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Description

SB - 95$

MI - 7$

AB - 315$
AB2 - 350$ (I will draw an additional half)

  RULES

Sorry, but no refunds - all sales final

Feel free to edit/recolor. But don't forget to credit

Please credit me for the design the first time you draw them

Yes, you can ask me to put them on hold -  BUT for a period not exceeding 5 days

You can pay the price of an adopt within a month with a prepayment of 30% of the cost
- this rule applies to all types of bids, including ABs.

if you refuse or are unable to pay the full amount at the end of time, we can agree. If you refuse to redeem the adpot, the prepayment is not refundable.

Yes, you can buy it as a gift for someone, but please let me know who's gonna be an owner

Do not re-sell for higher than you bought them for (unless you have extra art to sell with them)

You have 24 hours to pay. Send the payment only after i tell you - any money sended w/o my approval will count as donation

Fate oft happens to blunder, interlacing with its red thread the lives of quite dissimilar people. Many a people are destined to come together outside their will. Brother and sister, mother and father, lad and lass, friend and foe, none can foresee if they are destined for one another, just as none can say if Fate was right to place such people beside one another.

Sewing and cutting plethora of time was what I had been doing for as long as I had been respiring. Sewing. And. Cutting. All but void around, nothing but a thread. The vastless whole that is Nothing, and millions upon millions of threads interlaced in one unfathomable yarn, spread out, like cobweb. I treaded them, and thoughts inexplicable in my mind demanded I unraveled the webs. Some were tightly knotted, as if snakes intertwined. To unloose them proved nigh on impossible a task, to hack them remained. I am benighted as to what made me do it, yet a voice inside whispered that it was the right thing to do.

I patchworked myself some clothes out of cut threads. Mayhap that was my beloved hobby, an outlet of sorts. The kimono-quills I had fashioned told of many thoughts I had, the stories I knew. I envisioned them whilst cutting threads. Each one a unique piece, they transpired to different people at random in various circumstances. I chanced across logically connected ones. Most fascinating, they were, and the clothes’ fabric spoke their tale.

Frankly, I cared little of the world beyond this «Nothingness». In a way, I divined someone had been weaving these threads of red, someone did will this yarn and crinkled it, a being of powers above mine, above these tales and personas in them, and I had to find out who it was. A certain sensation came at times that I am nothing more than an aside, a tool, if you will, for mending mistakes. People of a most bizarre technological age called it an «autocorrect», while their folks utilized the same thing but called it an eraser. I identified with such an eraser, a tool for salvaging others’ lives.

At times I would talk to the creator of the yarn inside my head and ask him, «Hey, you alive or what? You clueless or something?» Silence. Not a word, and I started to hate it for that, «Fix your stuff yourself!»

Perhaps I would be better off featureless and blankfaced. I was flawed, yet that same flaw gave rise to discovery and nurtured distaste for my being and the creator. This unknown breathed life into me but immured here, manacling to infernal work dedicated to fixing his wrongdoings. Slowly, this fresh sensation inculcated itself.

As I was walking the threads, I mounted the yarn, as I used to many times; layer by layer, line by line I cleft through it. I was in the wrong, I reckoned. With every snip of the scissors the lives of others sounded discordant. Lovers jilting each other, mothers forsaking their issue, the thought I should not have done that gnawed at me, that I ruined perfect order. I would take heed to the voice before, but not this time. This time it was other than anger or hatred. A fresh perspective, a chance to peek beyond workaday, so to speak.

Finally, I faced what had fathered me. There it slept, in a crib at the center of the yarn. It did not possess conscience, nor was alive; still, I realized that which people name Fate. It merely is as a self-sufficient being, nay, an energy cluster. Fate does not weave threads, people do. Fate simply manifests their material matrix. I viewed Fate a horrendous monstrosity, locking me in here. But I was free, always had been. I am to blame for my own interment. Privy to passé and augury, much left to apprehend.

And I took it in my arms. Soft and warm, it did not know neither love, nor harm. It was but a unity of others’ lives, a physical form of the axiom that all stories had been set before, its denouement is foreset. I thought it the right thing to do, that everything must be so.

So I gulped her down, and Fate was no more. Well, I was my own master, to be precise, the inner critic simmered down. He seemed akin to a matrix implanted by Fate in its tools. With Fate gone, only I remained. Now is the time I wrote stories and consummated their end. The story of my life is merely the beginning.

«None came All. And he grazed with his delicate foot the horizonless Waters of the World.»

