Rough Wip - Blog Posts

artandbeauty71

3 weeks ago

Rough WIP

"At these words, a black cloud of grief shrouded him. Grasping handfuls of dark sand and ash, he poured them over his head and handsome face, soiling his scented tunic. Then he flung himself in the dust, and lying there outstretched, tore and fouled his hair. [...] Antilochus, weeping and groaning, grasped his hand, fearing he might take his knife and cut his own throat, so heart-felt was his noble grief."

For some reason, I picture him completely dissociated, just blankly starting into the void...