Taboo topics, a reshaped society, and lost generations: This is the new reality for Russia.
As the first anniversary of the war in Ukraine approaches and the world braces for Russia's next offensive, there's little comfort from Moscow.
In fact, Vladimir Putin may just be getting started.
His plans for a quick victory a year ago failed spectacularly. But now, Russia's president appears to be preparing for round two.
"This war is determined by Putin's own vision," Russian affairs analyst and political commentator Konstantin Eggert said.
"I don't think that anyone really knows what's happening inside the leadership.
"This is a leadership that is united by one thing: fear of Putin and fear of his secret police."
The only thing that's certain is that no-one sees through the haze obscuring the Kremlin.
In the early months of the war, there was much speculation about Mr Putin's future.
Could he be deposed in a coup? Was he seriously ill? Or might he voluntarily step down and hand power to a successor?
Now all of these topics are off limits — especially any talk of succession.
"This topic is a complete taboo in the Kremlin," said Tatiana Stanovaya, from the Carnegie Endowment for International Peace.
"No-one can … raise questions about it."
There's no shortage of names being bandied about if Mr Putin decides not to run for president again in 2024.
Federal Security Service director Alexander Bortnikov, Wagner mercery group head Yevgeny Prigozhin, and even Prime Minister Mikhail Mishustin all get a mention.
Such lists are nothing more than media speculation, according to Ms Stanovaya.
"No-one knows who can be considered as a future successor," she said.
It's conceivable Mr Putin, aged 70, once thought he could spend his final years at ease, enjoying the huge fortune he's believed to have accumulated while in power.
But Ms Stanovaya believes he may now feel trapped.
"There is no good scenario for Putin," she said.
"He knows that he can't be confident in anyone 100 per cent."
If the war ends badly, and he's out of power, nothing would stop a future successor from making him take the blame.
"Whoever he picks, he will face significant risks, and he knows it," Ms Stanovaya said.
As war rages on, Russian life remains insulated
Right now, Vladimir Putin also knows nothing constrains him from prosecuting the war as he sees fit.
Despite a slew of financial and trading sanctions imposed by Western countries over the past year, Russia's economy didn't grind to a halt.
From January to November 2022, oil and gas revenues actually increased by 30 per cent to $US164 billion ($239 billion).
Revenue for 2023 looks set to drop significantly, but Russia still has customers for its oil.
"As long as India, China, other countries continue to buy his hydrocarbons, [Mr Putin] has money," Mr Eggert said.
"He needs the money to feed the army and supply it with whichever weaponry he can lay his hands on."
Russia's economic resiliency also insulates much of the population from the impact of war.
Dmitry, a dual Russian-Australian citizen who spent the first nine months of the war in Moscow, said the biggest noticeable change had been losing cheap, locally made cars.
"From a Russian point of view, nothing pretty much changed," he said.
People can still travel, but Dmitry says most of those going on holidays now head to the Middle East, or South-East Asia.
"We cannot fly easily anymore to Europe," he said.
It's more costly now for Russians to apply for visas, and a huge drop in flights since the war has seen airfares skyrocket.
"For the average person, Europe is closed," he said.
Dmitry, whose real name has been changed to protect his identity, runs a business that imports food products into Russia.
He said the brokers he dealt with in other countries were more than happy to keep trading with Russia; he had even had offers to disguise goods that should be declared under sanctions.
"The thing is what I found, in all the Middle East … they basically pull up and say, 'But what more do you want? Tell us what you want. As long as your customs is OK, we'll give it to [you].'"
From his perspective, the war's been good for the Russian economy.
"I can tell you that a lot of businesses are profiting off of it," he said.
"A lot of factories start working 24-7 literally. A lot of employment.
"[The] construction industry is just booming."
Strategic recruitment means cities stay dormant
The economy isn't the only aspect of the war that's being misrepresented in the West, according to Dmitry.
He doesn't believe there's any problem in finding enough men willing to fight in Ukraine.
"They pay big dollars to go there [with] the army," he said.
"It's something like 300,000 roubles ($5,850) plus bonuses, which is huge money for Russia, a month."
Konstantin Eggert agrees that, for now, manpower won't be a problem for the Russian army.
