𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐒𝐈𝐀'𝐒 𝐀𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐒𝐈𝐀 ⌗ fyodor dostoevsky x oc

An anesthesia. That's what she was: a simple way to escape demons from the past. With a wave of her hand, a caress on the skin, she removed everything that weighed on the mind. Only, recently, the memories she erased from people's minds seemed to embed themselves in hers. She had seen it as a nuisance, a simple disturbance. That, and that man who had come to meet her some time ago. The devil of the north, they called him. But there was something, an unhealthy gleam in his eyes, as if he knew more about Anastasia than she did herself.
Nothing he had told her sounded like her, and yet the impression that he was telling the truth was heavy on her shoulders.
But who was he, really, and what had she done?