DONNE TOI LA LUNE

WHAT IS DONNE TOI LA LUNE?

Donne Toi la Lune is a dark fairy tale built on a lifetime of existing inspirations and myths within my universe.

The lore unfolds through illustrated screenshots of a video game from another reality.

WHAT WILL IT BECOME?

This project will be an illustrated guidebook full of lore and fake gameplay info, as well as a soundtrack packaged to look like an actual game,

I spent much of my childhood in a very isolated setting. Video games offered me the freedom to explore worlds and stories as if I were living them.

I have no interest in actual game development, but I love the ‘what if’ factor. Real gameplay is amazing, but, for me games have always been about art, emotion, and experiences which is what I hope to provide with this project.

This is a dark fairy tale of a game that doesn’t exist in our reality. One we can explore only through a lost guidebook that’s leaked into our world, piecing together the lore and wondering if perhaps this game might have held more than the remnants that made it into our realm suggest.

WHY A FAKE GAME?

A raw talk about why I started working on this project

PATREON

Support the creation of this project on Patreon and get behind the scenes process journals, lore and works in progress for as little as $1 a month

Gallery of finished works and lore

'Memories seem to wail at you from beneath the deadfall of the forest with each step you take. Old echoes of a life you can’t recall, yet long to remember. A golden glow in the distance makes you uneasy. You haven’t truly forgotten, have you? You’re

'Memories seem to wail at you from beneath the deadfall of the forest with each step you take. Old echoes of a life you can’t recall, yet long to remember. A golden glow in the distance makes you uneasy. You haven’t truly forgotten, have you? You’re haunted by a familiar light'

Memories truly can be a weight. We dwell on them, we silence them, we drown them in noise. What are the consequences of forgetting, and how will we suffer if we remember? The protagonists of this story are often faced with their shattered pasts tho

Memories truly can be a weight. We dwell on them, we silence them, we drown them in noise. What are the consequences of forgetting, and how will we suffer if we remember? The protagonists of this story are often faced with their shattered pasts though you, as the player, would be in charge of helping them to remember, or living with them in ignorance.

'In the dilapidated ruins of the castle garden, you find the graves. Gilded hands of a saintly corpse float in quiet beckoning above the shrine, inviting you in. Your heart drops as you take a step toward the shadows. You’re not alone. You sense

'In the dilapidated ruins of the castle garden, you find the graves. Gilded hands of a saintly corpse float in quiet beckoning above the shrine, inviting you in. Your heart drops as you take a step toward the shadows. You’re not alone. You sense someone long forgotten.'

‘It’s said that the unicorn daughter was formed from a tree.  Nursed in the golden glow of the Ochre light by the Green Man themself.  And as the years turned and the moon cycles grew dim, they’d call her back to them, her name ever a whisper on the

‘It’s said that the unicorn daughter was formed from a tree.  Nursed in the golden glow of the Ochre light by the Green Man themself.  And as the years turned and the moon cycles grew dim, they’d call her back to them, her name ever a whisper on the tip of twisted roots.  Eager daughter rooted in place by green lies cloaked in fairytales.’  Throughout this fictional video game, you’d uncover memories about the world’s inhabitants. Lore from long ago that unravels between whichever of the two protagonists you choose to play as.  The Ochre Queen, lady of the golden light, who, unlike the Hunstmink, can no longer interact with the castle at the center of the world.  Can you piece together her hidden memories, or better still, heal her from them?

'In the light of the yellow meadow, static stirred a memory. Golden tears fell as the scales broke apart leaving you alone and wondering if anyone had ever been there at all' If you find yourself exploring the Castle Tree Forest later in the game, y

'In the light of the yellow meadow, static stirred a memory. Golden tears fell as the scales broke apart leaving you alone and wondering if anyone had ever been there at all' If you find yourself exploring the Castle Tree Forest later in the game, you will come upon a sad spirit who leaves you to ponder the questions that have been haunting you throughout your journey, 'What happens when you create a god? What about when you kill one?'

'Those long gone from this world used to worry over this forest, searching for the faces of friends and enemies in dreadful eagerness. Mourning cries mixed with chants of conquest still whisper through the wind here.’ The Huntsmink sits deep within

'Those long gone from this world used to worry over this forest, searching for the faces of friends and enemies in dreadful eagerness. Mourning cries mixed with chants of conquest still whisper through the wind here.’ The Huntsmink sits deep within the Castle-Tree Forest in the quiet company of stones.  The rocks here are strange, echoing the death masks from the castle graveyard. It’s said that before the death masks were being carved, the faces of those soon to die would grow on the stones here before they passed.  Whether that’s truth or a legend that died out along with the faces of those on the rocks is unknown. Perhaps it’s merely another burial site. If you dig deep enough, would you find bodies here?

You’ve Surrendered to the Nightmare. So you’ve given yourself over to that bitter sleep? Though the way is bloody and the wounds still haunt you, you may pull from the source of your muse and return to the path where your body now lies without a so

You’ve Surrendered to the Nightmare. So you’ve given yourself over to that bitter sleep? Though the way is bloody and the wounds still haunt you, you may pull from the source of your muse and return to the path where your body now lies without a soul to guide it. ---- Death screen for the Huntsmink

'As I have blinded those that loved me, I myself have become blind to the dangers of being so loved.'

