Interview - Ethan

Here, thinking about Kenyan’s state in the main story.

I need to decide if she’ll be still fighting or if she gave up already, cuz it’ll change A LOT of the story.

If she’s fighting:

She has no idea Ethan is in Martra.

Ethan will see her for the first time in an execution and she’ll look away

She’ll fight Sylris to know wth Ethan is doing there

She won’t know how to react if Ethan tries to talk to her personally

She won’t tell him the whole truth, afraid of burdening him with the problems she has been protecting him from.

Ethan will get mad at her, but will notice something is wrong

Hiélo will be there to explain things to Ethan

Ethan will try to save his mum, etc etc etc… next things are too much spoiler

Now, if she gave up:

She’ll ask Sylris to bring Ethan to Martra, so they can stay in family

She probably won’t be holding executions now that she knows he’s somewhere in Martra ☠️

She’ll look for him hard, and Behati will think Ethan is some kind of wanted criminal

Ethan is taken to the castle and “WOAH, MUM?!” and Kenyan will cry hard while hugging him

Sylris will be the utmost example of a great father, trust him

Kenyan will try to explain everything, but telling a filtered story where things don’t sound as bad as it was

Kenyan and Sylris will fight about whether revealing him as their son or not (Maivtre shouldn’t have a male child)

Sylris finds a way to make it valid and kinda forces Ethan to accept it

Ethan feels overwhelmed, etc etc etc… I don’t know what would happen next lmao

The first idea is in my mind since some time, but the second might be good too cuz it might confuse Ethan more. “What? My mum left me just to stay with my father?! And the reason she didn’t take me with her was ‘because it was too far away and in a strange/dangerous world’????”

THE POOR GUY JUST KNOWS SUFFERING

Art Trade

There we go, @rainydayzxd ! He still doesn’t have name, but I loved his style! (Go help Rainy decide a name for him)

I hope you like it!

Maivtre,

lukai ínan. Sov panemo vonako fare.

Translated from Martrakoji (my fictional language), it means: “Maivtre, protect us. Don’t bring your wrath.”

As said in some posts ago, Maivtre is the goddess and queen of Martra. “Maivtre” isn’t exactly a name, but a title passed down generation.

The current Maivtre isn’t on her sanest moment of her life, lol. It’s not entirely her fault, tho…

The style was inspired by @astrono77153462, I don’t know what social media cuz I found their drawings on Pinterest.

Look what I found.

THEIR FIRST DESIGN EVER!!!!

Unfortunately, I didn’t know yet that I should put dates on my drawings, so I don’t know when it was made, but if I had to guess, I’d say 2019-2020.

Ethan Yanner was Luke Harvery, 16yo, and had a magic pencil that turned drawings into reality. Also, Kenyan was dead and he’d bring her back to life using that pencil 😀

Behati Nearu was Kate Madeleine, 17yo, and she wanted revenge on the king that sent her parents to war—where they died, obviously, because apparently I have some obsession with dead parents ☠️

Here their name changed again (cuz why not). I guess Behati was Maki Gleiphnir, and Ethan was Hiroki Kotaro.

Many weird drawings, but I like to keep them so I can look at my drawings now and realize how great they are 🥰 tomorrow I post Kenyan’s, Hiélo’s and Yuno’s first designs!

Omg I’ve only scrolled a couple of pieces of your art but they are incredible!! You’re an amazing artist!!

So, who’s the oc on the banner (I think that’s what it’s called) photo? They look so cool!!

Yay I’m glad you liked them!! <33

And, despite looking nothing like her, that character was supposed to be a “villain” Elsa lol. In the time, I wrote a short story and made this drawing of her:

So, is this the end?

I have done it. I finished my job. After years, it happened:

The world is frozen.

I was tired of their laugh, tired of their joy, their happiness, love, pleasure… even their sadness was worth of envy.

Such things were lost in the way before I could even notice, just like my body. My chest aches to breathe, my vision is made of abstract shapes, I can only hear my fading heartbeats in my ears. Taste and smell? Well, they were the first to disappear.

