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Description
The Pharaoh had become... dull. His life was a repetitive cycle that none of the luxuries of being king could ever break. He'd seen it all-- from exotic cloths, to beautiful women, to spectacular shows of magic by his court magician. Ever since he'd obtained the throne--he was so young, so young--something died inside him--a childish wonder, a certain brightness in his eyes.

No, he had no more room for a lightness such as that.

He'd been exposed to too much death, too much hatred, too many accusing glares and spiteful hisses behind his back, to truly retain any innocence. The days rolled on bitterly; he was a slave to all of Egypt and he had no reprieve from their troubles or worries or complaints.

Thefts were escalating. The people were hungry. Strange weather resulted in strange sicknesses. Rome threatened their border, itching for war. The people were hungry--unhappy. Caravans would come into the palace pleading sanctuary. Foreigners and refugees left homeless due to bandit raids constantly begged him for aid. The people were unhappy.

They would always be unhappy, no matter what he did.

That was all he ever heard.

And he was tired and, Ra forsake him, he had become indifferent to life--the life that offered nothing but that cold, never-ending duty designated to one crowned king.

Was there nothing else to life at all?

But then something soft drifted into his line of sight, breaking into his melancholy, listless gaze. Slowly, he moved his eyes upwards, and he was suddenly bewildered when he saw specks of white falling from the sky.

What was this?

They fell upon his face and he startled when he realised that they were cold. He touched his cheek but the substance had disappeared, leaving his skin pleasantly moist and cool. It looked like ash--oh, how he was familiar with ash (all those burning buildings and cremating corpses; oh, the blood and the horror and the fire and the flames and the disgusting black ash)--but it wasn't ash. It was pure, it was white, and it rained down on him lighter than any feather, perhaps even purer than the feather of Ma'at (oh, blasphemy).

He slowly reached out a hand into the sky, his eyes transfixed, and he willed the substance to fall gently into his hand. What was this? This strange rain, and this sudden lightness in his chest? This feeling that he should have forgotten--that he thought he'd become incapable to feel--swelling in his heart and completely blanking his mind of all the worries that plagued him as king?

A speck fell into his hand and he slowly closed his fist around it, simply marveling.

Ah, he thought. He knew what this feeling was.

Wonder.

The childish wonder he thought he'd lost, but didn't. Ah. Such a brilliant blessing, for the gods to hear the silent wish of his weary soul, and breathe life back into him in the form of snow.

--
Contest entry for 's contest~ Their theme was "Snow", as in, how Atem would react if he saw snow in Egypt.

Oh dear gosh, that narrative was meant to be short

But this was fun! I experimented a little with different pens and perspectives, and golly do I love Atem's eyes *^* I still have a long way to go to get them exactly how I want them though xD Glad I made the deadline (worked all night on this, sob, I'm going to ruin my eyes) and yay for my first Atem solo picture!

Hope you likes!

--
Tools used:

iPad
Program/App: Procreate

Description
The Pharaoh had become... dull. His life was a repetitive cycle that none of the luxuries of being king could ever break. He'd seen it all-- from exotic cloths, to beautiful women, to spectacular shows of magic by his court magician. Ever since he'd obtained the throne--he was so young, so young--something died inside him--a childish wonder, a certain brightness in his eyes.

No, he had no more room for a lightness such as that.

He'd been exposed to too much death, too much hatred, too many accusing glares and spiteful hisses behind his back, to truly retain any innocence. The days rolled on bitterly; he was a slave to all of Egypt and he had no reprieve from their troubles or worries or complaints.

Thefts were escalating. The people were hungry. Strange weather resulted in strange sicknesses. Rome threatened their border, itching for war. The people were hungry--unhappy. Caravans would come into the palace pleading sanctuary. Foreigners and refugees left homeless due to bandit raids constantly begged him for aid. The people were unhappy.

They would always be unhappy, no matter what he did.

That was all he ever heard.

And he was tired and, Ra forsake him, he had become indifferent to life--the life that offered nothing but that cold, never-ending duty designated to one crowned king.

Was there nothing else to life at all?

But then something soft drifted into his line of sight, breaking into his melancholy, listless gaze. Slowly, he moved his eyes upwards, and he was suddenly bewildered when he saw specks of white falling from the sky.

What was this?

They fell upon his face and he startled when he realised that they were cold. He touched his cheek but the substance had disappeared, leaving his skin pleasantly moist and cool. It looked like ash--oh, how he was familiar with ash (all those burning buildings and cremating corpses; oh, the blood and the horror and the fire and the flames and the disgusting black ash)--but it wasn't ash. It was pure, it was white, and it rained down on him lighter than any feather, perhaps even purer than the feather of Ma'at (oh, blasphemy).

He slowly reached out a hand into the sky, his eyes transfixed, and he willed the substance to fall gently into his hand. What was this? This strange rain, and this sudden lightness in his chest? This feeling that he should have forgotten--that he thought he'd become incapable to feel--swelling in his heart and completely blanking his mind of all the worries that plagued him as king?

A speck fell into his hand and he slowly closed his fist around it, simply marveling.

Ah, he thought. He knew what this feeling was.

Wonder.

The childish wonder he thought he'd lost, but didn't. Ah. Such a brilliant blessing, for the gods to hear the silent wish of his weary soul, and breathe life back into him in the form of snow.

--
Contest entry for 's contest~ Their theme was "Snow", as in, how Atem would react if he saw snow in Egypt.

Oh dear gosh, that narrative was meant to be short

But this was fun! I experimented a little with different pens and perspectives, and golly do I love Atem's eyes *^* I still have a long way to go to get them exactly how I want them though xD Glad I made the deadline (worked all night on this, sob, I'm going to ruin my eyes) and yay for my first Atem solo picture!

Hope you likes!

--
Tools used:

iPad
Program/App: Procreate