'As I have blinded those that loved me, I myself have become blind to the dangers of being so loved.'

You’ve Succumbed to the Dream. If you’ve met with an untimely end, you can call upon your sacred muse and you may return to the path from whence you were vanquished. But be warned, my dear, you may yet be haunted by that which drove you so deep into

You’ve Succumbed to the Dream. If you’ve met with an untimely end, you can call upon your sacred muse and you may return to the path from whence you were vanquished. But be warned, my dear, you may yet be haunted by that which drove you so deep into the sleep. ——— Death screen for the Ochre Queen

I love imagining the anthropomorphic protagonists of this story suddenly tossing their clothes aside to run on all fours. It seems so healing and freeing for them. Something they dearly need in the often miserable tale of their lives.

I love imagining the anthropomorphic protagonists of this story suddenly tossing their clothes aside to run on all fours. It seems so healing and freeing for them. Something they dearly need in the often miserable tale of their lives.

You've fallen into the longest sleep

You've fallen into the longest sleep

I’ve been exploring how the normally anthropomorphic characters might shift into a wilder form as a way to heal themselves (be it mentally or physically) Playing with ideas through these small drawings has not only been incredibly fun, but it helps m

I’ve been exploring how the normally anthropomorphic characters might shift into a wilder form as a way to heal themselves (be it mentally or physically) Playing with ideas through these small drawings has not only been incredibly fun, but it helps me process ideas in the slow way I need to.

You can't run from this. You're losing signal

You can't run from this. You're losing signal

What you’ve done cannot be undone. Will you carry this weight? Or will you forget and fade away into the longest sleep? A decision made is not always a weight lifted. Once we act upon something, we then have to live with it and this can be almost a

What you’ve done cannot be undone. Will you carry this weight? Or will you forget and fade away into the longest sleep? A decision made is not always a weight lifted. Once we act upon something, we then have to live with it and this can be almost as unbearable until we find our footing on new ground and make something out of the broken pieces. This scene takes place before the opening of my fictional video game, Donne Toi la Lune, moments after the Huntsmink committed what would be considered one of the most vile acts in the Queendom. Red stains on his hands, tears on his face, he knows that everything he’s ever loved is over. A decay will settle in his mind and spread throughout the spiralling landscape leaving shadows deeper than the queen’s light can reach. How would you grieve such a loss? With whom would you remember?

'The trumpet baying of the hounds precedes you as you slip deftly through the forest. Never a twig cracked nor a stone turned beneath your silent feet. Silence is your veil in these woods, but it’s a wonder that they can’t hear your heart thrumming

'The trumpet baying of the hounds precedes you as you slip deftly through the forest. Never a twig cracked nor a stone turned beneath your silent feet. Silence is your veil in these woods, but it’s a wonder that they can’t hear your heart thrumming, thrumming, thrumming to the deep bay of the ghost hounds at your side. Bells ring, you cry out as the taste of decay sends a near cataclysmic shiver of pleasure over your tongue. You begin the hunt, and let what’s left of your sound mind unravel' While playing Donne Toi la Lune as the Huntsmink, you’d have the option to start hunts of your own, which could be useful for particularly challenging battles.  But be mindful, for the Huntsmink is already an erratic character to control, and giving into the hunt tends to be a fairly big setback to the player’s progress in handling him.

‘You feel ill at ease among the pines.  Something dreamlike and dreary makes your head swim with the shifting shadows as a low buzzing whispers beneath the wind.  The faces of the dead watch unblinking from their stones as you move onward through the

‘You feel ill at ease among the pines.  Something dreamlike and dreary makes your head swim with the shifting shadows as a low buzzing whispers beneath the wind.  The faces of the dead watch unblinking from their stones as you move onward through the Hauntling Wood.   Then, a blinding light, artificial stars screaming from the ruins as they manifest the glinting maws of the Cosmic Static that hunts you.'

Your Lamp Can’t Reach Us, Little Unicorn, We’re Light Itself ‘There in the Hauntling wood, you felt a thrumming beneath the earth.  Distant wailing like the cries of a dying star filled your ears before you saw them.  You cast your lantern, but the

Your Lamp Can’t Reach Us, Little Unicorn, We’re Light Itself ‘There in the Hauntling wood, you felt a thrumming beneath the earth.  Distant wailing like the cries of a dying star filled your ears before you saw them.  You cast your lantern, but the light of them made a mockery of all that you know' If you meet with those who cannot be returned unto themselves by your light, you’ll have no choice but to run or choose their death and hope you survive to reach them beyond the veil’ Our lady of golden light, the Ochre Queen, futilely casts her lantern in an attempt to restore the souls of her pursuers that taunt her with the starlight echo of the Muse she so loves and cannot find. 