Yet, I persist. No for out of will, nor for the lack of it. No matter what I think about my situation, it will remain like this. I am a living statue, forever stuck in this endless life.

Immortal and unchangeable; not exactly the nature of ice, but my curse messed up nature itself. Many living beings were extinct in the permanent cold weather, many died in starvation, others in captivity, some in my stalactites. And thousands, millions, tens of millions were turned into ice statues.

My people, families, men, women, children, elders… all stopped in time, with no index of fear in their body language. They weren’t waiting for my power to struck them like this.

Anna is also there. I can’t see her face, but I know it’s her. My sister, who insisted so much for my well-being no matter what I did through the years.

Now she’s nothing but a sculpture. All of them.

My own art exhibition, made by me, for me only.

My body cracked when I sighed. I’m sat in my throne, crown on my head and staff in my hand. A, literally, cold Queen. Or tyrant. They used to call me by all names, didn’t they? Devil, even. So I promised I’d remember theirs as well:

Frank, Philips, Greg, Paola, Theo, Angela, Hiago, Mathias, Vanya, Wender, Christine, Diana, Xavier… Hans, Kristoffer, Sven, Olaf.

Yes, I remember all of them. I remember everything. Every single word and deed that I have done. I remember every single soul I killed, their positions, their expressions, their feelings, oh, excruciating details of their pain. All of it reflected in my ice as it came from out to inside them.

They were destined to die someday, I only advanced what was meant to be. I did it for everyone’s well-being. The cries of the ones left were disturbing me. They made me desire to live like that once again, to be human once again, to listen to Anna’s pledge. Her sobbing voice when she found out I failed suiciding… it almost made me human again.

But to be human is to be weak and fragile. If I were human, I’d be dead when I threw myself from that cliff. But I am something else. I am transcendent. I am made to be like this, nothing will bring me to the mud of humanity.

I chose it for me, it’s humanity’s problem to deal with the consequences of my choice.

…

I sometimes wonder if it was the right decision.

…

How much time passed? Days? Months? Years? Centuries?

…

Does it matter? Nothing will change anyway.

We are frozen for eternity.

They look really cool woah ⚠️⚠️ your style fits them better, but I had to make at least a quick sketch of them :))

DOUG AND TRIXIE SKETCH PAGE SET!!!

(Interactions would be incredibly appreciated!)

CW: abuse, gore?, description of burning death

AO3

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Sunburn

“Ah… I wish you had found your new friend.” Sylris smiled and placed his crown on a pillow. “The imaginary intruder should be on the stacks too, don’t you think so? They were very disrespectful at us, my dear.”

Kenyan didn’t bother to answer, as she was busy trying to take off her rings, what at the moment seemed like an impossible task. Her hands wouldn’t stop shaking and her body was burning inside out.

Burning almost as much as she had burned those people.

The difference between them and her was in their innocence. They were people who begged for food. People who ran from a slavish job. People who fought to protect their family. People who denounced an injustice.

And she was a murder wearing a lavish long gown. Pampered by all, adorned with jewelry; an elegant example of holiness and grace to Martra.

Her nail bent over and she hissed. Blood was simmering from there, dripping down on the white skirt, and all she could do was stare at it. Stare at the red blur, at least, as her trembling wouldn’t let her focus on anything.

It was deeply awful. Herself, she meant. She was awful. She should be dead with them. Or better saying, they should be alive, and she should suffer the worst death in this world. That was all she deserved.

“Hurting yourself already?”

Sylris came from behind when she noticed his hand holding hers. His other hand had fell on her waist, keeping her close to him on this embrace.

“You know this won’t change anything, right?” he whispered against her pointy ear. “Hurt yourself or no, they’re still dead. Unmoving, unchangeable, permanent: that’s what death is. That’s what you did, my love.” He took her hand to his lips, and kissed her fingers, one by one.

His voice was nauseating. His words made her skin crawl. His kisses were poison. And his hands? Treacherous, horrendous hands? Always knew where to touch, where to press, where to hold.

