agosto 28, 2026 In his mind, the pastures drifted away; the birds that used to land on his back and peck at his skin slipped from memory; the streams his hooves had feared to cross kept flowing. Blood trickled down, soaking the hair on his head as the flesh grew cold at its final destination.
dezembro 04, 2025 Anterior Collapse _ Does a dystopian world precede the present, or is this time itself dystopia?
Estudo para o meu próximo grafite. Desenho em lápis, colorido e tratado no PS. Na verdade, este desenho está mais perto de uma tela do que de algum muro.
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