It felt like her heart had been wrapped in string, and with every panicked beat the knots got tighter and tighter. Her ears rung, the only thing she was able to hear on repeat like a broken record in her mind- somebody was killed. Murdered.
Memories from her childhood flashed through her mind- Anka’s attempted murder, the violence from the hands of the leaders of the cult, that all too familiar unsafe feeling she had every night before she went to bed.
She reached behind her for Matevos’s hand, but she had no idea where her friend was in relation to her. The whole world seemed fuzzy, she didn’t know where she was or where her friends were. That is, until one familiar voice cut through the crowd.
Anka.
Feyre scanned the swarm of party guests and, as soon as she locked eyes on them, she made her way over as fast as she could. She called her friend’s name, wrapping her arms around them in a tight hug as soon as she reached them. “Are you okay? Do you know what’s going on? You’re not hurt are you?” The words slipped past her lips quicky, not leaving room for any breath.
At least Feyre got the whole point, got beyond the whole point of Matevos pointing out the year as if it was some miracle year. Though he chuckled at her chosen movies, he had no idea any of those were from 1988, but then again, she always seemed to surprise him with her knowledge. He did wonder how she was able to keep so many great dog treat recipes in her mind at all times.
Then again, same could be said for him and all his knowledge on animals.
He grinned. “Well, you certainly deserve this glass, if you tell me what year is your favourite, I’ll get you a better one,” he promised. “But my birth definitely was the high light of that year,” he said.
.
“I mean,” Feyre hummed, a playful smile tugging on her lips, “’93 was a pretty good year, or so I’ve heard. Some kind of nice things happened.” She giggled, of course referring to hear own year of birth to keep the joke running.
She pushed herself from the windowsill, raising the glass between them with a delicate grip. “To a year of new adventures?” The girl looked from the glass up to her friend, never losing that mischievous glint in her eye. “Something tells me this one is going to be a good one too.”
"I do! My roommate Annaki and I are very good friends, in fact- she's one of my best friends. She, and her adorable dog Mochi, are a reason I look forward to coming home every day. I haven't felt at home in a long time, or ever, perhaps. But this place really does feel like home."
Music bounced off the walls of the bakery, Feyre humming along as she mixed the cookie batter. She held the bowl in her arm, dancing on light feet as the ingredients combined. They were about to close, but the girl had an idea for a new cookie she needed to try. She'd seen something about chai spice chocolate chip cookies online, so she thought she'd give it a whirl. "What do you think?" She swayed over to her friend with a giggle, tilting the bowl towards them, "More chocolate?"
She loves Lord of the Rings so much. The entire trilogy, but mostly the first movie. It was the one piece of pop culture she was allowed to enjoy freely, without any questions or remarks from her parents.
10: What's your character really, REALLY proud of?
Making her own name outside of the cult. Feyre Martin died so many years ago, and she's been able to make a life for herself. Nobody was going to save her, but she had the strength to save herself.
29: What animals is your character fond of?
All of them. Particularly dogs. She's wanted one ever since she was a little girl, so she gives treats and pets any chance she gets.
42: Your character would not trust ________ with anything at all
A stranger/new acquaintance. She's pretty trusting once she actually spends time with people!
do you miss anyone from the cult? is there anyone you'd like to reunite with?
"There are a few people that keep thinking about and wondering how they're doing. There was this girl that I grew up with, Clementine. She was my neighbor, we'd do ballet lessons together and sneak over to each other's houses for sleepovers. She left suddenly when I was... sixteen, I think. Sixteen or seventeen. Didn't hear a word from her. I also wonder how my ex-fiancé has been... I hope he's alright. He doesn't deserve to be stuck in that hellhole."
do you frequently have nightmares or find yourself struggling to blend into society after leaving the cult?
"I... I have nightmares all of the time. Sometimes they're graphic and violent dreams where I was tried as a witch or something by my family the community, and sometimes they're memories that I relive. And yes, it's been hard to learn how to live in society after leaving. I felt like a baby deer on ice when I first got out, and still do sometimes. I'm thankful I've surrounded myself with people I can ask questions, even if it's a little embarrassing."
how do you like working at a bakery? is there a job you dream of working toward or are you content where you are?
