Anastasia Knight Feet Novels & Stories

“Some things can’t wait, Mother.” The air crackles. They’re smiling, but it’s a duel. Every word a blade. Anastasia steps closer, diamonds flashing. “You always did have… peculiar taste,” she says, eyes raking over my dress, my bare back, my trembling fingers clutching Nicholas’s sleeve. “Tell me, darling,” she addresses me directly, voice honey over broken glass, “what exactly is it you do? Model? Influencer? Or are you one of those girls who just… spreads her legs for the right last name?”

Tears came rolling down her cheeks and she sniffed hardly as she tried to hold her pains, tears and emotions back. "I hate you and the fact that you're my Mother" " Anastasia..." Anna couldn't wait again, not when her Mother was still in here, she took her knapsack and stormed out the room, exiting the house swiftly. Diana staggered and sat on the chair, clenching her dress, tightly. Anastasia stopped at the stream nearby and knelt on the ground. She stared at her palms which shook and lifted them to the water to scoop a large amount of water and rinse her face.

“You don’t say? What are you known for?” “Since my room is finally clean and all my mother and sisters’ things are gone from my room. It’s safe for me to lose these foolish pairs of shoes for something a little more comfortable.” Ana walked out of the high-heeled shoes her mother insisted she wear and pulled a pair of black Doc Marten’s with red roses and vines details on them. With a cheeky smile, she held them up. “Comfort and common sense. Pretty, no?” “Definitely unique. Though I was aware of your choice in footwear before. It’s well known within the ranks of the guard.” George smiled as he said that and watched her lace them up.

Then he pauses for a brief moment, "Unless if you can find that other Angel that should be around." Well, we all know that is just going to be as near damn impossible as our first one, so we find ourselves, the group of Misfits heading with luggage, need I say it is suitcases that are filled with weapons, so in hand with it, we make our way toward the front door. But just as I am about to reach for the doorknob, I sense her. "Anastasia, you may come down." She shyly comes moving down the stairs in the tightest goddamn fucking red leather pants that I have laid my eyes on. I do not even focus on the top that only covers her breasts, for I am, and including every man in the room are staring at

This entire outfit was extremely sexy. "How do I look?" I ask Kylie as I step out, doing a small spin for her. "Damn I have good taste! You look sexy as hell," Kylie compliments as she looks at my outfit. "I may have to get myself a set." "I'm sure Elliott would enjoy it," I smirk as I go over to my shoes. I find a pair of black platform heels that are six or so inches tall. These heels are so comfy because they have memory foam soles. "Seriously Ash?" She groans but I don't miss the blush on her cheeks.

Anastasia screamed and jumping off her bed. I smirked at her. “I told you I am coming in no matter what.” “You are an asshat.” Throwing a pillow at me she took another pillow and the lancet before trying to storm off outside the room. But being a step ahead of her I pulled her back ain’t my arms and kept a tight hold of her hand behind her back. “You don’t want me to kick you in the groin.” I smirked at her. “I would love to see you try.” She tried to raise her knee but I locked her legs in between mine. If she was still wearing that dress of hers then this would have been harder but her tiny shorts and my t-shirt on her made it easy.

“I don’t care, Gregor! I will fucking fight you—move away now!” “Let her in!” I barked, slamming my glass down onto the desk with enough force to make the liquid jump. The door burst open, and there she was—Anastasia, storming in like a whirlwind in heels. She was dressed in what must have been her bridesmaid gown, an elegant thing that clung to her with tailored perfection. Her hair was pulled into an updo, her makeup pristine, her heels clicking with authority. But the cracks in her mask were obvious. A single strand of hair had escaped and fallen across her forehead. Her eyes twitched with tension, her hands were clenched into trembling fists.

Still, in her blood-stained wedding dress, she outright looked like she murdered someone. Her legs and feet ached from standing too long. She sat on the bench opposite where the brunette sat and pulled off her Louboutin pumps. Her feet had ugly blisters on them and she didn’t want to wear these shoes again. “Your name?” Anastasia asked. “Crissy.” the brunette said, showing off her crooked yellow teeth. “You’re a pretty little thing.” She complimented. “You would be prettier if you didn’t smell.” “I don’t smell that bad.” Anastasia protested, deep red with embarrassment. “Do I?”