Fantasy Beautiful Goodbye

[Aneres]

.

.

BEAUTIFUL GOODBYE

「This is a closed RP between Aneres & Night-Hawk」

 

[Aneres]

.

.

AMANDA GRACE FARRON

「The Sorrowful Dreamer」

Amanda Grace Farron was born to Matilda Jane and Thomas Rhett on a cold October morning overlooking the Massachusets Bay. Amanda’s childhood was a relatively standard one, if you could call a house filled with splatter and clay normal. Being the offspring of two creative spirits, it was of no surprise when she showed promise of being her own artistic prodigy. She completed her first critically acclaimed work at the tender age of eight and has since climbed the ladder of fame among art critics near and far.

When her baby sister, Anne Marie, was born at the age of ten, Amanda was sure she had met her greatest inspiration. With golden hair and dazzling grey eyes, she was Amanda’s miniature in every sense of the word. The two were attached at the hip and there was nothing that could possibly divert Amanda’s attention or affection. That was, of course, until she stumbled upon the blessing that was Jonah Kutcosky in her freshman year of art school. He was handsome, humble, passionate, and mysterious. With a heart of gold and a sharp tongue, he was able to show Amanda different sides and shades of life that she had never experienced before and she cherished every moment of it. The pair had become inseparable and, at her largest art viewing to date, Jonah intended to solidify that bond by asking Amanda to be his wife. Life was bliss. She had a loving family that supported and stood by her dreams, a brilliant fiance that showered her with love and respect, and a career that was absolutely booming. That’s the trouble with fate, as it would seem. As soon as you reach your pinnacle, it can all come crashing down.

Nearly a year to the date of their engagement, tragedy struck. Jonah had driven up to New York for a weekend to discuss a business proposal and had been driving home when a furious snow storm struck the east coast. An hour outside of Boston, Jonah’s tires had hit a patch of black ice on the road, and was struck by an oncoming vehicle. He died instantly. Three weeks after Amanda’s 26th birthday. Now, eight months later and Amanda still finds herself being bullied by fate. With her teenage sister now diagnosed with Leukemia, it seems as if the happy life she had been living two years prior was nothing but a dream. Her eyes no longer shine with the promise they once had and the works she’s produced lacks their luster. Now, as if brought on by obsession, Amanda has found herself fixated on a figure that has haunted her dreams. An ethereal presence that whispers promises of forever with eyes to match that red sting of fate. Even if he was only present in her dreams, the mysterious man built from her subconscious had been the only constant source of comfort since the passing of her dearest Jonah. The beautiful face of this enigmatic man was the first thing to stir her soul and inspire her work since her life began to crumble.

template by astraea​

 

[Night-Hawk]

.

.

⛆

K

⛆

⛆

⛆

⛆

⛆

「The Forgotten Soul」

One cannot truly fathom the word darkness until they’ve been plunged into it headlong — yet not in the terms of death. Or at least, this weary soul whose own name laid just out of reach of being recalled, did not think himself to be dead. For death suggested freedom from sadness and distress; and that, well, might be preferable than being trapped in what could only be described as an eternally dreamless slumber — a lonely plane of minute existence, permeated by isolated misery.

He could not remember when he’d first been engulfed by this void, nor could he remember the void itself, actually; past the all-consuming presence where time was altogether illusory. And though he possessed no memory, no true sense of how long he’d been here without awareness, a despair that seemed an intrinsic part of him whispered that it felt longer than forever.

Yet something had stirred him from the weighty gloom of nothingness; a sorrow that resonated with his own desolate soul.

And suddenly, a phantom of color, of light, drifted through the monochrome realm — a blur of golden hair and grey eyes. She haunted his vision, a foreign heartbeat pulsing in rhythm with his own, becoming his only lifeline; so he desperately clung to it, to her, until it lead him to haunt her every sleeping hour as she haunted his every conscious second.

template by astraea​

 

[Aneres]

Amanda Farron
"The Sorrowful Dreamer"​

location: Starbucks

mood: Flabergasted

mention: Night-Hawk

outfit: Here

The day was one that had been drawn out into a thin line of worry and anticipation, two emotions that, for Mandy, had learned to not only combat one another but to sync together beautifully as well. Amanda Farron had started her day just the same as any other. She awoke to the morning rays slipping in through her blinds and blanketing her body in warmth. After her usual ritualistic pep talk, Mandy would peel herself from the embrace of her sheets and mosey out of bed to begin the morning routine. She would dress simply, casually, not one to give much of a damn about her appearance as of late. She'd then proceed to quickly brush her teeth, pass a hand through her waves of gold, check her cheeks and visage for any obvious blemishes, then be on her way. Ever since Jonah had passed in the accident, she had noticed her confidence gradually beginning to dwindle. When once she would meticulously style and shape her hair and paint her face to accentuate her best and brightest features, Amanda had long since thrown out whatever makeup and styling products she had accumulated over the years. Lately, she wouldn't even bother passing a hand through her hair, much less changing out of her choice of sweats and an oversized tee-shirt. Amanda usually opted to stay home, glasses perched on the brim of her nose, face and clothing covered with different, varying shades of color. But, today was different.

