Be nice to her, world, she doesn’t know that she exists yet.
Based the colours off of the end / enderman and the deep dark / warden. Wanted to go for a clown themed outfit this time around, very happy with how it turned out.
Some random ass traditional art stuff if been doing. Ignore the fact that I somehow did a good looking pose for the first one and the second one is the classic hand on hip pose. Idek how I did the first one tbh.
Hold on im ichance’ing it ( random idea let’s go )
Their hat—askew, tipping dangerously close to the back of his head. His glasses—no longer hiding away his pearlescent eyes. The ground was coated in their blood. Sticky and continuously dripping. Grey skin now just an off-white. They lay still, not even trying to escape from the hell he was condemned. The scene was violently graphic, with the now dark stained ground, and a body posed for death.
He only has seven minutes.
What a lucky number.
He supposed that they deserved it—“You better not run us into the ground.” —, all that good luck had to come back badly one day. What was that one saying? Expect disappointment, always be disappointed? No, no that wasn’t it. What goes around, comes around. Well all the bad luck they previously avoided, just came flying back for vengeance. It wasn’t what he assumed would happen. He though they’d lose badly on a poker game or someone winning big at his casino—“Come on man, I won fair and square!”—. They certainly didn’t think he’d get robbed and stabbed by his best friend—“Is that what we are now.? Friends?”—. Good thing he didn’t bet on it, huh?
They see yellow.
He is standing there.
Ashy brown eyes stare directly into the piercing —“Ain’t it kinda ironic? How you’re all about ice and your eyes are an icey,”— blue. Chance doesn’t stop staring. He flexes his hand as much as possible, looking for a fleck of gold. Anything solid and metallic. They can’t find anything, maybe that’s why his luck ran out —“I know you think it’s real, but it’s frankly childish to even have a ‘Good luck charm’ at this age.”—
The sword steals the light from the world.
He stole their light on his own.
“Itrapped….?? why.?”. He coughs, the blood is thick.
“I thought we were… were friends.”. They blink, they find it hard to open their eyes again.
“You l-liked me—right…?”
He opens his mouth, once more.
“Did I not, m-mean anything?.”
Itrapped looks at them for a few more seconds, and then turns away. He speaks no words towards Chance, but mutters a single sentence under his breath.
“I shouldn’t have worn white.”
His blouse looks to be the same colour as the ugly snow.
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