Three Phantoms of You [bxb]

Prologue: Spectator's Escape

Nolan:

Run...

My illusive feet, which were only part of the phantom of my whole body, reak into injury as I escape into oblivion.

Sirens are speared behind me, and lights are luminescent, eating my shadow out of existence. My body—no, my soul-is holding onto every speck of my figure. Swindlers warned me how my silhouette would cry from being teared once I entered this part of Nirvana, yet I refused to be fooled.

All I can think of is to run away...

Whatever my father did years ago still echoes in my existence. Was I really worth hunting down to endow what he did? Do I have to exile myself to conceal what my phantom was made for even before I existed?

All of those times, I had hidden as a neutral spectator. Far from the eyes of law, but near enough to see into the eyes of the living. What they love, what they yearn to love is what haunts me as I watch with lifeless passion how they fall into and out of each other. It's cruel to know that promises are not promised for forever as a kid. Yet I can only wach, not suffer from it.

It's also fucked up, I know. However, once you realize that you really have no other option but to be a ghost of emptiness in this world, well, you'll get used to it.

It's what they say. "Spectators live their own version of love and are spawned to understand how to not fall in love." I worked to balance all that was written in my chronicle. Yet, heartless souls in the living seem to entice me more. Many just choose not to experience it as I watch and whisper behind them, hoping they will.

It's ruthless because spectators are the only ones who should not empathize with the idea of affection, yet here they are.

It hurts more when someone fucks with the theory of admiration. They would only reckon to break others' phantoms to satisfy their numbness and cruelty instead.

My father had told me before how special it is to fall in love. It's far from what spectators see and is distinct from what I imagined of it. No one in my family knew what he meant. Probably because we were spawned in this world—yep, not birthed—and chose our family to avoid being the fruit of what he deemed to be love. Yet, why couldn't I resent thinking that something before had led him—

Fuck.

PLEASE STOP IN YOUR TRACKS AND REPORT TO THE AUTHORITIES, OR ELSE YOU'LL BE FACED WITH ETERNAL IMPRISONMENT.

Shitheads have probably watched so many police-felon encounters to have those lines copied straight from the living world. I mean, who would want to spectate crime scenes anyway?

But I'm determined, and I'll definitely regret it more if I stop escaping by now. I knew it would be a risk to follow my granddad when he said that the fastest way out of this world is by running endlessly into the shadow of dusk.

"It's transcribed in the book of the dead, where love is ensconced and buried," he said.

And no one's really allowed here to see its end because spectators say it's too dangerous. Yet, here I am. So... good job, Self?

I took a deep breath as the realization of my stupidity baffled me.

All the cops can do now is voice their warnings and send lights through the halls, rather than risking their lives to follow my stubbornness.

The path here is not really an easy escape; I did have to trade the beating hearts of two couples from the living to open the portal into this darkness. Really obscure, if you ask me. However, according to the dead, hearts are an exchange to stifle love and bury it, which is why It should be forgotten once lost.

I can't see what's behind me, and all that's in front of me is darkness that beholds answers that abide my skepticism to start over.

Run...

My weaking feet are fading, tearing every figment of what I was made for. If only spectating love isn't as painful as trying to avoid seeing it, then it wouldn't maim me so much to fold for what my father did and be an extradition in the spectating world.

I uphold too many regrets to have not felt love and replace the heartless instead, but I wasn't compelled into a world of longingness, yearnness, and admiration. I'm just straight up on the sidelines of phantasm.

I needed to run to not be an apparition of unbelongingness.

My thoughts are still balled into euphoric remorse as I'm greeted by another luminiscent light. It's more than just a bleam of caution; it's a silhouette of another figure.

A person. A person that glisters at the end of what I'm seeing and is laying in a bed where I used to dream.

Could it be—?

Kiev?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Author's Note:

Hi, Readers!!!! This is the prologue chapter of my new book, Three Phantoms of You. This is just the start of everything that could be in the love universe. Read more to see if the story between Kiev and Nolan will live, die, or just be left on read.

Daily updates are a must, so be sure to stay tuned for more chapters!!!