Death is quite an interesting concept.

It's a topic, which people couldn't think any different off. Some find solace in the knowledge they will not walk this earth forever whereas others get anxious at the thought of death catching up to their endless run from it. While some chase the idea of it, others hide in the shadows of life.

Death can be frightening, the unknown of what comes after it, if there even is such a thing as life after death. Death can be beautiful, one's belief turning it into something utterly comforting.

Yet, one idea cannot survive without the other. It can not only be frightening and it can not only be beautiful. If one believes you might go to heaven, there is always the thought of hell existing as well, if one believes there to be nothing after death, there is always the wariness of whether it's a good thing or not.

Anastasia has never given much thought about death herself, of course, it has crossed her mind as it has always been connected to remembering her mother. And yet she never went into it, never thought about whether she believes her mother to have gone to heaven, hell or whether she believes her mother just stopped existing as a person.

And yet, it's all she can think about as she lays in her bed. Her back resting against the wall, her legs tucked under the blanket and her arms holding onto a stuffie she has passed to her sister a little while back.

She refuses to believe her father has somehow managed to trick his way out of any form of punishment and she also refuses to believe she was his punishment. She couldn't have been, that simply wouldn't be fair.

So, her mind is contemplating her idea of hell. Anastasia has never been one to believe in God, the devil or any other things but she also has never been one to say they don't exist. She simply didn't care.

Because how could she believe in a God that is said to be generous when they have brought nothing but pain and agony on her.

Antonina does believe, maybe she doesn't realise it or maybe she does but doesn't know what it is, but she does believe. Not necessarily in religion but in whatever it is her mind can make up. She does believe in Peter Pan, believes there to be fairies out there and believes them to hide from humans. She believes in all the things books and movies show her. Like most kids, like kids are supposed to.

Anastasia should probably as her how it's done. To believe.

Because at the mind her moment is nothing but a pure fuss of endless miles of thoughts, pictures changing every other second, words flying through her brain and confusion following yet another confusion.

She doesn't know how to believe or what to believe and she most certainly doesn't want to believe. And yet she doesn't know how to stop it.

In her mind, her father is burning in the endless flames of hellfire, rotting in a sea of souls and getting tortured by whatever demon crosses his path but at the same time, she doesn't want to believe that to be hell. How could she believe that and at the same time be convinced she will end up right there.

In her mind, her mother is in a place of blissful oblivion. Old stones building temple-like buildings; an amphitheatre in the outskirts of town, trees sneaking their way to the start of the town, hiding some of the houses before smoothly ending. Stone sculptures sit on the edge of a fountain, yellow and red fishes swimming inside its waters. And the sky painted fire-ish colours of a sunset.

She truly wishes for her mother to be in a place just like that, remembering all the stories about ancient Greece, the paintings she made and the rants at the end of the day. Her mother wanted to become a professor, teaching ancient history but bringing a child into this world put an end to it. Or well, her father put an end to it after she was born.

Maybe that's how she spends her time wherever she is, teaching children and showing them her beautiful view on life. An almost innocent view.

Anastasia wants to believe that, but if she starts believing whatever force there is, is generous enough to create things like this, she will start doubting herself. She will start to believe she wasn't good enough for any of this, she isn't good enough for any of this.

So, how could she possibly believe anything?

For the split of a second she hopes for Jasper to be here, but he left earlier to grab some things from his and spend some time with his family before coming back.

But as soon as the sparkle of hope has appeared, Anastasia has pushed it to the back of her head. Wiping the tear off her cheek, she harshly throws the stuffie at the other end of the room before getting up.

Her eyes fall onto the mirror standing in the corner of her room and for a moment she actually considers flinching away from what she is seeing.

There are deep bags under her eyes, her skin is pale and she simply looks terrible.

Looking away, she picks up the stuffie and adjusts his ear before placing it on her be and what follows is an hour of deep cleaning. Rearranging her closet, pushing her bed to the side of the room before pushing it back to where it was. And when there is nothing more to do in her room, she gets on cleansing herself.

A seemingly endless shower because her mind keeps on projecting drops of blood on her hands, the red colour mixing with the clarity of the water until eventually she gets tired of it and steps back out.

There's a deep bruise shining on her waist, reaching up to her rips and a few old scars are reflecting in the light. They aren't all that noticeable and yet it's all she can see when she looks at herself.

Quickly covering it up with her usual attire, she takes a moment to get used to the tightness of the jeans in contrast to the looseness of her sweatpants before starting on her make-up. Not that it's any use, she doesn't plan on leaving the house. She'll just clean up, wipe through the kitchen again, get rid of her father's stuff and see what else she might do.

Anything to keep her busy.

Maybe she can find a way to make this house a better home for Antonina, sell her father's stuff and buy some new stuff with the money. Repaint the walls and get rid of that awful, lingering smell of alcohol.

But then again, why would Antonina possibly want to come back here?