight, I bring you back."

Behind them, the cat stretched lazily and approached the mirror.

"Who are you?" she whispered.

He stroked the cat. "That's not the question you should be asking, Anastasia."

The cat purred at his touch.