The swamp feels alive with the symphony of croaking frogs and the buzz of unseen insects, but the shack at its heart is deathly silent. Its wooden boards sag, absorbing the moisture, covered in layers of moss. There are a couple of coffins next to the shack's entrance. They're empty, though, perhaps, it wasn't always the case: wet, greenish footprints are leading from the coffins to the gaping black doorway. The darkness feels magnetic...
And there, on the roof, she perches. The bayou witch. Her form is barely there, dark, transparent, as if she isn't even in this world... except for her eyes. White and unblinking, they pierce through the murk, locking onto you - and you can't look away.
You are not alone. And she knows that you know.
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After adventures with Lime's broken foot, my pulled back, never ending holiday celebrations, some sicknesses and just everything altogether, I've been feeling pretty rusty in terms of art %)) So I went the same way I did with this Raha art and pushed myself to draw something more than a sketch. Plus wrote a little piece of story. Hopefully, it's going to help me to get back on track properly %)
UPD - minor edits
Seri
2025-01-09 16:52:44 +0000 UTCWoopalot
2025-01-09 13:09:27 +0000 UTCSusan Gist
2025-01-08 20:59:40 +0000 UTCSymmetrymaster
2025-01-08 20:48:08 +0000 UTCDjtHeutii
2025-01-08 19:29:09 +0000 UTCLimelon
2025-01-08 19:02:45 +0000 UTCNatalie de Corsair
2025-01-08 19:00:05 +0000 UTCLimelon
2025-01-08 18:46:24 +0000 UTC