Persé Païen

OC art Katie McGrath art Highlights (some favorite works) Commissions Fanarts Personal works

Tracing in her studies a tenuous line to a stars-swaying power, she found her claim already staked by another, a woman who chanced upon it, and unwittingly bound herself to immortality and the wages of Damaru's pursuits she felt righteously hers. In a savage struggle to reclaim it, all Damaru managed was splitting the shard between their hearts, ensuring her a fraction of its might, and all of its seduction.

Though I know sometimes the art scene does its ritual exhuming of the reference discourse and it might not be evident to someone beholding its desiccated corpse for the first time that that's crazy put that back in the ground.

❧ linktree

No, god sends me visions.

There's five relatively self-contained stories with each pair that eventually merge into a single arching narrative; Lucca and Francis' troubled childhoods in Brazil and their tenuously gentler lives in Ireland, where most of it takes place; Charlotte and McKenna, the slightly inhuman, and their inhumanly long lives from the 19th and 16th centuries onward; arduously star-crossed lovers Roísín and Miriam's ordeals of loss; Joan and Sabine's struggles with the burden of their preternatural insights and the brutality of men that they attempt to leave behind, futilely, in France; and half-sisters Morgan and Yaël's pains to mend the rift tearing through their families, stalking them out of Greece to rend them as well.

Part 1 Part 2

It was in pursuit of the latter that Yaël wandered towards the welcoming shade of a winding yew, and into the bones of its roots surrendered her own. Embraced by both a death so timeless it seemed as if life had never been, and life so complete it could not accommodate an end, she emerged a vessel of its impenetrable ends.

In an attempt to reconcile an existential need for isolation with an equally demanding need for connection, she became a psychologist; in the intimate quiet of her office the noise is tuned to a cadence she can sustain, and exceptionally unscramble. Both the bared silence of her practice and the shelter of ceaseless music seem to be, nearly always, enough a barricade to the open wound of every open mind.

Imagine you open your front door and some stranger in sunglasses just spits in your face

Thank you 🫶