Tif S-You have made my day! I was seriously getting sad because I though no one liked my story enough to review and then you did. Thank you so much! As a prize for reviewing first, I'm going to bake you a virtual cake, okay? Okay. I'm very excited to see where this goes and I'm glad you're going to come along for the ride. You are coming, right? Of course you are. Anyway, yes it is Irish they're speaking. Sorry, I kinda forgot to clarify that. You'll have to keep reading to find out if it's Spot but that's a very good guess and you're probably right. I was looking at Irish boy names because everyone uses the same one or two and I saw Kieran and thought it would be a fun name to use. (You know, I have an Irish relative named Kieran. I don't remember how we're related but it's very distantly and he's a singer. If you're ever in Ireland, look him up.)

Anyway, enough rambling. I don't own anything except my own characters and I own no lyrics in any chapter or anything else I may or may not have referenced. Now read on and enjoy!

The past can be a funny thing. It can sneak up on you when you least expect it. One minute you're going about life and everything is fine. The next moment, you see an object or hear a sound and you're transported to the past. Every smell, every sound, is a memory of a person you didn't even know you had.

They say memories are what keep people alive. That it's a good thing to remember. I don't want to forget my sister. Oh, I know she's not dead or anything. But she's still gone, at least to me. And I'm scared to forget anything about her. I'm scared because if I forget, if I don't hold on to those memories, then she might really be gone for good, even if she's still alive. And that's why I always hold on tight to the memories I have of my sister…

Early March, 1898

16-year-old Alexei Milkovich watched as his sister as she slid into her seat at the breakfast table. Their father frowned his disproval but said nothing. Taking hands, the family of four opened the table with prayers said in their native Russian language. As soon as that was done, Ivan Milkovich turned to his daughter and began to scold her.

"Tatiana, you know we start breakfast promptly at 8 o'clock on Sunday morning." Ivan accepted a bowl of fruit from his wife Viktoriya and turned back to his 14-year-old daughter. "You were late, as usual."

"I'm sorry, Papa." Tatiana ducked her head and put on her scolded puppy look. By nature Tatiana was not much of an actress. She was a tad to rebellious and headstrong for that, but she had mastered how to act like she was sorry well enough to avoid trouble with her parents. "It will not…"

"Not happen again. I know." Ivan sighed and shook his head. "You say that every day and yet you do not change. You do it again the next day and the next day."

"But Papa, I had an idea! A good one for a story." Tatiana looked up, her face brightening at the thought of writing. "Remember Alexei's birthday when I tried to make a cake and-"

"Tatiana, you know how I feel about your writing and music."

"I know but-"

"But nothing."

"But Papa-"

Ivan pushed his chair back and slammed a hand down on the table "But nothing, child! I will not have you entertaining foolish notions of being a writer or a musician!"

Tatiana wilted under her father's anger and glared at the fruit on her plate. Viktoriya put a hand on her husband's arm and he sat down with a sigh. The rest of breakfast was a rather silent affair and the siblings snuck away as soon as possible, rushing upstairs to their rooms.

"Tiana, forget about what Papa says," Alexei told his sister as they got ready for church. "Follow your heart. Life is full of choices."

"No one ever mentions fear," Tatiana promptly retorted. "Or how the world can seem so vast, 'specially when you ain't prepared for it." Alexei conceded the point and gave his sister a hug as he ran back downstairs. Tatiana leaned against her wall as she thought about what her brother said.

"Tatiana!" Mrs. Milkovich's voice floated up the stairs. "Hurry or we'll be late for church."

"People always say life is full of choices. No one ever mentions fear," Tatiana whispered to herself. Inspired, she quickly jotted it down on a piece of paper, planning on writing a poem with it after church. Still talking to herself, she ran down the stairs to her waiting family. She smiled at Alexei, knowing just how to defy her father and become a writer after all.