Natalia was surprised by the feel of the hankerchief in her hand, and her fingers tightened around it. It was something tangible to hold onto, while memories began to bubble to the surface.
And not just the memories Jean had dusted off. Related memories began to surface, a stern faced man who nonetheless smiled when a small girl in a tutu threw herself at him. A kindly looking older man, the one Natalia ran to when she bumped her knee or was scolded by a parent. Memories of a childhood she'd been forced to forget, overlaid with the memory of different parents, of a life with the Bolshoi. The false layer of memories began to crack and fade, unable to hold up against the strength of Natalia's true memories coming to the fore.
No, she replied, hiccuping through the tears that had started flowing in earnest. No, I had forgotten this.