Oh my tree blossom child, winter wave-like eyeshadows and equally cold stares. Silently
screaming with a closed mouth. Who ghosts trough out alone. Do not
waste your lungs to ponder. Wolfs of now might starve with summer, but
the hounds of old will continue to hunt. Alas not sap drop of pitty
do you deserve. You in cherry cyanide light who washes in tears of sugar.
The lycans will at last tear your ephemeral skin. And you'll learn to slay beasts like man was meant to
Personally, this is my favorite piece I have ever done. It started off as something completely different, to what it eventually turned out to be, and yet the imagery I had envisioned is still there in its full glory just in a different time and perhaps in a fairy tale of sorts