  PING LIST

Norah-E Cradle-Rocket RosalieMyca xDeans InferiorJ lagenas Mewwwsic elylbroong

Аrt, base and design by

PLEASE DO NOT COPY TRACE OR OTHERWISE STEAL THIS DESIGN OR BASE

Description

SB - 95$

MI - 7$

AB - 315$
AB2 - 350$ (I will draw an additional half)

  RULES

Sorry, but no refunds - all sales final

Feel free to edit/recolor. But don't forget to credit

Please credit me for the design the first time you draw them

Yes, you can ask me to put them on hold -  BUT for a period not exceeding 5 days

You can pay the price of an adopt within a month with a prepayment of 30% of the cost
- this rule applies to all types of bids, including ABs.

if you refuse or are unable to pay the full amount at the end of time, we can agree. If you refuse to redeem the adpot, the prepayment is not refundable.

Yes, you can buy it as a gift for someone, but please let me know who's gonna be an owner

Do not re-sell for higher than you bought them for (unless you have extra art to sell with them)

You have 24 hours to pay. Send the payment only after i tell you - any money sended w/o my approval will count as donation

Fate oft happens to blunder, interlacing with its red thread the lives of quite dissimilar people. Many a people are destined to come together outside their will. Brother and sister, mother and father, lad and lass, friend and foe, none can foresee if they are destined for one another, just as none can say if Fate was right to place such people beside one another.

Sewing and cutting plethora of time was what I had been doing for as long as I had been respiring. Sewing. And. Cutting. All but void around, nothing but a thread. The vastless whole that is Nothing, and millions upon millions of threads interlaced in one unfathomable yarn, spread out, like cobweb. I treaded them, and thoughts inexplicable in my mind demanded I unraveled the webs. Some were tightly knotted, as if snakes intertwined. To unloose them proved nigh on impossible a task, to hack them remained. I am benighted as to what made me do it, yet a voice inside whispered that it was the right thing to do.

I patchworked myself some clothes out of cut threads. Mayhap that was my beloved hobby, an outlet of sorts. The kimono-quills I had fashioned told of many thoughts I had, the stories I knew. I envisioned them whilst cutting threads. Each one a unique piece, they transpired to different people at random in various circumstances. I chanced across logically connected ones. Most fascinating, they were, and the clothes’ fabric spoke their tale.

Frankly, I cared little of the world beyond this «Nothingness». In a way, I divined someone had been weaving these threads of red, someone did will this yarn and crinkled it, a being of powers above mine, above these tales and personas in them, and I had to find out who it was. A certain sensation came at times that I am nothing more than an aside, a tool, if you will, for mending mistakes. People of a most bizarre technological age called it an «autocorrect», while their folks utilized the same thing but called it an eraser. I identified with such an eraser, a tool for salvaging others’ lives.

At times I would talk to the creator of the yarn inside my head and ask him, «Hey, you alive or what? You clueless or something?» Silence. Not a word, and I started to hate it for that, «Fix your stuff yourself!»

Perhaps I would be better off featureless and blankfaced. I was flawed, yet that same flaw gave rise to discovery and nurtured distaste for my being and the creator. This unknown breathed life into me but immured here, manacling to infernal work dedicated to fixing his wrongdoings. Slowly, this fresh sensation inculcated itself.

As I was walking the threads, I mounted the yarn, as I used to many times; layer by layer, line by line I cleft through it. I was in the wrong, I reckoned. With every snip of the scissors the lives of others sounded discordant. Lovers jilting each other, mothers forsaking their issue, the thought I should not have done that gnawed at me, that I ruined perfect order. I would take heed to the voice before, but not this time. This time it was other than anger or hatred. A fresh perspective, a chance to peek beyond workaday, so to speak.

Finally, I faced what had fathered me. There it slept, in a crib at the center of the yarn. It did not possess conscience, nor was alive; still, I realized that which people name Fate. It merely is as a self-sufficient being, nay, an energy cluster. Fate does not weave threads, people do. Fate simply manifests their material matrix. I viewed Fate a horrendous monstrosity, locking me in here. But I was free, always had been. I am to blame for my own interment. Privy to passé and augury, much left to apprehend.

And I took it in my arms. Soft and warm, it did not know neither love, nor harm. It was but a unity of others’ lives, a physical form of the axiom that all stories had been set before, its denouement is foreset. I thought it the right thing to do, that everything must be so.

So I gulped her down, and Fate was no more. Well, I was my own master, to be precise, the inner critic simmered down. He seemed akin to a matrix implanted by Fate in its tools. With Fate gone, only I remained. Now is the time I wrote stories and consummated their end. The story of my life is merely the beginning.

«None came All. And he grazed with his delicate foot the horizonless Waters of the World.»

  PING LIST

Norah-E Cradle-Rocket RosalieMyca xDeans InferiorJ lagenas Mewwwsic elylbroong

Аrt, base and design by

PLEASE DO NOT COPY TRACE OR OTHERWISE STEAL THIS DESIGN OR BASE