Eliza
Im not very happy with how it turned out, need more practice and more linework.

Used as both a concept and.. practice.
Art© Me

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There was once a blacksmith who loved his work,
Who had a wife who bore a child,

Alas,
For childbirth was too much to bear,
How quickly she was bereft of life.

So it became,
His daughter - his grief,
A living reminder of the love he once had.

Days turned to weeks, weeks to years,
He slaved at the anvil, he slaved at the forge,
Crafting weapons for no one's cause,
But to drown out the sorrow he had left to fester.

Alas grief is but a slow poison,
So blinded was he that he failed to notice,
Eliza, his daughter was struck with an illness,
She died so suddenly one winter's night, he did the only thing he knew.

With her body he lit the forge, he crafted a circlet, a crown of mirth.
With his skill he stood by the flames, day by day, night by night.

He did not eat, nor did he sleep,
Until that fateful morning, with trembling hands and breath held still,
He removed the circlet from the kiln.

....

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