Sample Entry: My most recent stuff with her was done at Amat Omnes, but seeing as that's locked content, have this super old thread from my days playing her at POLYchromatic. If you prefer something newer, however, I can rustle up some screencaps.

Sample Entry Two:

They say your life flashes before your eyes before you die.

Beast had always hoped that wasn't true. There were too many things she didn't want to remember, too many things she'd left behind, struggled so much to leave in the past, and yet no matter how she tried, always seemed to be waiting one step back. One step back, and she'd feel the rock crumble and the lurch of empty space at the edge of the cliff she and her ragtag family had been teetering on for years.

But it's true.

Through the haze of rising dust from the rubble of smashed in stones and the choking cloy of fine flour in the air, she can just barely make out the silhouettes of the Phantomhive servants above. Painfully aware of Dagger's still warm corpse behind her, his blood smeared on her hands from where she'd held him, on her clothes from where he'd shielded her.

(The match, being lit.)

Why did it have to end like this? Hadn't they done all they could only for those children, the young ones left behind in Renbourne Workhouse, hadn't they done all they could to survive? If they'd had their way, surely they'd never have hurt anyone else. But they hadn't. That had been their choice. Die in the gutters of East End like rats with not a single person to give a damn, or be in debt to Father, repay Father, in the children he wanted for his manor. Trading the lives of children who grew up loved and happy to keep the ones like them, the ones who grew up missing limbs, scarred, abandoned, fed and clothed and protected.

Why not want just that? They'd been starving to death in a country that was rich, unwanted and unloved, ignored by Queen and country and those better off. She can still remember it all, like it was yesterday, like she could blink and suddenly be seeing that piss-soaked back alley, the dirt and filth on their clothes and single blanket, the bone thinness of their limbs and the cracks on their lips. The way her leg ended in a scarred lump covered in shoddy bandages, the way they all stared lifelessly up at the man, so clean, so well-dressed, with such a kind smile, who offered his hand to them and with it, offered a better life.

It's all they'd wanted.

(The match falling through the air.)

All she'd wanted until she'd also wanted Joker to love her back, and maybe, more than the kidnappings, more than stealing through the night taking children from their beds, killing anyone who saw a glimpse, that had made her the most guilty, the most dissatisfied with their lot in life. Was that what made her a bad person? Was that what made her deserve to die in a place like this? That more than what she'd done to those children, she regretted her own troubles, her own aching desires?

But it had been aching desire that brought all this on, hadn't it? Tears hot and bitter and shameful on her cheeks, to be left behind with fake smiles and kind words, to be plucked up by another, plied with sweet words and touch and promises of comfort. Because Joker had started hiding from them all, withdrawing, his expressions growing more wooden and forced, and she hadn't been fooled like some of the others. Small cracks in her angry, bitter heart, and a demon worming its way within.

So maybe she did deserve to die. She was a traitor, she'd told Black, and then it turned out he and Smile were with the Yard. She'd told him about Father, he'd coaxed and coaxed and she'd been so stupid, made a whore of herself for a night of forgetting that she'd never get what she wanted, and she could curse herself to hell and back for it, but why did everyone else-

(The moment the flame caught.)

Dagger, who was besotted and dramatic, but so damned kind. Wendy, who was like a big sister to the lot of them, and Peter, a strict big brother. Jumbo, who was strong and intimidating, but gentle and quiet. Doll, who had been scarred by the world and still found it in her to forgive people. Doc, who'd given them the legs to walk on, the arms to hold with. Snake, who was so queer, but unwaveringly loyal. Were they all going to be captured by the Yard, or worse, killed like Dagger had been? Like she was about to be?

(The burst of light and rush of heat and sound.)

There wasn't enough time.

Throat tightened, eyes widened, the whip started to fall from her hand. There wasn't enough time to do any of the things she needed to do. Not enough time to apologize for everything she'd done wrong. Not enough time to realize the full extent of her mistakes. Not enough time to find out that at that very moment, every member of her family lay dead, or ran headlong towards it. Not enough time to discover that Father had been deceiving them all along, that the children they'd been working so hard, the children they'd killed and kidnapped for, had been dead for years. Not enough time to be horrified to know that the prosthetic leg strapped to her thigh was made from their ground up bones.

Only enough time for a single syllable to escape her, the first sound of Joker's name and the last sound she'd ever make.

(The explosion.)

Not enough time to make it over the hills.