Art and Writing
Wolf Girl
She caught her image in the reflection and paused. She did not recognize herself anymore. It was not just the scar or the broken nose or the crudely chopped hair. Her face was harder now, gaunter. There was something dark and hungry in her eyes. Despite all the changes she looked more like a Stark than ever before, perhaps no longer like her Aunt like everyone loved to say but still…
I look like the Kings of Winter. The thought came to Lyarra as she looked into her own dark eyes. She still explored the Crypts in her dreams, learning from the ghosts of her long dead ancestors freed with the rotting of their swords. Perhaps this was a good thing, to become like a King of Winter. They had conquered all the North and ruled for thousands of years unbroken. And now in their sepulchers and statues they were immortal, deathless in a way only the dead can be. Gone but still there, guiding them with mouthless voices. Perhaps she could master death too.
Dream Easel
Here is the text used as an overlay on this image as well as another small snippet, both intended to be stream of consciousness dream journal writings or segments of a dream.
Dream Overlay
It starts the same way every time. I’m in a place I don’t know — I rarely know where I am but at the same time I do because I’m apart of it all or the person or a witness, like a fly is a witness. It’s a city I’ve never been to I think it might be in the States because the roads are so big. It’s different in Europe, more walkable. It’s one of the things I look for to find where I am. I know something bad is going to happen, even the actual subject knows it. It’s like we’re in on the same sick joke. We both know and there’s nothing either of us can do because we’re just players in a script and it’s what’s going to happen.
It starts the same way every time. I’m in a city I don’t know and I’m watching this person like it’s a game - like I’m the camera over their shoulder. Something bad is going to happen we both know it so they walk and I follow. I can’t do anything but follow and wait and wait and wait knowing something is going to happen and it’s like with every step the thing comes closer and closer like if they just stood in one place for the rest of their life they’d be safe but they can’t do that it’s impossible to they keep walking and I follow and the thing gets closer and before it can get to them it gets to ME and it’s BREATHING ON MY NECK LIKE I’M REALLY THERE TOO AND I KNOW SOMETHING BAD IS GOING TO HAPPEN—
Dream 2
Xavier stood in front of his easel, brush in hand. He forgot how he'd gotten here. That was a bad sign. Was this a dream or was he awake?He didn't know. He'd been so tired lately. He had little snippets of black where his memory fell out. He was in his house, in the unfinished room he'd turned into a studio, the space heater was on. There was a painting already started in front of him, wet paint still glistening. He looked at the brush in his hand and then at the portrait staring at him, trying to piece together where he'd been in the process before his memory had blanked. He began to paint, worried about what might happen if he did, worried about what might happen if he didn’t. Then he saw something, in the corner of his eye there was motion and suddenly unbridled terror seized him as he saw the thing hiding behind the open door. Oh no,the door.This was a dream and if that thing got through the door —He had to wake up he had to WAKE UP.