User:Alessaria Winterfeld Wolfheart

Background
Everything was perfect.

Alessaria grew up in the South of the Arathi Highlands on the modest estate of Edington Castle. Born unto William and Meridian, she was the fourth child and second born daughter to the ever ambitious Winterfeld family. Though she was the beloved baby of the family, Alessaria was of little concern to her father who sought only to increase the family's wealth and status with the aide of two strapping boys and his eldest daughter whose beauty was so celebrated he was certain to marry her well above her station.

For Alessaria's part, she was happy to see her sister and brothers rise in society at court while she remained home in Edington to study the healing arts with her mother. It was there that the amber glitter of days filtered through the lush canopy of trees to fade into a sunset of twinkling starlight, and there she spent those nights with her love in secret. Edward Worthington was a poet, a dreamer, and the one who held her heart alone. He was also of no significant wealth and thus deemed unworthy of their daughter's love by the whole of the Winterfeld family. For years it mattered not, for there was no interest in sending Alessaria to court, her sister and brothers were rising nicely and carrying the dreams of the Winterfeld family with them.

Everything was perfect.

The Death of an Angel
When her sister began to show signs of the sweating sickness she was returned to Edington immediately. There she faded from this life before the eyes of an adoring father and mother, and there the rumors of her betrothal to the Duke were ended. Alessaria's father was crushed, and after several weeks of mourning it was decided Alessaria would return to court in Alessandra's place. She was to pick up the pieces her sister had left behind, and was ordered on pain of his death never to see Edward Worthington again.

A Lament of Dutiful Propriety
Months would pass as the family mourned Alessandra's death. In private, William Winterfeld would extend the reach of his hand in all directions to seek a new match for his youngest daughter. With a generous campaign of good will and swift negotiations to follow, Alessaria was sent in a flourish of pomp and circumstance to the court of the City-Sate of Alterac under the care of Duke Kormed Wolfheart of Wolfrun. Much to her father's delight the two would marry short months later in a gesture of good faith and mutual adoration.

A Circlet in the Snow
She stood upon the precipice, eyes set out over a horizon laden with a myriad of hazy orange and purple. The wind swirled around her in a fierce cyclone that lifted oceans of silken ringlets to lash against her cheeks and collar bones. It was freezing at this altitude, though she bore no cape nor furs to warm porcelain flesh which had by now grown pink and wind burned. Though she shivered, she felt nothing.

Only the light knows how long she’d been standing there. Pale orbs deeply contrasted against the dark veil of lashes that framed them were transfixed upon the lands that had given her such pause in these long months. A delicate hand lowered to her belly, eyes finally parting the nothingness before her to meet her hand’s caress. A soft smile claimed petal lips as she thought what joy the baby would bring her, and pondered over how she would reveal the happy news to the Duke when the time was right.

At the sudden pop and crackle of booted footfalls against heavy snowfall behind her, a widened gaze would soar over a slender shoulder in search of the source. Knitted brows would follow, the Duchess clearly puzzled by what she found there. She would turn away from the cliff’s edge as delicate hands attempted in vain to sweep the tresses that ebbed and swirled about her from her field of vision. The figure was eerily quiet, its very presence causing the hairs on the back of her neck to prickle as a pang of fear flooded her gut.

“Show yourself, stranger.” She blinked, eyes narrowing expectantly. The figure stood motionless before her, the hint of a dark smile the only thing visible beneath the black hood that shrouded its identity. With a clench of her jaw Alessaria’s eyes began to well with tears, one brave drop even departing on a perilous journey as it spilled forth to leave a silvery trail in its wake.

When word of the disappearance would reach the ears of the people, the tale of the moments to follow would be spun from educated assumption at best. There upon the cliff not a trace of the Duchess remained, save for the circlet of gold that had once sat so beautifully upon a delicate brow and a trail of blood that ended without a trace at the foot of the mountain path.