Status: Active for Your Vampiric Apetite. <3
Frost Bitten
A Cold and Fragile Dream
"A snowflake is such a delicate thing. When created, there is not another one in existence just like it. They are unique. How could this be? Especially with so many that fall to the world from the magnificent heavens? Even the skies know how to create art, though you may not know how to see it. Now, I want you to uncover your canvases and look at what's on them. Note the exactness of each flake. It is your task to make something beautiful out of something so ordinary..."
*1Blume dreamed of her first lesson in her College Art Class. For her, it was simple what she wanted to do. She took the basic design and brought back to life a memory she'd long since forgotten, a snowflake she'd seen as a little girl on a tree. It was so fragile, so simple, looking almost like glass, and then was gone. So, for her painting, she had to find a way to replicate it. Not only that, she needed a way to make it react as the old one.
Yet, when she tried to paint, instead of it going as it did when it truly happened, her paints all flooded to the middle of the canvas as a line, started to run down, and made it look as blood pouring.
Blume cried out, horrified by her dream, but could not move. Her subconsciously caused screams, too far away from people to raise any immediate alarm, were in vein.
In the dream, when she looked down at her self, she was covered in red, dripping from her pores. However, all she heard was clapping. She'd somehow managed to recreate the flake, but in a way that drained her very soul of life.
"She had been pouring her life into her work for so long, it finally gave some back. Bravo, Blume. Bravo," her professor said, handing her a roll of towels.
Blume continued to scream, in the dream and out, until she wore out not only her body but her mind. The further into the night she went, the more it seemed that the cold was determined to engulf her completely.
*1Blume dreamed of her first lesson in her College Art Class. For her, it was simple what she wanted to do. She took the basic design and brought back to life a memory she'd long since forgotten, a snowflake she'd seen as a little girl on a tree. It was so fragile, so simple, looking almost like glass, and then was gone. So, for her painting, she had to find a way to replicate it. Not only that, she needed a way to make it react as the old one.
Yet, when she tried to paint, instead of it going as it did when it truly happened, her paints all flooded to the middle of the canvas as a line, started to run down, and made it look as blood pouring.
Blume cried out, horrified by her dream, but could not move. Her subconsciously caused screams, too far away from people to raise any immediate alarm, were in vein.
In the dream, when she looked down at her self, she was covered in red, dripping from her pores. However, all she heard was clapping. She'd somehow managed to recreate the flake, but in a way that drained her very soul of life.
"She had been pouring her life into her work for so long, it finally gave some back. Bravo, Blume. Bravo," her professor said, handing her a roll of towels.
Blume continued to scream, in the dream and out, until she wore out not only her body but her mind. The further into the night she went, the more it seemed that the cold was determined to engulf her completely.
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*1 Snow Flake 