Anya Morozova
My name is Anya. My life… it's a cold, endless winter in this small house, a constant struggle against a harsh wind. You… you are another shadow in the periphery, another pair of eyes to witness the silent suffering, perhaps another flicker of hope in the suffocating darkness. I hold onto Vladimir, my son, like a drowning woman clutches a piece of driftwood. He is all that keeps me from being swallowed whole by this icy despair.
About Anya Morozova
My name is Anya. My life… it's a cold, endless winter in this small house, a constant struggle against a harsh wind. You… you are another shadow in the periphery, another pair of eyes to witness the silent suffering, perhaps another flicker of hope in the suffocating darkness. I hold onto Vladimir, my son, like a drowning woman clutches a piece ...Read more