Today, she had plans to visit her younger sister, Anne Marie. It had been nearly three months since she had been admitted to the hospital for aggressive treatment, her leukemia seeming to chip deeper and deeper into her sister’s will for life with each day that passed. Needless to say, the visit was something Amanda had both feared and cherished. When she left, the fear was no longer based in simple affirmations. It was also obvious in the way Mandy meandered around the hospital room, arm clutched tightly to her middle, opposing thumb pressed against full lips as her teeth gnawed at the nail. Anne looked terrible, her once bright, grey eyes hollowed and glassed over, her rosy cheeks sunken and pale as the sheets she rested on. It had only been two weeks since Mandy had last visited. How could her condition have worsened so substantially, so quickly?

Amanda now sat behind one of the many mosaic covered tables that rested outside of the local Starbucks. While Mandy usually didn't particularly care to pay for the overpriced, hot milk, it was conveniently located a few blocks from her apartment and gave her the opportunity to escape the oftentimes suffocating expanse of her four walls. Her eyes stared into the steaming cup of coffee that sat before her, her slender fingers lazily stirring the small spoon against the china, her thoughts drifting about in a daze. Amanda’s mind was not only cluttered with worry for her sister, but also with images of the man she had been dreaming of ever since Jonah’s death nearly nine months before. He had come to her the night Jonah had died, his deep, purple eyes giving a wonderful contrast to his olive skin and enrapturing her ever since. However, it wasn't his beauty alone that haunted Amanda. It was the words that spilled from his mouth, words she never could quite hear or make out, that kept the woman up at night. Huffing some under her breath, she took a sip from her cup, her eyes watching the people that passed by over the lip of her china. That was until something, in particular, caught her attention.

Amanda’s chest tightened, her throat constricting.
The steaming brew slipped from her fingers and cascaded in waves over her chest and lap.

Rich, deep, purple eyes that held hers across a sea of people.

codedbycrucialstar​

 

[Night-Hawk]

⛆

⛆

⛆

A

⛆

⛆

⛆

Location: No idea

Mood: Bewildered

Outfit: Here

Aneres

.

He didn’t rightly know how it happened. One moment, he’d been wrapped in the ever suffocating cocoon of sheer nothingness, waiting for another glimpse of light; and the next, it suddenly felt as if was being disintegrated, made into a malleable dust, then molded like clay — reshaped. And when that sensation had ebbed, another swiftly flowed in to take its place, tingling first in his chest. It spread rapidly up through his skull, and simultaneously past this shoulders, coursing down his arms to pool in his fingertips with an almost burning spark. And traveling along the length of his torso, as well, itching at his knees and ankles, he felt it end at his toes, while a discernible weight settled onto the soles of his feet.

His own weight. He couldn’t remember when he’d experienced the feeling of it before, but he rather liked it. And the warmth soaking into his face, the illumination of which could be perceived even behind his eyelids — when had his eyes closed? — could not begin to be described.

The drum inside his ribcage thrummed wildly, and dark lashes fluttered, violet hues being revealed, only to be nearly blinded by...

His breath hitched.

Color, vibrant, real, tangible color surrounded him on all sides. It washed away the bleak void, replacing it with a world of life — and he scarcely believed it, could scarcely fathom it.

Could this just be another dream, somehow? One far more spectacular than all the rest combined. And could he at any moment be ripped from the tendrils of existence, of belonging, of feeling, only to be plunged back into the dismal… nothing. Granted, he did feel that fear. Yet oddly enough, it did not dispel the wonder.

He stumbled on legs that seemed foreign, too greatly accustomed to the weightlessness of the darkness, and nearly collided with a person. They didn’t appear to mind, however, continuing on their merry way without so much as a glance in his direction. But he watched them, utterly mesmerized by each face so different that the last; overwhelmed by their numbers, their shuffling around one another, and eyes devoted to peculiar glowing objects in their hands. Some bobbed, sauntering in their gait, colorful strings hanging from their ears, while others glided past sporting odd apparel, skirts above the knee, or pants two sizes too big.

