A/N: Tales of the Princess of Albion, Anastasia, and of how she let herself be molded by the most cynical man in all Albion.
First Glimpse
"…Will, yes you guessed it, be shot. You may return to work now..."
Her heart skipped a beat each time the gunshot ran out. Her eyes couldn't look away from the pale face, the cruel yet beautiful smirk, and oh, that birthmark. She licked her lips. Only when he began to turn away, finished with his little 'motivational' speech, did the Princess snap out of the trance. Reaver gave one last quick glance at the crowd, and as Ana's eyes followed his, they locked. It lasted less than a split second, but it made the breath she had just taken get lodged in her throat. Too soon it was over and she was left watching him sashay away, and Anastasia felt a chill go through her.
Walter had begun talking and reality set in. They needed help; rebels, not a magnificent man with a wondrous walking stick. As Ana halfheartedly listened to her mentor she couldn't help but think back to him. It had been the first time since leaving the castle, since Elliot, that she had felt an attraction of this degree. She'd seen 'attractive' people during her journey, yes, but they meant little. She would secretly curse them when she would think of how lucky they might be to have a significant other. And now when she had finally felt something it was all for not. She could never see him again. She could gather the resistance, rebels against Logan, and take the would forget about him in the midst of it all.
'No.' she thought. She was not ready to let go of yet another potential love. She would remember him. His cool, evil, flamboyant demeanor. Anyone that defied him would be shot-that he made known. He did what he wanted, and seemed not to care about anyone. 'That's how.' Ana determined, 'That's how my life will be.'
And as she walked past a beggar, she spat in his face.
Real short, yes, but the second chapter, will be up within a week.