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Description

~ On the Edge ~


“Grey hairs – on me! - can you imagine?" Eyolf scoffed. "They've been plaguing me for years – that's why I shave, you know! - but now they're too conspicuous to stay hidden.” He rubbed soap on the troublesome bristles behind his ear revealed under the tight braid. “Be so kind and...” he started, but I picked up the mirror and positioned it at his side so that he could see the back of his head reflected within. “Why, thank you, love.”

He took the straight-edged knife - holding the skin taut with his other hand - and pulled down, leaving the surface smooth and hairless underneath:
     “You understand, I can't have my devotees notice these unsightly flaws... Any blemish is a weakness.”
     “A sign that you're not divine.”

A wrong and distracted flick of the hand and the thin blade cut into the skin. He did not want to be reminded. A drop of blood formed and rolled down his spine. He sighed:
     “Truly, is there anything more dreadful than old age? What is the point of living if you cannot enjoy the wonder that is life, if you cannot feel passion and energy... or worse: if you do feel them, but you cannot give way to them? A prisoner in your own body.” He shuddered. “No. Old age is not for me.”
I stopped the trickle of blood with my finger before it tainted his snow-white robes.
     “I thought you fancied yourself immortal.”
     “Forever young, yes. Don't we all?” He eyed me with raised brow, impishly: “Well... since you know I'm not divine, I might as well let you in on a secret that no other living soul knows: I'm thirty-four. Thirty-four fucking years old!" he chuckled. "Uh, I broke the spell, haven't I? Or these hideous grey hairs have, anyhow...”
     “Grey hairs or not, you don't look them.”

     “Sweet Freyja! do my old ears deceive me?” he blurted, taken aback. “The mighty Yngvar made me a compliment!”

Not able to hold back a smile, I took the knife from his hand. We're so late! And yet... I gently let the blade glissade on his skin. In the mirror that he was now holding, our own image shone back at us; his lips were forming a contented beam.
___________________________________________________________________
Yngvar and Eyolf, sitting on Eyolf's porch on his own "loveliest little island on the South-Western coast". They are preparing for Eyolf's Midsummer party, where he wants to shine - hence, a bit of shaving is involved and Yngvar volunteers to help. He is actually holding a blade at someone's throat without any thought of hurting them... he is not only tender but... is that flirting we see over there? Who are you and what have you done with Yngvar?

This is a spoiler flash-forward to a moment when Eyolf and Yngvar are on the edge of being... happy? And yes, Eyolf is actually 34 (which makes him 6 years older than Yngvar)

Media: acrylics

More Eyolf:
Lucky Wolf
Eyolf: Gues Who
Eyolf: Anger
Eyolf Solhrafn
Sun and Moon

Description

~ On the Edge ~


“Grey hairs – on me! - can you imagine?" Eyolf scoffed. "They've been plaguing me for years – that's why I shave, you know! - but now they're too conspicuous to stay hidden.” He rubbed soap on the troublesome bristles behind his ear revealed under the tight braid. “Be so kind and...” he started, but I picked up the mirror and positioned it at his side so that he could see the back of his head reflected within. “Why, thank you, love.”

He took the straight-edged knife - holding the skin taut with his other hand - and pulled down, leaving the surface smooth and hairless underneath:
     “You understand, I can't have my devotees notice these unsightly flaws... Any blemish is a weakness.”
     “A sign that you're not divine.”

A wrong and distracted flick of the hand and the thin blade cut into the skin. He did not want to be reminded. A drop of blood formed and rolled down his spine. He sighed:
     “Truly, is there anything more dreadful than old age? What is the point of living if you cannot enjoy the wonder that is life, if you cannot feel passion and energy... or worse: if you do feel them, but you cannot give way to them? A prisoner in your own body.” He shuddered. “No. Old age is not for me.”
I stopped the trickle of blood with my finger before it tainted his snow-white robes.
     “I thought you fancied yourself immortal.”
     “Forever young, yes. Don't we all?” He eyed me with raised brow, impishly: “Well... since you know I'm not divine, I might as well let you in on a secret that no other living soul knows: I'm thirty-four. Thirty-four fucking years old!" he chuckled. "Uh, I broke the spell, haven't I? Or these hideous grey hairs have, anyhow...”
     “Grey hairs or not, you don't look them.”

     “Sweet Freyja! do my old ears deceive me?” he blurted, taken aback. “The mighty Yngvar made me a compliment!”

Not able to hold back a smile, I took the knife from his hand. We're so late! And yet... I gently let the blade glissade on his skin. In the mirror that he was now holding, our own image shone back at us; his lips were forming a contented beam.
___________________________________________________________________
Yngvar and Eyolf, sitting on Eyolf's porch on his own "loveliest little island on the South-Western coast". They are preparing for Eyolf's Midsummer party, where he wants to shine - hence, a bit of shaving is involved and Yngvar volunteers to help. He is actually holding a blade at someone's throat without any thought of hurting them... he is not only tender but... is that flirting we see over there? Who are you and what have you done with Yngvar?

This is a spoiler flash-forward to a moment when Eyolf and Yngvar are on the edge of being... happy? And yes, Eyolf is actually 34 (which makes him 6 years older than Yngvar)

Media: acrylics

More Eyolf:
Lucky Wolf
Eyolf: Gues Who
Eyolf: Anger
Eyolf Solhrafn
Sun and Moon