A/N Well, I always wanted to explore Anastasia more. So here it is; Ana's story! Forgive me if I have some historical details incorrect, I'm not all that certain on their life-style, so I've had to improvise. Please let me know if you think I ought to continue it, the first chapter is often the most important one, for capturing the interest of readers. Hopefully I haven't made too many mistakes, but right now I can't be bothered checking, so I'm sorry if there is. Anastasia is based loosely on The Lost Boys: The Beginning. I don't own The Lost Boys, or the lyrics of "Life Is Beautiful," (Which I chose, as I thought it suited Anastasia perfectly) Hope you enjoy! (:

Life Is Beautiful

Life is beautiful
We love until we die

When you run into my arms,
We steal a perfect moment.
Let the monsters see you smile,
Let them see you smiling.

Chapter 1: Anastasia's Predicament

My name is Anastasia, and I...

Sighing, she scribbled that out. It just wasn't working for her. Chewing thoughtfully on the end of her pen, Anastasia thought about how she could best describe herself. Her mother, Rita, had suggested that she should start a diary, to straighten out those scattered thoughts of hers. Anastasia had been sceptical about this idea, but had, nonetheless, decided to attempt it.

It was difficult for her to order her thoughts, however, she couldn't even begin to think of adjectives to describe the things she saw and the emotions she felt. No one understood, least of all her.

She had grown up in a world where beauty was the be all and end all. Vainness was not considered an undesirable trait, quite the opposite. But for all the pretty dresses, meticulously applied make-up and intricate hair styles, Anastasia often thought there had to be more to life. It had been drilled into her from a young age, beauty brought you everything. Her own parents had been clear about that, they had looked at her beauty as a gift, one which was not to be squandered. She had been promised to marry. How she hated this fact; as those she was nothing more than a possession, to be traded with other families.

But there was nothing she could do.

Now she could only enjoy these last few days, as her sixteenth birthday drew near.

Tonight they were to visit some ball; it would be her first recognised as a woman. Not a girl, a woman. She would have been looking forward to it, if it had not been bestowed on her like some consolation prize: to make up for the removal of her own free-will. But nothing would amend that.

Anastasia sighed again, closing the diary shut with a snap. Lovingly, she stroked the leather-coated cover; it was lilac – her favourite colour. It was only now that Anastasia wondered whether this was deliberate. She forced these thoughts away, they were tainting the initial pleasure she had experienced, at the idea it had been simply been a fortunate coincidence. In her world, she was discovering, these lucky occurrences were, more often than not, only wishful thinking.

She returned the diary to its hidden place beneath her bed. Not the most secretive place, but she had her dog, Ilya, to guard her room. A spaniel, best known for his tracking skills, was a retired working dog, whom her family had allowed her to adopt. He was, to her mother, only a distraction, but he was Anastasia's dearest friend and companion.

Life's pretty grim; when your only friend in the world happens to be of the canine variety.

Clicking her tongue at him, he lifted his head and wagged his tail, then sensing her unhappiness, came to rest his head on her lap. She smiled and allowed him to do this, although it was running through her head that Rita would not be best pleased. "Mongrel," "fleabag," and many other obscenities, which Anastasia had been told on no uncertain terms was she to repeat, were often spilled from Rita's mouth, when she came to describing Ilya. Rita was not, to say the least, an animal person.

Anastasia lay back, staring at her ceiling. Painted a mid-night blue, stars adorned the majority of it. A soft, lilting light filled the room at large. Sunset was drawing near.

She idly wondered why Rita was taking so long to call her. Usually, when they went out, Rita had taken to preparing for the evening, at least two hours earlier than necessary. Whoever said being late was fashionable, had never spoken to someone like her.

And as much as Anastasia wanted to join in on their enthusiasm, she couldn't help but remember their plans of marrying her off. This had hurt her so deeply; she feared she'd never shake the resentment off.

None of it mattered now. They had made their decision- and she had made hers. Tonight she would go, and she would appear happy, and delighted by the direction her life was heading in. Her family would be beyond pleased- she had a reputation for being one to dig her heels in, at the mention of a party-and they would give her a bit of a free rein. This is what she hoped.

A good few hours later, with much wailing about the disaster of the clothes, hair -everything really- Rita declared them fit to be seen.

Dressed in soft green dress, with roses patterned around the edge of the skirts and her hair curled and piled high on her head, Anastasia felt beautiful. It was not something she was accustomed to, sure, she knew she was pretty, but it was something that she had always seen as a curse. Her beauty was the reason for this marriage, if she had been...well, not ugly, but average, she would have been overlooked, just like her siblings, not forced to attend balls and parties, in order to gain attention on the family.

Still, that was the curse she had been given, and she'd just have to deal with it.

And yes, she knew, things could be so much worse. Beauty was supposed to be looked upon as a blessing, not the blight she saw it as. And maybe she was selfish, maybe she was being petty, but everyone has hang-ups, and this was the one thing she could have done without.

"Anastasia! For goodness sake girl, hurry up!" the sharp voice of their maid, Ludmilla, jerked Anastasia out of her thoughts.

"Be there in a moment!" She called back. Throwing down the book she had been reading, Anastasia walked to the threshold of her room, it was never a good idea to antagonise Ludmilla. Pausing, she thought about the diary hidden beneath her bed. Barely thinking about it or considering why she wanted it with her, she quickly ran to the bed, stuffing the book into her small bag. Ilya regarded her thoughtfully, and Anastasia blushed, as though he would question why she had done it. It wasn't really the dog eyeing her which got to her; it was the idea of what explanation she could offer anyone, if they did happen to come across it. She didn't have an answer for them.

She just had a feeling she'd need it tonight.

And although she didn't know it at the time; she was right.