writing2

The next moment, she found herself outside the train. She was wearing

thin clothes that must be related to the nineteenth century. She liked

those clothes and felt like they were made for her to make her tenderer.

Dantella, a lot of it, satin, a lot of it. I don't know exactly because I don't

understand these things and they were many.


She was blonde of course, and there was a beautiful plait hanging down

her right shoulder. She told him,

- "I'm great. Well done, but who am I?". He scratched his chin thinking,

and said while looking at her thoroughly,

-" Your name is Olga Natalyova, there isn't any name in my head but this

now. Of course your other name is Tasha".


-" My other name?!"

-" Of course, The Russian exaggerate about names. There are many names

for each person. A family name, a formal name, and friends name. Also,

you can't follow war and piece without a note and a pen in your hand."