The Artist, and her Sentry

She sits on the edge of her chair as if it were a diving board at the edge of the earth. Her straight, flaxen hair piled on the seat behind her, spilling over the sides like a waterfall frozen in time. She toiled and tapped, putting pen to paper, pouring her heart and soul into the pages of her notebook. Her toes clench when she dedicates all of her concentration to translating her thoughts to the paper, sometimes so hard they pop, and she doesn’t even notice how she smiles a bit when it happens.

She stares at the pages through deep grey-blue eyes, biting lightly on metal jewelry placed on her plump lower lip. She wants to break that habbit, but doesn’t even know she’s doing it until it starts to hurt. Nothing could pull her from this moment. The house could burn around her, and she wouldn’t even feel it’s warmth. Everything  that makes up this girl is dedicated to her art. In this moment she is free.

She doesn’t moisten her dry throat, though the water sits just to her left, because she doesn’t even know she is thirsty. Her fingers are dusty, and grey from graphite deposits…she won’t realize there is war paint across her strong cheek bones until she washes up for bed. It’s beyond late in the night, and well into early morning, but she doesn’t think it’s been more than an hour since dinner.

Once a lost soul, now found bound between pages by the words and images that meander through her mind.  Art is her saviour. Art is her friend. She is an artist. She is art. Tonight she works on something special…it won’t be for sale. Tonight she draws her nightmares, and the one who saves her from them. She struggles to show such deep darkness, and contrasting light. She know’s this image well, but struggles to show put it on paper.

She seems entranced as her right hand twitching left, jotting up, rushing down, swirling in circles, and her left, constantly adjusts the notebooks position. This will likely be her best work, but she will never put it on display. Tonight she works for herself, her nightmares, and her gaurdian. Tonight she draws her demons, being fended off by her angel.

Snakes, spiders, animated cadavers, and scaly skinned creatures with sharp claws, fangs, and horns came in droves from the bottom left corner of the page, destroying everything in their path as theyspread to fill the page. She didn’t even notice the few tear drops splashing across them, she was too busy. In the bottom right corner she drew herself, sitting timmid in a chair with her knees to her chest, tucked inside her sheer nightgown, her long hair loosely braided, eyes aflame with terror.

She knew that drawing this was risky. Everyone has demons, but if they knew what her sentry looked like, she would be viewed with disgust. She was scared, but she pressed on. In the top right corner, she began to set upon the pages her paladin.

Though this was a creature of pure love, and light, it’s features were dark. Supended in the air on the wings of a raven, the creature’s image was captured in midswing of it long, broad overly-embelished sword. Long dark curly locks brushed the surface of the armored shoulders. Heavy gauntlets, and greeves protected the wrists, and shins of this olive skinned, loin-cloth clad warrior. Something was different about the Faulds and breastplate of this armor, the waist was thin, the breast full and round, like a corset or bustier.

She stopped for a moment, trembling in fear, to contemplate weather or not to burn it now. If her family knew she sought the love and protection of another woman, the might cast her away, or attempt to cure her of her impure thoughts. She pressed on. She drew a snarling mouthwith a full bottom lip, and a thin line of one on top. She drew a long nose with a wide base, and slender, low-swooping  bridge. She drew strong cheekbones resting under dark eyes with a strong epicanthic fold.

The pencil hit the table for the first time since she sat down, which she could now tell was much more than an hour by the suns early rays breaking through her window. Her toes now relaxed, she no longer chewed the metal of her body jewelry. She sat content, staring at her Mangum Opus, she realized that she had never been happier than seeing her beloved set upon that piece of paper.

She closed her notebook, and tucked it away from prying eyes. She didn’t even care to wash up before she went to bed, anxious to envision her heaven-sent heroine’s brave battles. One final thought passed her mind before her conciousness faded…”Tomorrow, I shall tell the world who I am. Tomorrow I will begin to live, thanks to you, my sacred sentinal.”

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