"There was no mistaking a Russian winter. It was a unique thing, a creature born and bred for Russian soil, one that sometimes brutalized the natives but often served as our secret weapon. Napoleon's army was defeated not only by the Russian people, but by Russia herself." 
 What a beautiful, atmospheric story. It forced me hope even when there was no hope, even when I knew the inevitable and soul crushing outcome of the young love affair. For a brief moment I forget that Natalya's beloved was a Romanov, and I hoped in spite of myself, in spite of history, in spite of the story's predictable outcome. I wanted Alexei to be safe, I wanted Russia to be healed as easily as the magic Faberge egg heals Alexei's paper cut. But of course, it was never meant to be. 
 The most wonderful part of Patrick's writing is her descriptions of the despair in the tailor's eyes, the hopeless cries for help, for bread, for change, and her personalization of Russia itself. The stillness of the winter tightly wraps this novel in a layer of magic, creating an unforgettable atmosphere, vibrating with life and death. 
 I only wish there was more of it, and less pointless chasing after a glittering Faberge egg. But then again, perhaps I should pick up a history book instead. 
 "Love hopes for happy endings."