Megan Geneva Edwards

The fallen blue petals are the tears in my crying eyes.

Megan Edwards is beautiful, if only she would see it in herself. She has chestnut hair that frames her face, and falls down, landing just above her breasts. She has side bangs that can fill up her forehead. Usually she pushes them to the side, but only when she's studying, being serious, or stressed out. Pushing the bangs to the side has developed into a nervous habit. If she's enjoying herself and being care free, they fall in front of her eyes. Her eyes are brightly azure, and they're hidden behind thick circular glasses. (Wearing them, she's compared to a small owl.) Her physical stature is taller, but she's not a skyscraper for fourteen. In the bust area, well... she doesn't have so much to speak of. But it's easier to find clothes, so she doesn't mind.

Megan has a plethora of freckles that are sprinkled on her fair face. Her two front teeth are slightly bigger, her fingers are spidery long (but why would you be looking at her fingers anyways.) Her ears are super small, too.

Megan; being fourteen, is starting to develop a sense of fashion. Her favorite colours are grey scale and blue, and she loves vintage-esque classical pieces. It's a mixture between the glamour of the forties and the romance of the Victorian era. Although, some days she will put on jeans and a tshirt to read her favorite book.

Most people, don't know a lot about Megan Geneva Edwards. They will tell you she is polite; her manners exquisite and pristine. They will speak of her intelligence; she is knowledgeable in many subjects on a deep level. English, History and Music being her favorites. (Science... not so much.) And you can see, she is very quiet. Her soul is an old one, longing for lands of long ago; ones that don't exist anymore.

Except in our dreams. Megan is a dreamer. She has a deep-rooted love of fantasy from movies like Legend, Stardust, and (of course) Labyrinth, (which she's called "DreamMaze", since she was quite little. That love, combined with her dreamer qualities, makes her an excellent writer. She writes poetry and stories, but you could never read them yourself. Megan is extrememly secritive about her works, and doesn't let anyone lay their eyes on them.  The only work she will let people experience is her music. She has been playing piano since she was six and has the guilty pleasure of knowing she is very good, so she likes to play for people to show off her excellent skills.

Megan knows what she does from books, which means she doesn't know anything about politics or pop culture of the now. Her group of friends... Megan doesn't have any friends, except for her books. She's almost completely cut herself off from people.

That's what people will say.

 

Equipment: Megan's imagination.

Megan can play piano, write, and is excellent and soaking up information from books.

Megan's had a very normal childhood, you could say. Grew up in the same suburbs, knew how to read simple books at 4, began piano at six, was tested for gifted at seven and began her track onto intelligence. Oh, very normal. She never really made friends though, assuming that it wasn't important because people couldn't understand her. Megan wasn't upset about it, but she didn't go out of her way for people though. She lived in her books, but not just her books. She lived in her fairy tales, and that's what made her happy at the end of the day.

Things began to change when she was about twelve. There were dreams. Vivid dreams, about blue roses and a dark haired prince who loved and adored her. And with those dreams, a world began growing around them. When she would wake up, everything was written down into think journals that Megan still has. She called the land Magara, and it was her secret, her pleasure and lifeline. For who could tell Megan what she could dream.

Happily, this went on for two years, Megan dreaming and writing, writing and dreaming. She's never told anyone all this time, but sometimes she gets so sucked into her dream world that she doesn't consider anything else. Like a few nights ago when she told her father to go faster on the icy road home, so she could fall asleep and see her dream prince.

And faster.

And faster.

And faster.

Faster, until her father took a turn on the icy forest road, and colliding with a wide-eyed dear and getting into one of the most brutal car crashes in the last decade.

A child should never have to bury their parents at the age of fourteen. And that's where this dark dream begins.

Image owned by ~Mystira on deviantart.com http://mystira.deviantart.com/gallery/?offset=24#/d2gpvp6