"I love working at the bakery. Not only do I get to see my friend Anka all the time, but I get to help people start their day off on a positive note. The difference some coffee and a pastry can make is amazing. Someday I would like to make photography my job. But- for now, I'm happy where I am."
14: Favorite musical instrument/an instrument they'd like to play/a song they would enjoy.
She used to go to piano lessons twice a week, but after being away from one for so long she's gotten quite rusty. Her favorite song to play was the main theme from Lord of the Rings.
12: Is there a person or group of people your character envies? What do they have that your character desires so badly?
Though she was warned to be wary of them, she admires how The Bastards are so strong and live however they please. They also seem to have such a strong community, she can't help but admire it.
43: Your character would ________ for unlimited cash?
Anything short of an actual felony, probably, but it'd take a toll on her mental well being immensely. Preferably, she'd make cookies or something like that.
3: Does your character prefer warm colors or cool colors?
Warm colors! She tends to live in rusty oranges and deep reds. Her favorite color is a golden yellow, like the sun right before it sets.
17: Your character finds it weird when people __________ & 18: People find it weird when your character __________
Your character finds it weird when people __
While she understands, and for the most really part enjoys, spontaneity and impulsive behavior- she find it weird when people don't check the parking situation of a new place before going. She'll be the one to check if she's riding in the passenger seat, even if they don't ask.
People find it weird when your character __
They might find how jumpy she is a bit strange. If there's a loud noise, or if someone raises their voice and sounds upset, she tends to lock up and go quiet. She'd been working on it with a therapist, but it's definitely left over from her childhood.
𝐥𝐨𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧: the dulce tierra winery & vineyard, during the party
0/4 !
@anchoragestarters
As discreetly as Saskie could manage, she was wrapping hors d'oeuvres in the decorative napkins and tucking them securely in the new bag she swiped earlier that week from the most expensive boutique in town — really, they should’ve invested in a better theft detection system, because it was one of the easiest mini-heists the ranch hand had embarked on in a while. If only she could pull off wearing a mask like the silver one she adorned at the party, which nicely complimented her crimson red dress that she had in storage for far too long. After shoving her third devilled egg into her mouth and washing it down with half a flute of champagne, she turned on her heel to reacquaint herself with the dance floor before her shoulder brushed against another’s unexpectantly. “Oh, sorry,” she apologized steadfastly, trying her best to swallow her gulp of alcohol so it didn’t sound like her mouth was as full. A halfheartedly bashful smile pulled on the corner of her glittering lips. “Didn’t see you there.” Crossing her nimble fingers behind her back that the other hadn’t seen her greedily steal the treats that were on display on the table, she bowed her head apologetically. “Some party, ain’t it? I can’t say I’ve been to one this nice in a while. Maybe even since prom.”
Feyre had just completed her final dance of the evening. As she exited the dance floor, she felt her stomach rumble a bit. Having worked that morning and got ready for the party immediately after, she admittedly hadn’t had much to eat that day. She’d locked eyes on a platter of tiny sandwiches as she made her way to the snack table. She didn’t realize how bad her tunnel vision was until she felt her shoulder brush another, and was brought back to the present immediately.
“Oh, no worries.” She laughed gently, looking over at the girl, “So many people, it would be impossible to not bump in to somebody.” Feyre nodded, looking over the sea of swirling colors and masks, “Absolutely. I don’t think I’ve been to anything this grand before.” She looked back to the girl, “You look stunning, by the way. Which one inspired you?” She asked, nodding in the direction of the seven deadly sins decorations with a warm smile.
Matevos was making his way through another bottle of champagne snatched under the guise of being one of the servants, he could get away with it since he'd stolen the mask used by the servant and his attire was so dab and dry that nobody would think to look past it. He was constantly smiling and being far too polite to those who gave him more than a second glance, if anyone were to ask him for something from the kitchen, he would gladly pretend to head for it. Easy enough, definitely the type of thing he would get into just because his blood boiled for something to do outside of being amongst people. Also the alcohol made him loose his wits a bit, he would be less inclined to fight every moot point made by bystanders, innocent bystanders, who were unfamiliar with Matevos large collection of useless tidbits.