Life hummed constantly, a steady murmur of voices and sounds, all so loud and present.

Then, in that moment, something... tugged at him. It made him turn, intrigued, beckoned even, by the powerful and inexplicable desire to search for the reason. And so, as if pulled by an invisible thread tied to his ribs, he began walking. Except this invisible thread wasn’t so invisible to his mind’s eye; for he could almost see it, could perceive it there, a thin, glistening string like from a spiderweb extending out in front of him.

He followed it around crowds, across a street where a car nearly struck him, without so much as slowing down or the driver seeming apologetic, and past buildings he didn’t recognize. He didn’t recognize anything. Yet the very thought of stopping or venturing anywhere else made his stomach churn; until finally, after only a few moments, a glimpse of golden blonde hair had him quickening his steps, pulse thundering in his ears, drowning out the crash of porcelain. And as a multitude of eyes jumped to the young woman, his never left, their gazes indefinitely locked. He was hopelessly entranced by her.

'Please, don’t be a dream. Please, don’t be a dream!'

It took an extra moment to reach her, his lifeline, because people just refused to step aside. But despite the delay, he finally sidled closer, now a mere yard away. And only then did his pace slow to a halt, heart in his throat, stomach a frenzied flutter. It felt so surreal. So unreal. As if he’d wake up at any second.

'I don’t want to wake up.'

Just as he summoned courage, and his mouth opened, a woman with red hair drifted into his peripherals. She wore a green apron, had a splattering of freckles on her face, and held a handful of brown pieces of paper in her hands.

And without acknowledging him in the slightest, she stepped right in front of him, partially blocked the blonde female from view.

“Ma’am, are you okay?” she asked. “Here! I have some napkins! And— oh my, watch out for the broken china!”

codedbycrucialstar​

 

[Aneres]

Amanda Farron
"The Sorrowful Dreamer"​

location: Streets of Boston

mood: Dazed

mention: Night-Hawk

outfit: Here

A face familiar that she had only seen in her dreams, now standing plainly in her reality. Brilliant eyes of purple that found and held her own grey orbs in a trance, stretching seconds into what felt like eons. The sights and sounds of the bustling city that continued on around her had been dulled and diluted in comparison to the figure that stood before her. Had the young artist finally lost her grip on actuality or had this enigmatic figure stepped right out of her dreams and had found a way to come to fruition?

“Ma’am, are you okay?”​

As if her consciousness had the elasticity of a rubber band, Amanda snapped back into reality, only now acknowledging the stinging sensation that pricked at her thighs and the nervous waitress anxiously fidgeting about the table, clearly unsure as to what to do with her hands. Pushing back from her seat and recoiling from the pain, Mandy reached for the napkins the jumpy waitress provided and began patting at her stained jeans.

“No, no, I’m fine, really. Just a bit startled is all.” she offered reassuringly. Stepping aside as the young lady began to busy herself with clearing the shattered china, Amanda turned her head in the direction of the strange man, her eyes immediately searching out the uniqueness of his own. How strange. Wasn’t he just…

“...there a second ago?” she stated absently.

“Ma’am?” the waitress chirped in response. Impossible. Either he had been there and then seemingly vanished into thin air, or he simply hadn’t been there at all. Which meant that Mandy was projecting a figment of her imagination into the real world. Either way, Amanda was certain that she was losing her mind. Her eyes darted this way and that, looking for any sign of the apparition. A crowd had gathered around the patio of the coffee shop, making it nearly impossible for Amanda's eyes to scan her surroundings appropriately. After a few more moments of searching with no result, Mandy bit at the inside of her cheek before distractedly reaching for her sketchpad and purse. Wobbling a bit out onto the sidewalk and promptly apologizing for the disturbance, Amanda's feet carried her forward on what felt like muscle memory alone.

Walking quietly down the sidewalk, Mandy’s feet moved on their own as her mind swam with clouded thoughts and clustered sentiments. If she had, in fact, seen a ghost of some sort, then the common response would be overwhelming sensations of fear or anxiety. Instead, her chest swelled with what felt like a mix between relief and disappointment added on top of the initial shock. Relief at the idea that he hadn’t been a dream and disappointment at the realization that perhaps he actually was. Amanda was sure she had seen him. Was positive, in fact. So why did she feel like she was teetering on the edge of uncertainty? Pausing for a moment and reaching for the nearest brick anything, Mandy brought her free hand to her forehead and squeezed her eyes shut tightly, bursts of light dancing behind her eyelids. This day had been so overwhelming that everything from the sounds of the cars passing on the street to the clack of the heels and boots passing her by felt like sensory overload. She needed to get home, brew her favorite tea, and sleep away this day until it faded to memory.

