Anastasia

                                                                                One

1812, England

Anastasia would miss it all.

She would miss the villagers from beyond the large hill in the west, always greeting the Fredericks as they rode by in their carriages, the villagers’ only glimpse at wealth. She would miss the way the sunset set on the horizon, in which she could always see that sunset out her bedchamber window while she read. She would miss the strong scent of honey drift through the open windows from the amiable and modest Clarks’ honey farms.

Anastasia Fredericks would desperately crave these things once she left. Forever. Though she could always come back to her home, her future seemed like a painful eternity. A horrible and ghastly result of her hasty decision. A decision she would grow to regret? This was the question she contemplated over for weeks after she said that horrible word: Yes. But it mattered not whether she enjoyed her future; it only mattered about her sisters’ safety.

Yes, her sisters! She had to do this for her sister’s safety! That’s why she had to do this. Regardless of her misgivings! Anastasia had clung to fact this for weeks; it was the only thing that kept her from withdrawing her acceptation. A hasty acceptation she accepted blindly as the situation moved quickly. It had all changed with the abrupt death of her grandfather.

Anastasia moved swiftly to the mirror to check her appearance before she made a quick and secretive departure. Examining each plane and pore in her face avidly, she could find nothing the matter. She looked exquisite, with the exotic features and height of a goddess. Lips perfectly sculpted like they were made to be kissed all day. A determined nose, that was slightly long, rested above those perfect lips. A slender, lanky, statuesque body made from years of running through the forest, which caused her legs to grow incredibly. Perfectly poised curls of scarlet cascaded around her like a curtain of red, bouncing and ruffling as she moved. Her eyes were large and almond-shaped, with an exquisite shade of blue in them. Her eyes were watchful and alert, but still retaining the playfulness of a young and lively eighteen year old maiden.

A light knock on the door violently disrupted Anastasia’s composure, causing her to jump.

“Oh, did I startle you?” a light voice called, slightly embarrassed by her interruption.

“Not at all, Renée,” Anastasia reassured, turning on her heel to look the younger Frederick daughter in the eyes.

Renée Fredericks was a tinier and considerably less intelligent version of Anastasia. Renée by far was closest to her. The reasoning had always been unknown. Maybe it was their uncanny, almost exact resemblance. All the sisters looked alike; they all inherited the Frederick curly red hair and blue eyes. But this resemblance was above them all. Renée even had her sister’s poise and elegant gait, in which she almost floated above the floor in a delicate dance. There were very few differences in appearance with the two. Yes, Anastasia was older by five years and had a longer nose and Renée had a beauty mark right below her right eye, but that was where the seldom physical differences ended.

Though she would never comment on it, she knew that Renée was not brightest. Even while the whole Frederick home was exceptional in math, a trait that began even with their ancestors, Renée was very incompetent in such subject. They had to order extra governesses to correctly teach her. Her family all knew perfectly Renée did her finest to study, but she was still the first in decades to break the mold.

She hadn’t Anastasia’s voice and courage. She, on the other hand, was much shier around others and very timid when she was scolded, unlike her other loud-mouth sisters who would fight back and protest until Death. She was so docile and quiet, never showing much anger or distraught other anything. Even when the governess secretly beat her, furious that she still did not understand mathematics, she said nothing. She was too frightened to say anything. Though the eldest two, Diana and Georgia, still whacked her on her bottom, the governess had viscously beat her while the girls were away or when the governess secretly took Renée in the shed to strike her without notice. Once Anastasia caught her mid-blow, she surely gave the woman the messenger she did not appreciate the woman’s ways of punishment. A message the woman would have on her face for the rest of her life.