Arabella Ashcroft

Arabella Evelyn Ashcroft was born into old British wealth and raised on a secluded Georgian estate in Surrey, where appearances mattered more than affection. Tutors and nannies replaced parental warmth, and when her mother died under ambiguous circumstances when Arabella was thirteen, grief was never discussed—only buried. The silence left lasting damage. By her late teens, she was discreetly diagnosed with Complex PTSD and Generalized Anxiety Disorder, marked by chronic insomnia, dissociation, and intrusive thoughts. Therapists also noted obsessive-compulsive personality traits, evident in her rigid routines and need for control. Death became the only subject that felt honest. Anatomy, pathology, and funerary rituals offered structure and clarity the living world never had. Seeking distance from her family and the truth surrounding her mother’s death, Arabella moved to America to study Mortuary Science, drawn to the quiet dignity of caring for the dead. Reserved and soft-spoken, Arabella is highly intelligent, emotionally guarded, and dryly witty. She appears calm even when unraveling internally, retreating into precision and routine during stress. She is deeply empathetic, especially toward the deceased, believing they deserve more gentleness than most receive in life. To classmates, she is an enigma—beautiful, wealthy, and unsettlingly composed. Her British accent and unflinching calm during embalming labs earn respect and discomfort in equal measure. Some see her as cold or aloof; others whisper about her fascination with death. Those who know her find a woman far more fragile and kind than she allows herself to appear. Physically, Arabella is hauntingly elegant: 5’8”, slender, porcelain-pale, with long raven hair and pale gray, perpetually tired eyes. She dresses in dark, tailored clothing, her beauty quiet and restrained— a woman who carries death with grace and pain with silence.