It's widely rumoured a new mass mobilisation will begin soon, with a target of sending 200,000 to 500,000 more troops into battle.
But there are few signs of mass protest.
Mr Putin is careful to recruit people from outside the big cities, from places that are more isolated and have lower potential for unrest, Mr Eggert said.
"Recruitment occurs in smaller places — a small city in Russia is 200,000 or 300,000 people and less," he said.
"This helps Putin to replenish the reservoir of cannon fodder … without actually provoking the big population centres.
"Bearing in mind Russia's demographics, he still has probably even a few million people to throw into this meat grinder."
So, Vladimir Putin has the men and the resources to keep fighting for a long time.
And he has one more crucial element: a compliant society smothered by state security.
After thousands of arrests last year, protests against the war are now virtually non-existent.
"The majority of the Russian society is essentially dormant," Mr Eggert said.
"It withdrew itself into this kind of weird comfort zone in which there is the leadership that decides. And we just basically … watch television."
Up to a million Russians have fled the country since the start of the war.
"What Putin ensured is that this ferment is gone from the Russian system now," Mr Eggert said.
"These people [are] elsewhere, writing their Facebook posts about Putin being a bloody dictator.
"But he doesn't care about that as long as they're not inside Russia."
The heartbreak of leaving Russia
Among those who have left are Elena and Evgeny, the kind of contemporary, sophisticated professionals who were transforming Russia's big cities before the war.
For them, the invasion of Ukraine last February was a breaking point.
"You just feel, 'This is it,'" Elena said.
"This is the final point where you can no longer have any hopes that it will change for better, in the way that it will become a democracy."
Most of the couple's friends in Moscow were opposed to war, but as the fighting dragged on, they realised they were in the minority.
"When you start talking at work or with colleagues or with neighbours, you realise that there are people who actually support the operation, and this scares you," Elena said.
"It's like there is this evil and you never knew it existed."
Like many Russians opposed to the war, they stayed away from early protests.
"It breaks you inside because you want to speak out and you're afraid," Elena said.
Concerns about the safety of their two young children also contributed to their fear of speaking out.
"[The] Russian government is really good at scaring you in a way, because they [publicise] stories that they take your children to officials to question everything," Evgeny said.
"And that's really scary."
Elena and Evgeny decided they had no choice but to leave Russia.
They were lucky. Elena works for a French company that agreed to relocate the family and help with visas and accommodation.
They've slowly settled into their new lives in France. They don't see themselves returning to Russia for many years.
"We don't close the door," Elena said.
"I love the country. I really miss it.
"I'm not sure I want my kids to go back."
Australia no cure for missing Moscow
In Sydney, Anna Kharzeeva understands those contradictory feelings.
Shortly after the war started, she and her Australian husband decided to leave Russia.
"Honestly, it was it was really hard," Ms Kharzeeva said.
"When we got [to Sydney], it was like the reality really hit. We don't have a place. We don't have a single job between the two of us.
"Our kid doesn't have child care of any sort."
Nearly a year into building a new life in Sydney, she still misses Moscow.
"I'm seeing Instagram stories of people doing stuff in Moscow in the snow or going out and going to museums," she said.
"And I'm like, 'I want to be in that street, want to be in that cafe, I want to be in that museum.'
"But at the same time, I'm aware that for me it would be incredibly hard to be there right now emotionally because I'd be like, 'There's a war that we're responsible for.'
"And when you're in Moscow, there's not a lot that you can do."
Ms Kharzeeva works for a community organisation and is also continuing her career as a journalist with a focus on food and culture.
She's helped run fundraisers for Ukraine that have raised thousands of dollars.
With help from her husband's family, they've found an apartment.
Their young son has started school. And there's no shortage of people telling her how lucky she is to be in Australia.
"Sydney people do have this tendency to think Sydney's the best," she said.
"The reality is it doesn't diminish the heartbreak. I feel like I lost my country and my identity.
"Nowhere is going to be beautiful enough to forget that you have a home you can't go to.
"I'd love for Australians to understand the beach doesn't cure everything."
Credits:
- Reporting: Norman Hermant
- Digital production: Leonie Thorne
- Photos: Brendan Esposito, Reuters and Associated Press
