about me

art gallery

khaos

perhaps, she had been khaos, gracing the mortal world with a visit. perhaps, she had been nothing more than an ordinary girl struggling to meet her ends. perhaps, she had been simply been a figment of your imagination, born from a night of one too many drinks.whoever she had been, she had ascertained herself to never be forgotten, to have her stories remembered by those she had sang them to.and you are no exception.

rebellion

epiphany (metamorphis)

in the midst of a midsummer’s night dream, a butterfly is born into a colony of moths.— — —she pulls free the ribbon that had been tied around her eyes for years and years, that had left her blind to the world and it's creatures and herself, letting it flutter to the ground. heart thrumming in his chest as wildly as a war cry, she looks into the mirror and with a little gasp, her hands clasp themselves over her lips.the wings that had been the bane of her, that had every moth with their dull wings in the kingdom scoff at her...those wings that she had wished day and night to tear from her body—they cannot be the ones rooted to her back now, stained in whorls of paint and crafted from sea glass, undoubtedly-"beautiful," she whispers, and the word comes out as a sob.beautiful, she is beautiful.

red or champagne

ghost towns

the witch, misunderstood and hated and feared, sought to show her true self to the people.so she brewed a vial of elixir and drank, drank, drank, as if it was her last drink, as if she was washing away the poison of the words, of the malice that had pierced her beneath her skin-the last drop had barely kissed her lips and she blossomed into a field of moon-stained hyacinths.