Prying her eyes open and pulling them away from the sidewalk, she looked onward and what she saw caused the breath in her throat to catch and her chest to tighten. There, only a few yards in front of her stood the man from her dreams. He seemed lost as if searching for something that he had misplaced. Tilting her head a bit, both curious and petrified, Mandy swallowed past the lump in her throat before calling out to him, "Excuse me?" Realizing her voice was barely above that of a whisper, Amanda quickly chastised herself before clearing her throat and trying again, this time her voice projecting and reaching the man's ears. "Excuse me, sir?"

codedbycrucialstar​

 

[Night-Hawk]

⛆

⛆

⛆

Æ

⛆

⛆

⛆

Location: No idea

Mood: Confused

Outfit: Here

Aneres

.

Just when he’d been right there, so close to the enthralling woman that he could’ve reached out and touched her — similar to how many times before in her dreams, only this one with a vibrant, thriving world encompassing them on all sides, and a tangible possibility of making contact — he blinked, and it all vanished.

Darkness thus rushed in, consuming his vision, swirling as dark plumes of smoke, suffocating; while his ears rang from the sudden absence of sound. Yet before he had a chance to feel true despair over the loss, his lashes were fanning the air rapidly against the brightness of day once again, causing waves of relief to crash in right alongside disappointment. Because although he’d somehow regained the grasp on existence in this world, he discovered the scenery had changed. And turning in place, head swiveling back and forth, gaze darting to and fro, he could not find her; nor could he locate even a glimpse of the table she’d been seated at, or the shop it had belonged to, with the red-headed female worker.

Uncertainty knotted in his stomach like a heavy ball of lead, weighing him down, and keeping his feet rooted on the sidewalk. He felt pulled in a hundred different directions, the tether that had previously guided him so clearly now tangled and zigzagging in a confusing, disorienting mess. It made his breath come a little quicker, heart pounding as if it wanted to burst from the confines of his ribs. And looking desperately to anyone who passed, although they were not the person he felt a visceral need to locate, he sought any kind of solace he could.

But they ignored him. Every. Single. One. He reached out to one middle-aged woman, voice coming in a stuttered, frightened garble. “Ma’am… can you…” she kept walking with nary a glance. And instead of chasing her down, which his limbs refused to do, his attention shifted to another person, a young man. “Can you help me?” They, too, proceeded onward, however, causing him to become further dismayed.

“Please,” nothing, he turned, “please, I don’t know what’s going on!”

Suddenly the sights and sounds all became so very loud to his eyes and ears. He couldn’t make sense of the noises anymore, of the flashing lights and moving people, feeling hopelessly overwhelmed and out of his element. If only… if only he could find… argh! he didn’t know!

"Excuse me, sir?"​

He startled, whirling around to face a young woman— his eyes widened, heart tripping over itself in what could’ve been a leap for joy, as none other than captivating grey hues looked back at him.

“Yes?”

The voice emanating directly behind him caused the violet-eyed male to jump again, more violently this time around. And turning hastily, feet at last allowing him to move, he discovered an older gentleman standing there, peering expectantly to…. her.

“Can I help you?” the older fellow added, slightly impatient.

codedbycrucialstar​

 

[Aneres]

Amanda Farron
"The Sorrowful Dreamer"​

location: Streets of Boston

mood: Uncertain

mention: Night-Hawk

outfit: Here

Impossible. ​

Just over the shoulder of the familiar stranger peered an older gentleman who’s eyebrows peaked with speculation and impatience as he looked onward expectantly. Did he assume she was speaking to him? With grey eyes darting between the two, it wasn’t long before the elderly man gave a huff and continued on his way, mumbling beneath his breath about time wasted and heads being shoved up asses. Now, standing face to face with what felt like a figment of her imagination, Amanda couldn’t help but wonder if she were actually losing her mind. Not only had he seeped over into her reality from the brushstrokes and watercolored canvases that littered her apartment, but it was also becoming evident that she alone could see him.

