♠ ~ Crimson orbs regard the gloved hand from a pool of black. The main purpose for the action had actually been a sketch, the matching image now lined out on the sketch book sitting in his lap, something not quite right about the many lines.
Yet, now the original purpose of the stare has been lost, the ghoul remains still, seemingly a statue, eyes pinned on the long fingers, as if trying to catch a glimpse of the black ink residing beneath the fabric. His tattoos are usually visible whenever he takes shelter in the park to sketch, his usual clothes and style uncovered, not hidden. Today had been slightly different. It was the dead of night, no human or ghoul in sight near the crystal clear reflection of the moon on the lake, his need to put something on paper, no matter what, had been urgent, thoughts aching to take over the usually composed artist, his mask used for the previous actions thrown beside him near the roots of a tree.
He’d always try to hide them, push them all away somewhere where not even he can reach them, where even the depths of his subconscious have a hard time getting to, memories that shouldn’t have been. But once they surface, they encourage others to come to life too, flooding everything in his mind with faces and blood, organs and gore splattered all over until his vision goes red and even from behind closed lids, he can see portraits, many masks now, in a certain way residing withing him. But the clearest of them all, the one that appears the most in these moments of weakness is one he would like to seek out, one who is a part of him in a completely different way than the other faces, alive and breathing, one from whom he would like to know the truth behind his understanding gaze, for some reason always associated with the flutter of raven wings. Friend? Rival? Enemy? All a blur.
A sigh, sign of return to the usual demeanor, hand now resting in his lap after anew taking hold of the pencil. No words needed, not even to himself, lines again start forming on the paper, a familiar face now taking contour beside the thoroughly crayoned hand, but it would rather picture hate than the usual friendship he knows to receive from the living ghoul. “I wonder if this really is the truth of what you think of me, neatly hidden behind your nice personality…Raven.“
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