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Artwork (Digital) / Fantasy
Species Wolf
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The moon hung low in the night sky, an immaculate orb of warmthless light piercing through the gray clouds and the rolling fog. It gave off an eerie, ethereal glow that lit the sky and the forest below with its cold light, like something out of a dream… or a nightmare. He stood in the midst of the foreboding wood, transfixed by the majesty of the sight before him. But more than that… he could feel its light in a way he could not describe. He could hear it, calling to him in the recesses of his mind, whispering without words. That pale visage consumed his thoughts, plaguing his mind and leaving it in a fog through which only the moon could pierce.
The sound of a branch creaking in the distance brought him back to the present. He snapped his head in the direction of the noise as a murder of crows took flight from an old, withered, dead tree. He was suddenly aware of just how much he could hear in what had seemed a quiet, lonely evening. The sound of branches and pale grass in the idle breeze, the squeaking of bats, the flapping of wings as the crows flew off into the distance. The night was alive with a thousand scents. That of the recently departed birds, the rich and woody aroma of tree bark, the earthy stench of stone, dirt and clay, the fragrance of decaying wild flowers, that of the coming rain.
As he adjusted to the sights, sounds and smells, his mind once again returned to the full moon, its whispers once again creeping into the back of his mind, drowning out his thoughts. He could not remember how he came to be here in the wood. He had faint memories of walking under the sun while the moon slept, walking on two feet rather than four. He remembered others who walked as he did, living in structures not formed by nature. The memories felt… distant, as though they belonged to someone else, or else was but a dream. He was suddenly wrought with uncertainty, the dream was bleeding into reality. Or perhaps, he was still trapped within the dream, and what he glimpsed through the fog was reality.
The whispers grew louder and louder, echoing throughout his mind, reverberating and calling to him relentlessly. The noise was like a torrent, ceaselessly building, endless voices drowning out one another until it was simply noise, maddening noise he could not escape. His lips curled back in a snarl, his eyes narrowed and his blood boiled. He threw his head back, letting out a howl filled with all his anger and desperation, pleading for the whispering to stop, pleading for a moment of respite from the nightmares, a moment of peace. Suddenly, the whispering relented, leaving him in blissful silence, even the night itself seemed to hold its breath in anticipation. With the incessant, wordless voices gone, he turned his mind back to the dreams… just to find they had slipped from his grasp, like sand through his digits. The whispers were gone, and the dream was no more. There was only here and now.
In the brief moments between wakefulness and sleep it can be impossible to tell what is the dream, and what is reality. The walls between consciousness and unconsciousness erode away and you are left with a choice; to decide which life is real, and which is the dream.
Original Submission
Artist:
Drawing_sofaCharacter:
Orlendr
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Category Artwork (Digital) / Fantasy
Species Wolf
Size 1530 x 900px
File Size 396.6 kB
Listed in Folders
From time to time it is very pleasant to see such a stunningly illustrated piece with darkness and obscure forests to accompany a handsome character like Orlendr. The fantastic Sensei Drawing sofa just deserves mountains of praise! ✨✨✨
Your stories as well, always vibing into my heart aaah ❤️
Your stories as well, always vibing into my heart aaah ❤️
I know a lot of the art I get is rather colorful, but I actually quite enjoy dark and atmospheric work as well (I also enjoy horror a lot more than people might guess :3). And thank you! I usually just write whatever is in my head at the time, either what the piece makes me feel, how it relates to the character depicted, or just how I feel at the time.
The colorful art is quite the most enjoyable for many of us, but even the dark and atmospheric work has its own enjoyable side that is worth to be seen (I'm happy you have as well an interest for horror :D) 👻 You're welcome sweetie! Whatever you end to write is pure poetry, feelings and emotions capable to mix up together, reflecting as a mirror either the colors and the darkness in your creative mind. 🧡
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