hello hi!! Guess who read @meg-moira’s wonderful Eindred and The Witch and immediately got obsessed! Look what you made me do op smh

Been a while since I posted any art huh? Here's a special something I drew for @meg-moira of her beautiful characters Eindred and Severin.

These two are so soft and I love them so much! I had a blast drawing this scene from the patreon story.

“...the man would follow you to the ends of the earth. Probably further if he was able.”

“I’m going to a place he doesn’t wish to return to.”

I will be drawing Eindred soon! However, in the meantime have some moodboards for the boyfriends ❤

The Story of Eindred and the Witch Continues!

In which Eindred reflects on his past and Severin begins to form a plan.

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Hands are reflections of habits - that is, if you know how to read their secrets. In the calluses caressing curled fingertips, one can find mapped out in dried, hardened skin, coordinates of an existence.

Eindred did not particularly like looking at his hands. For if a hand’s marks are a map, Eindred’s spoke of particularly cruel and treacherous waters. It wasn’t that he ever forgot  his life before Severin’s curse. Mostly, he just disliked the stark, jagged reminders etched in overlapping patterns across his skin.

Most days though, there was no helping it. Especially with hands necessary for work, as Eindred’s so often were.

Today, for instance: He was halfway through whittling a pair of wooden bowls.

The old ones were wearing out, and it was well past time for a replacement. With this practical need in mind, Eindred had settled into his rocking chair (it was his, Severin insisted), and set about carving.  As we worked, Eindred frowned in steady, silent focus, running the edge of a short carving blade through thin layers of wood; against his multitude of pale, cross-hatched scars, he felt a near imperceptible tickle from the curled shavings.

Severin was working nearby, humming an unrecognizable tune beneath his breath. It was accompanied by the hiss and sigh of softly swaying wind chimes beyond the open windows.

The Story of Eindred and The Witch Continues!

In which a plan is revealed.

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Everyone knows that when a hero returns from the dead, the story is over. The greatest battle - against mortality itself, has been fought and won. What more is there to tell?

Severin’s grandmother had loved to tell him stories. She’d sat him upon her great lap and told him of heroes and heroines, of monsters and villains, and above all, of grand adventures. There were the occasional darker tales - rare, though they might be, where the brave knight or wizard - or witch, ate a poisoned apple or succumbed to injuries after a valiant fight. Inevitably, a maiden’s tears, or a long forgotten potion, or a wish saved them in the end. The hero revived, and they lived happily ever after.

Simple as that.

Severin’s skin felt tight. Or perhaps tight wasn’t the right word. He curled his fingers against his palm and squeezed. Where his short, blunt nails pressed into his skin, pain flared for a moment, a simple reminder that he was alive.

His skin felt constricting, Severin decided. As far as realizations went, it was a step below concerning. Because, well, he had been dead. After spending nearly a year without a body, being back inside one was bound to take some adjusting to.

As the wind played with his hair, Severin squeezed his other hand in much the same manner. He alternated squeezing one hand and then the other as he walked, feeling his skin shift over tendons and bones.