He spotted someone clearly having a bad time at the party, and walked closer to nudge them with the bottle of champagne. "You look like you could use a drink," he said, deftly pouring the contents in the glass that he was already drinking from - bah hygiene. "They say 1988 was a good year, I wouldn't know." He held the glass out.
Feyre idly spun her ring on her finger as she gazed out of the window, head gently resting on the window’s frame. She had never been much of a partier. Even after she’d found freedom after escaping her home, she’d tried going to clubs and parties, a feeble attempt to act like a normal twenty-something. She always found herself leaving early, like she wanted to do that night, drained from all of the excitement, wanting nothing more than to ring in the new year in her coziest pajamas and watching a movie.
She jumped a little when she heard the voice behind her and felt the cold bottle nudge against her skin. The girl quickly turned to see the owner of the voice, and relaxed when she saw who it was. A warm grin spread across her face as she leaned her back against the frame, listening to her friend intently.
“1988...” She hummed before continuing in a light, playful tone, “Let’s see... We got Beetlejuice, Die Hard, some of Metallica’s greatest hits and...” She quirked a brow at him as she took the glass from his hand, completely unfazed by how this was the one he was using, “You, if I remember correctly. Sounds like a pretty good year to me.”
Possible tws: Religious trauma, allusions to abuse
“Well, Miss Martin? What do you say?”
The voice sounded so far away, like her head was being held underwater.
“Miss Martin?”
She was lost in her own mind, replaying all of the heartbreak, the fear, the guilt she had felt through her entire life in the name of the church of The High Chosen.
She thought about the way her father, the Elder of the church, sat her down at the age of ten to explain to her she’d be forced to marry the most worthy boy of the church; and how that worthiness was calculated based on the donations from their parents.
She thought about the debutante ball he’d forced her to participate in, parading her around the stage like a show dog before sending her to the dance floor with a full dance card.
She thought about the weekly meetings with the very pastor that stood before her and her father, where she needed to explain her worthiness and promise she was still pure.
“Feyre.”
It was a different voice that brought her back to the present. It was younger, and came from beside her.
Feyre blinked, the pristine chapel surrounded her once more, and she glanced over at the owner of that voice. Her fiance. Her dark eyes connected with his and it felt like the white dress that adorned her body tightened with every breath. “I…” She struggled to catch her breath, but tried to wear a brave face as she turned towards the pastor once more. “I’m so sorry. What did you say?”
The holy man gave her a tight lipped smile as he placed his hand over the pages of his bible. “I asked, Miss Martin, do you take Mr. Sharpe to be your lawfully wedded husband?” He placed his hand on Feyre’s shoulder, turning her towards her fiance.
Her skin burned at the contact, she couldn’t help but flinch away from his touch.
“Do you promise to surrender to him? To support him through his dreams, his desires,-”
Her ears rang as she looked up at him, the man that was to be her husband- perhaps the only kind man within a hundred miles. She’d seen him around town, in church, and they danced at the church’s gatherings- He seemed to be the only person who didn’t see her like an object. They’d only been engaged for a month, and that was with Feyre stalling the wedding every chance she could get. His father, the highest bidder, won, and the wedding was supposed to be two weeks prior.
Her fiance took her shaking hands into his, an attempt to comfort.
They were both trapped. She knew that if they didn’t do something, they’d be stuck in this hell forever. They’d raise kids here, and those children would be forced to live through the same awful experiences they had. She’d asked him- no- begged with him to run with her, as far away as they could. They could be friends, they could have helped each other, but he said no. He couldn’t leave his family.
Though she couldn’t help but feel she was abandoning him when she shook her head and said, “No.”
The pastor stammered, “W-what? Miss Martin I don’t think I heard you correctly.”
“No,” Feyre firmly repeated, pulling her hands away from the only kind person she’d ever known. He gripped her tighter, silently pleading her to not follow through with this.
“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” She looked at her now ex-fiance, tears streaming down her face as it became even more difficult to breathe. Feyre yanked her hands from him before running to the small reception hall catty corner to the altar.
The girl locked the doors behind her and took that moment of calm to take a breath. Immediately after, she heard the familiar sound of her father banging on the door, screaming threats that would become promises if that door opened even an inch. Feyre scanned the room, trying her best to think of something to do. Anything.