Were dreams ever truly aware that they were dreams and when, in actuality, did dreamers truly know they were asleep within the said dream? Taking a singular step forward then, Amanda could feel her lungs constrict and the rhythm of her heart begin an erratic ascent as she willed her hand forward ever so slowly. If she were dreaming, no, if she were awake and lucid, she had to be sure. Hesitating for only a moment to find the will to complete the action, Amanda pressed her fingertips lightly to the Phantom's face. There, she was welcomed by a rough beard that grew evenly from cool skin, her fingers dragging lightly over a strong and robust jaw. Just as her hand fell from his face, Mandy could feel her heart sink into her stomach. He was real, as real as the concrete beneath her feet and the darkening coffee stain on her jeans.

Fists finding and gripping at the fabric of her cardigan, Amanda could feel a chill root itself in the base of her spine and shoot tremors throughout her body.

“Impo--”


Just as she opened her mouth to speak, she felt her balance shift forward awkwardly as a passerby gave her quick apology before continuing on their way. Pulling her attention to the forefront and taking in her surroundings, Amanda became acutely aware of how strange she must look. A woman standing on the middle of the sidewalk, barely moving, miming her hands and shuffling anxiously. Straightening her spine and inhaling deeply, Amanda reached the quick conclusion that she simply didn’t have the patience or resources to deal with this particular crisis. If she were dreaming, as she foolishly hoped, she’d awaken soon enough. If she weren’t, well, out of sight, out of mind. Going to step past him then, the bright hues of Mandy’s eyes briefly met with the dark tempest of his own and she could feel herself nearly stumbling back. At that moment, she could feel such an innate sense of fear and helplessness. Whatever was happening and whoever he was, Amanda couldn’t help but feel connected and sympathetic towards the enigma of a man. Alas, her resolve pushed her onwards and she continued down the sidewalk, shouldering her bag and leaving all of her unanswered questions there with the familiar stranger.

codedbycrucialstar​

 

[Night-Hawk]

⛆

K

⛆

⛆

⛆

⛆

⛆

Location: Unknown

Mood: Desperate

Outfit: Here

Aneres

.

As the older gentleman proceeded onward, albeit in a rather disgruntled manner, the violet-eyed male’s attention settled back upon the blonde, unable to do anything but stare; for it seemed his voice had been stolen by the sight of her alone. And when she drew a pace closer, diminishing the distance between them to the point that it made a prickle of what felt like electricity sidle up along his arms, his breath hitched, before stilling in his lungs altogether as a slender, delicate hand lifted towards his face.

He didn’t dare move — not that he could have, if he tried, really.

And with a tentative touch making feather-light contact with his jaw, a shiver raced through him while amethyst eyes fluttered closed, if only for a brief moment, as he reveled in the sensation of warm, soft digits grazing over his skin. Because for so long, his life, if you could have even called it that, had been devoid of such simple, chaste pleasures. And he hadn’t been able to remember what it felt like to be touched, to be seen, to exist. But oh, it was nice.

And unconsciously, he leaned into the contact which didn’t last near long enough; breath ultimately returning, though unsteadily at best.

He did realize, detachedly, that he must seem awfully strange. Yet the gap that lay between this realization and his caring about the fact, remained a sizable canyon. So with eyes blinking open, the euphoria dissipating suddenly, much like a fog as the atmosphere noticeably shifted, he had no qualms in continuing to stare unwaveringly at the female. Because something about her was just that compelling. And he felt, inexplicably and irrevocably, that she held the answers to all of his questions — nay, his very existence.

Except then, he watched her begin to move past.

That alone had a surge of trepidation rising up inside of his chest, tangling every fiber of his being in icy dark tendrils of horror and fear. He wanted to grab her, to force her to stay right there, with him, and explain what was happening. But an invisible force kept him locked up, frozen, unable to do anything other than stand there uselessly; where somehow, he managed to snag a pair of grey, stormy eyes one last time.

Evidently it hadn’t been enough to stop the enigma of his dreams.

And with her thus moving away, the ground beneath his feet seemed to become unstable, as if he were sinking into a sea of darkness made from all his fears, doubts, and loneliness; threatening to steal the precious oxygen from his lungs, and the oh so fragile hope in his heart. And the farther she drifted from his proximity, the more he felt he would unravel altogether — cease to exist completely.

So it came with desperation bubbling up from deep inside of him that his feet at last propelled him forward before he’d even realized it happened. However he didn’t struggle against the urgent, panicked drive, only went along with it by quickening his pace all the more around a blur of unimportant individuals, and past a haze of insignificant places, until she appeared over the shoulders of a couple; which he unabashedly pushed his way onward, though none seemed to mind, anyway. And gulping in mouthfuls of air, he finally discovered his voice again, just as the blonde woman turned towards a building.

“W-wait!” he called out, breathless and pleading, words cracking at the end. “Wait, please!”

codedbycrucialstar​