|Idea's awesome, or execution is. Either way, these artworks are a joy to view so if you have the time give them some love!|
Keeper - Prologue (Updated)It sucks to be dead. All the boredom and nothingness. One minute your senses are alight with information streaming in, a beautiful mosaic of sensation, and the next there is such an utter lack of anything that there is hardly enough of a soul left to be bored. Yet there is enough. And recently deceased Abigail certainly was bored.Keeper - Prologue (Updated) by Half-Empty-Glasser
How long had it even been? A day? Three days? An hour? Abigail didn't know. All she knew was that she was stuck here in the nothing, alone with only her thoughts. She hadn't known how dull of a conversationalist she was before. In fact, she was even more dull than she had been in life, repeating over and over in her head her death and those things she thought connected to it. It was droll enough that she was considering changing the topic of internal conversation. Unfortunately, she couldn't seem to pull her mind away from it. The sudden pain, the bizarre feeling of her own bo
ChaosFor several long moments, all was still and eerily quiet. Then, his face distorted into a silent scream. Like water bursting a dam, all at once his body disintegrated into the shapes of a thousand beetles. His mind, shattered likewise into a thousand fragments, was lost, and it withdrew deep into his soul to protect itself from the screaming agony of chaos.Chaos by Half-Empty-Glasser
Diana's BirdsThere was a time, long ago, when the birds of jungles were all adorned with gaudy plumage. In modesty the males changed their outfits for browns and grays each year after breeding season, as they had no desire to outshine the forest endlessly. The females were not so reserved. They kept their colors year-round, showing off their beauty to all. They would toss their heads and fluff out their feathers and bask in the sunlight filtering through the trees.Diana's Birds by Half-Empty-Glasser
The unseen side of the females was one of insecurity and vanity. Preening and bathing, plucking every stray feather, they were never content to don a more muted coat. If ever she saw another more beautiful, a hen would retreat to solitude, primping and preening to resemble the other. So it came to be that they became more beautiful in their own eyes, but they shared that beauty with every other female bird in the jungle.
One year a mouse observed the males shedding their flashy colors for subdued