He had slid his arm around her belly, and her body faltered slightly over his. She shivered as her unsteady heart went out of control.

What kind of personal betrayal was it? How could her body lean upon the evil she despised the most? How could she feel anything other than hatred for this nasty creature?

But perhaps a monster called for a monster. Her other half would be like her half.

It was only fair.

Even so, she’d rather be alone forever than staying with him.

“Let me go, I’m tired,” she muttered. “I need to rest in my chambers.”

“Why not in mine? You’re shaking so much; it wouldn’t hurt to have someone to hold you, would it, love?” He turned her over, keeping them face to face. “Or are you thinking about staying with your pet at this time of night?” He smirked.

“He’s not my pet,” came the automatic answer. However, her throat tightened at the thought.

After their discussion, Hiélo came to say sorry a thousand times. His ears were flat, his tail dull, and hearing his voice cracking gnawed at her conscience; which led her to accept his apologies. But, honestly? She didn’t want to. For some reason, she only wanted to be mad at him a little longer. She only wanted to have time to organize her feelings and find a proper reason to forgive him.

But since when did she have a choice? How could she be mad at the person who was trying to love her despite her actions?

She swallowed dry. “Hiélo won’t be there, I promise. I won’t call him.” She slowly took his hands off her. “I want to rest alone; is there a problem with it?”

His eyes scrutinized her wholly. It felt like being under a predator gaze, waiting to be devoured at each minute, counting the last seconds of her life— but then he let go of her waist.

“No, there is not. You can go ahead.” His hand lifted her chin softly. “Ask a maid to help you with the rings, okay? I don’t want to see my wife fingerless.” He chuckled and his face approached hers.

The knot on her stomach increased as she knew what was happening. Knowing didn’t make it the slightest better, so she shut her eyes and counted to five for what seemed an eternity. A hot, burning eternity. Hell itself.

Curse her head for getting lighter.

When he broke the kiss with that grin of his, she didn’t stay a second to hear him. Nothing good could come of that mouth, and she kept repeating it for herself as she stormed on the empty halls.

The heat was unbearably clinging to her, suffocating her lungs and expeling the oxygen left on her. And the tricky part of it? She could stop it, if she wanted. Her spiky halo was lightening the environment, and it was the blatant proof that her powers were acting over something, over herself. Warming, heating, burning until her head was spinning, until her gut was churning, until her skin began swelling.

And they had it worse. They didn’t have time to dwell in a little dizziness.

It was pure torture. Flesh tearing apart, splitting, and shearing from the bones; fire crackling and screams breaking through the space; the stench of coal and smoke flying in the sky… until there was nothing left to see—not even their ashes.

That was the power she held. That was the sin she carried.

Her insides unraveled midway her room, throwing up the contents of her stomach on a corner. She gagged and cried as her body fell its temperature, taking advantage of the unease to finally turn her furnace off.

Really, how could someone live like this? How could someone like her still be alive? Just who allowed her existence in this world?!

She should be dead. She should be dead. She. Should. Be. Dead.

But as she wasn’t, she raised from her place and stumbled forward.

Old Sketchbook (again)

The clown’s one is looking cool despite the molding

And these ones were random sketches from Pinterest, and the other a fictional landscape of Sokovia (yeah, it was in the time I was writing fanfic)

This one a characters sheet! If you look in the bottom right, you’ll see a corpse that was supposed to be Kenyan lmao. Thank God she had a nice glow up 🙏🏽

Valentine Cards 2

Sylris’s turn!

Mizan

I won’t say the translation, sry. It’s a scene from that short story/fic I’m writing with Kenyan and a self-insert character. AO3

For some reason, I don’t imagine this character the way I actually am. I imagine them blond, short hair, greek-like clothes (? First drawing). But drawing them that way was too off from how I look, so I drew them like that (Second drawing) which is still nothing like me, but at least they look like I wanted to look

And they’re hotter now. Haha!