Discover Top Posts Tagged with #sepulcher

A little doodle of sepulcher silent hill

the model and the game are dark as hell so im gonna have to try AGAIN because I finally was able to make out its cute little whale eye(s?)

#sepulcher #silent hill homecoming #silent hill #me like i swear this thing has eyes but i cannot figure out where I got that idea #cranks up the brightness of my screen #ah

Darius Hystaspes Opens the Tomb of Nitocris

Artist: Eustache Le Sueur (French, 1617-1655)

Date: c. 1649

Medium: Oil on canvas

Collection: Private Collection

Description

The subject of the painting is taken from an episode in Herodotus's History dealing with the Babylonian queen Nitocris. She ordered that a sepulcher be built for her over the gates in the most frequented part of the city and carved an inscription on it stating that it contained countless riches. For a long time no one dared to approach the burial vault, until the kingdom of Babylonia came under the rule of the Persian King Darius. He opened the burial chamber and found that in place of a treasure there was only mortal remains and an inscription reproaching his greed which had driven him to violate the peace of the dead.

#apparition #death #dead #death and the maiden #carrying #death bed #cemetery #sepulcher #tomb #abduction

Lviv, Ukraine

#cemetery #moody #graveyard #haunted #old cemetery #lvivcity #tomb #Ukraine #Sepulcher #Ghosts

Give Me Back My Face

(Or The Wrong Skull of Petrarch) I had not wished to go to Arquà. There are villages which seem made for the living, and villages which, though inhabited, have long since given themselves over to the dead. Arquà was of the latter kind. Its stones were too old to be merely stone. Its narrow lanes did not wind so much as remember. The olive trees, twisted by centuries of patient weather, leaned…

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In the flickering lantern light of a decaying mansion, where shadows stretch and contort with a life of their own, edges blur, and flesh quivers; a fragile beauty entwines with monstrosity. Gnarled hands, once delicate, now swell grotesquely, nails like twisted thorns rippling against pallid skin, while veins pulse with the venomous whispers of a long-forgotten curse. Here, in this tragic sepulcher of dreams long buried, the air is thick with the scent of iron and rot—a dangerous allure that beckons the curious only to unveil their own pale reflections disguised as abominations. A symphony of dread swells as limbs twist in unnatural marionette dances, each movement a testament to the sinister alchemy of despair, where ecstasy and horror intertwine in a chilling embrace beneath the haunted gaze of the moon, itself a witness to the transformation that bleeds through time.