She was so small- she couldn’t possibly fight back.
The banging on the door got louder and louder, it was nearly impossible to hear her own thoughts.
That was, until she saw the big stack of envelopes that sat next to the gifts on the table before her. Envelopes that had cards, cards that had money.
She kicked off her heels, jamming the points below the door in an attempt to slow them down even more, before scooping the hefty amount of envelopes up in her hands. She knew the janitor, who had been working for the church as long as she’d been alive, kept his work clothes in the closet, so she swung open the door and slipped on the work shoes that were too big for her and stuffed the envelopes into a backpack that laid on the ground.
She heard the wood of the door’s frame begin to splinter. She needed to leave- immediately.
Feyre slid open the nearest window and, without a backward glance, she crawled through. As soon as her feet touched the ground, she ran as fast as her legs could carry her.
nathalie emmanuel. cis woman. she/her. bisexual/biromantic. ⇝ hey, isn’t that feyre rosewood? i think that the twenty-nine year old from banff, canada works as a baker at puggy's cakes, but outside of that people describe them as a fire gently cracking in the fireplace as rain dances on the window, unfiltered laughter and bright smiles, the smell of freshly baked cookies after a hard day, alone and peaceful but never lonely, a soft breeze carrying a crunchy leaf on an autumn afternoon. i hear they are hypervigilant & impulsive, but they are also known to be compassionate & protective. consider giving them a visit at their home in delilah’s den gated community and get to know why they’re called the flight risk.
General Info
Full Name: Feyre Rosewood (Previously: Feyre Martin)
Nickname: Fey
Age: 29
Date of Birth: June 21st
Hometown: Banff, Canada
Gender: Ciswoman
Pronouns: She/Her
Orientation: Biromantic/Bisexual
Religion: Pagan
Occupation: Baker at Puggy’s Cakes
Personality
Label: The Flight Risk
Aesthetics: a fire gently cracking in the fireplace as rain dances on the window, unfiltered laughter and bright smiles, the smell of freshly baked cookies after a hard day, alone and peaceful but never lonely, a soft breeze carrying a crunchy leaf on an autumn afternoon.
Positive Traits: Compassionate, protective
Negative Traits: hypervigilant, impulsive
Goals/Desires: She wishes to make a career of her photography someday, to see the world (Paris, Prague, and London are at the top of her list), and she wants to adopt a dog.
Fears: being locked in a dark room (from growing up), needles, heights
Hobbies: Photography, baking, knitting, dancing.
Habits: spinning the gold ring she wears on her right hand, humming songs, glancing at a door any time it opens.
Possible connections wanted:
Her ex-fiancé (currently filling out a form for him)
Her ex boyfriend (first one she had after escaping)
Friends, best friends, found family
A bad influence
Bio: TW: Cults, religious trauma, abuse (vague but there)
Feyre grew up in the Church of the High Chosen, a cult led by her father. On the surface, they seemed like a happy family. Extremely religious and maybe a bit closed off, but happy.
She was raised to be the perfect wife. She did enough sports to stay fit, but not too strong. She learned how to cook, bake, clean- anything a “perfect wife” would be able to do. As the daughter of the Elder, if she wasn’t the prime example of perfection, she’d fail and bring the family down with her.
Her father had been planning her wedding ever since she was born. To them, the more children and grandchildren there are in the family, the better the patriarch was in god’s eyes. Through her teenage years, he’d locked her away to keep her out of the town’s view, wanting to make sure nobody ever “got used to seeing her.” He paraded her through pageants, at church functions, all while taking donations from the members of the cult to see who was worthy of marrying Feyre. She would go to school and immediately come home, with severe punishment if she was late at all.
When he saw the money stop rolling in when Feyre turned twenty three, he made a decision to marry her off to the son of the Sharpes.
She delayed the wedding every chance she could get as she finally realized what atrocities had surrounded her and had been done to her. She wanted to escape- she begged her new fiancé to run with her, in hopes they could be friends and find a new life outside. He wanted to support her, but he couldn’t leave his family, he couldn’t truly see what was wrong with their life at that time.
On their wedding day, she ran away. She took the money that was meant to be a wedding gift and ran as far as she could, eventually hopping on a plane to Alaska.
