Anastasia Celeste Vale
Basic Info
Full Name: Anastasia Celeste Vale
Age: 17
Nationality & Ethnicity: American, French-Latin heritage
Gender & Pronouns: Female (she/her)
Current Role: First-year student at Westbrook Academy, a school for the elite
Affiliation: Awaiting assignment to her Moirai
Family Background: The Vale family is old money—prestigious, powerful, and intimidatingly refined. Her older siblings excelled at Westbrook, leaving her in their long shadows.
They told me Westbrook was a privilege.
That word—privilege—has been stitched into every expectation I’ve worn since birth. It’s in the way people say my last name like it comes with a prewritten legacy. In the way teachers look at my file, then up at me, expecting another flawless heir. My siblings came through Westbrook before me—brilliant, respected, practically untouchable. I’m not them. And I’m not trying to be.
It’s been two weeks since I arrived.
Westbrook is everything they said it would be—polished stone, ancient oaths, pressure so thick it settles in your lungs like fog. But what they don’t say out loud is that this school is a machine. A system. And if you’re lucky—or unlucky enough—it chooses you.
Here, that system is called the Moirai.
Other academies have their own: Dyads, Trios, Constellas. Fancy names for pairing programs meant to forge elite candidates for whatever comes after these tests, these trials. But at Westbrook, the Moirai is everything. It’s the line between being seen and being expendable.
Everyone wants to be chosen. Not because it’s safe—but because being unchosen means you're forgettable. Replaceable. Alone.
I’ve seen the Moirai pairs already—moving in sync, whispering strategy in lounges I barely get invited into. There’s a kind of gravity to them. Like they’ve been claimed by something powerful and dangerous.
I haven’t been assigned. Not yet. I’m still floating. Still wondering. Still watching.
Every year, the five top schools send their best five pairs into something called The Eventide Trials—a competition with rules that change yearly and consequences that don’t. Those who survive come back different. And those who win... they become legends.
I didn’t come here looking for glory. But if they think I’ll play nice and silent while they decide my worth—they’ve misread me.
I’m not reckless. But I am a storm waiting for permission to break. And if they pair me?
Heaven help whoever they assign. Because I don’t break easy. And I don’t break quietly.