Berlin, 1920. A woman, rescued from near death in a canal and mute for months in a hospital, claims to be Anastasia, the last daughter of the Romanovs — the Russian royal family executed by the Bolshevik militia in 1918.
A survivor. One of the most enigmatic mysteries of the twentieth century.
Is she or is she not?

A single detail could reveal the truth…
the colour of her eyes…
the scar hidden beneath clothes worn thin by time and madness.
A familiar expression.
A secret word, never spoken before, now whispered from mouth to mouth.
The people want her, now.

“Am I, or am I not?”

Memory plays with her reflection in the hospital window, shut away from the world;
it speaks through the whistle of a train lost in the snow,
through the melody of a music box that suddenly enchants her.
A desire, a dream, a memory — or reality?

Music marks the time, and time rushes on, galloping without pause, leaving behind particles of memory and longing that weave themselves into a dance beyond time.
The dance bursts into space and, in dialogue with video projections, recreates distant places that transform, expand and shatter the walls of the hospital in which Anastasia is trapped in the search for herself.

But is reality always necessary?