Gianna
Anna is saccharine as sugar and bitter as cyanide. Free-spirited as travelling tumbleweed, her parents have nails in her arms to claw their undomesticated dear back down. She blows like a dandelion to each town with little more than a knapsack on her back.
Anna has ribbon-twirled and cotton-spun curls. That was until her mamma took a silver and ivory brush and welded her daughter's matted mane into an appropriate ladies' bun each morning. Blunt knife in hand, Anna cropped her raven tresses into a patched boy-cut.
In a cobble-stone town, Anna meets her. Her poison promises feed Anna's desire for immortal life and dowsed in her own naive mannerism Anna thrives on them. She can hear her coaxing promises and her fox-stolen lies, and when she calls she lollops like a spaniel to her tuneful command.
Her eyes are wild emeralds that roll frantically around her head, because the lords are riveted fools that drive her to madness. She knows that the cyanide-dripped trinkets are possessions with a poisonous intent to charm her into subdued silence.
Anna does not lie in a marble tomb, or even a hole in the mud. Her bloodless body is positioned with a blunted knife on the forest carpet, and perhaps won't be unearthed until the snow melts and the shriek of a early runner punctuates the air.
And for all her sins, she can burn in hell.
This wasn't one of the nicest one-shots I have written – I explored a darker theme and unleashed a wilder side of Gianna, or Anna as I have known her in this piece. Gianna is interesting because of her hope and naivety which eventually led to her unfortunate demise. Despite being used by the Volturi, she still thought she might mean something to them, even when they killed her.