I'm a teen traditional artist who hoards alcohol markers and precious charries like a dragon hoards gold. I also write fiction stories at times, even though nothing is published.
If this matters to you, my pronouns are she/her ♥.
My dear bois:
There are many OCs I love, but these four are my favorites above all (Despite how much they've been broken, the poor things).
♥ You will always find a piece of a creator in their creation ♥
Where the pond water in the sun did glimmer
By the violets it was first born
In the song of spring after winter
The beautiful soul of a vision
Words of ink, infantile then
The flowers and thorns of a young mind
Now here it lies, wings tattered and torn
A broken angel by the wayside
Wings 'round a broken character
Then white wings like a swan
There when all he could see in the mirror
Were raining red eyes of pain
His bright smile a memory long of the bygone
The terrors of war had left his heart fractured
And this was the one about who the angel had sung
A broken angel by the wayside
The dreamer left a promise whisper
"I will return, I have not forgotten"
But with each last sunset flicker
The angel can only wait and silently mourn
Hope comes no longer with the dawn
It waits to die, it waits to fade
Its feathers flutter to the ground, in dust to drown
A broken angel by the wayside
Will its time ever come to be risen?
Will its frame soar from the dust though battered?
For now it shall remain, until it is reborn
A broken angel by the wayside.
Lock up your libraries if you like; but there is no gate, no lock, no bolt that you can set upon the freedom of my mind.— Virginia Woolf, A Room of Ones Own