Anastasia Winters

Name: Anastasia Winters
Pronouns: She/Her
Age: 19 at time of death

Warnings: Death, Poison, Violence, Abuse, Vomit
short backstory below v
Anastasia had anything any young woman her age could dream of. She was healthy, coming from a wealthy family, and every person who had seen her full face almost immediately swooned over her. Her name was the first to come out of so many jealous girls' mouths, others spoke her name as if legend. They called her the most beautiful girl in the city, and that when she sang with her bedroom window open, the boys would stumble and climb over eachother like the undead just to get closer to her melodical voice. She was quite perfect, the kind of woman you would find in a fairytale, getting her perfect, happy ending. But truly, Anastasia was far from a happy ending. The boys could not tell the difference between her harmonious singing and her cries of pain when the time came to it, though they were all practically climbing the turret's walls to get to her. The only ones who could distinguish the sounds were the jealous girls that had followed their boyfriends to Anastasia's home to get a look at the madness for themselves. But, the cowards they were, they stayed hidden and silent in the bushes, until Anastasia's cries slowly faded, and the boys looked around in disarray before all going their seperate ways, the girls following after.

Anastasia didn't leave her house for days after that night, only to show up on the town four days later, with her same calm demeanor as always while she strolled down the street in the evening hours. The whispers were harsher than usual, but she let it slide, though her feet were stumbling under her dress trying to walk with a sprained ankle. With every step, a flash of a memory from the night before flooded her mind. The hitting, the wailing, the crying for help, not that anyone had listened. She was too young to get married, and not for love? This was nothing like the fairytales her mother read her. But, she was strong, and perfect Anastasia, so she carried on.

That night, after the dinner her father had arranged with her would-be-husband, she crept out of her bed in the middle of the night, removing the small bottle of arsenic from her bedside drawer and creeping into her sleeping fiance's room, pouring a small amount of the substance into a water glass on the nightstand, and stirring it until the color faded, creating the illusion of an untampered glass of water. She then crept to her father's room, doing the same to his glass, and then going back to her bed, falling peacefully asleep. This carried on the next night, and the night after. Her father and her fiance had well adjusted their tastebuds to the taste of arsenic in their water, as she had added little by little. Then, her maids were helping her into the beautiful white gown her father bought her, placing a veil over her head, and she was being walked down the aisle by her father. As she walked slowly, her arm entangled with his, Anastasia couldn't help but feel him get slower, begin to cough and sputter. People standing in the rows looking around, but Anastasia kept smiling and walking, letting go of her father's arm as he collapsed to the ground, shaking as his muscles slowly cramped up. Her fiance did the same as her father as she reached the end of the aisle, the pastor with a face of horror as he ran screaming, running for the door. She sat on the ground next to her fiance's body, giggling until the officers arrived, everyone else having fled the scene. They took her away, letting her sit in her wedding gown in a jail cell for three days. The poor fools hadn't been smart enough to check her though, and as the opened the cell three days later, the only thing that had remained of perfect Anastasia was the vomit covered body that lay, stinking, on the cell floor. 

Now while Anastasia's body was very much dead, a new legend spread, only worsened by the boys wandering to the old mansion at night, swearing they could still hear her enchanting voice, singing from that broken window.