‘Deep within the Hauntling wood, your golden light begins to fade, scarcely worrying the shadows that slowly become your own. Absorbed, you let yourself fade into the growing darkness.’ It’s said that the queen’s battles are best fought quickly lest

‘Deep within the Hauntling wood, your golden light begins to fade, scarcely worrying the shadows that slowly become your own. Absorbed, you let yourself fade into the growing darkness.’ It’s said that the queen’s battles are best fought quickly lest she overwhelm and lose her head which prompts a death screen. When this happens, and as long as you aren’t in battle, you can activate 'forme savauge' to recover your life. In this form, you're more wild and true to yourself, thus allowing your mind to slip away into healing.

‘You never knew me well, but I held you all the same, and I’ll hold you still.  Your roar cannot frighten me, for it’s the same as my own. I’ll be the storm in your heart, you’ll be the ocean in my eyes.’ Upon your leave of the Muse of Passion, you

‘You never knew me well, but I held you all the same, and I’ll hold you still.  Your roar cannot frighten me, for it’s the same as my own. I’ll be the storm in your heart, you’ll be the ocean in my eyes.’ Upon your leave of the Muse of Passion, you find yourself waking in cold waters, the ocean’s tide carrying you to shore. Though you rage at the chill you’ve been thrown into, you cannot help but feel the burning heat of the Muse’s gift within.  Your heart renewed, you ready yourself for what’s yet to come.

‘You overlook the mountain of the Black Sun Fox, Muse of Tenacity, now resurrected from their shadowed grave.  The last of the Divine Muses.  You thought you’d feel lighter. Have you not accomplished what you set out to do?  You await the gift of the

‘You overlook the mountain of the Black Sun Fox, Muse of Tenacity, now resurrected from their shadowed grave.  The last of the Divine Muses.  You thought you’d feel lighter. Have you not accomplished what you set out to do?  You await the gift of the Muse, the final piece of the moon, but it’s smaller than expected, leaving a taunting sliver of emptiness at the edge of the lunar face that shines above you.  Your journey isn’t over, there's yet a heavy weight to bear.’ The Black Sun Fox, Muse of Tenacity and first love of the Huntsmink among the three Divine Muses. If you’ve reached this part of the game, you probably thought you were nearly finished, only for another cruel twist to challenge you more than any yet have. The weight of a memory now returns to you. Will you bear it? 

‘You think yourself made of pure tenacity, but I see it isn’t so.  You deny my name, you hide from my light, but I’m still here.  Rest now in your weariness, be idle in your repose, and donne toi la lune, my dear.' The world of Donne Toi la Lune is

‘You think yourself made of pure tenacity, but I see it isn’t so.  You deny my name, you hide from my light, but I’m still here.  Rest now in your weariness, be idle in your repose, and donne toi la lune, my dear.' The world of Donne Toi la Lune is both vicious and beautiful. Exhausting in the many challenges it asks of you.  Fictional video game though it may be, I’d like to leave you, the ‘player’ of this game, with a reminder from the Divine Muse of Energy, keeper of the moon: Rest.  For you, much like the protagonists of this story, rest may often be forgotten in favour of fierce dedication and the exhaustion of pulling energy from an empty vessel.  As with the moon, we’re unable to be at our fullest all the time, so take what your phase is giving you now and be idle in your repose. 

‘Blood on my hands and a maw running red, you’d meet me unfearing with a chain in your hold, and I’d gladly bend to your leading light as you led me back to myself.’ The Huntsmink, bell-cry devourer of those beyond the veil, feared and accepted by t

‘Blood on my hands and a maw running red, you’d meet me unfearing with a chain in your hold, and I’d gladly bend to your leading light as you led me back to myself.’ The Huntsmink, bell-cry devourer of those beyond the veil, feared and accepted by the queendom only for his ability to safeguard the queen in ways rumoured through frightened whisper.  But what toll does it take on a person to hunt souls beyond the Light’s reach?  What ravaged mind could return over and over unscathed by the decay of such blood as was consumed by the Huntsmink?  Only the Queen could know, in her patient way, as she pulled him back to himself by golden Light, by gilded chain, by a subtle power none but she could bear. 

‘You may have thought your journey over, but you’ve yet a heavy weight to bear.  Will you carry it by cosmic light to the void where all things are said to end? Will you grieve this weight? Will you remember who you are?’  Your final stretch through

‘You may have thought your journey over, but you’ve yet a heavy weight to bear.  Will you carry it by cosmic light to the void where all things are said to end? Will you grieve this weight? Will you remember who you are?’  Your final stretch through the crystalline desert in search of the last sliver of moon, the weight of someone that might have been dear to you now heavy on your back.  Your limbs ache, your sorrow is deep, but the light of a cosmic void calls to you like a song on loop in your mind. You face the moon and move onward. 

‘Our world was aching, sick against the shadows we were trying so hard to dispel, but you held me steady against those before and beyond the veil. Your light was mine, your bells were mine, sound against the storm.’  You’ve borne the weight of a mem

‘Our world was aching, sick against the shadows we were trying so hard to dispel, but you held me steady against those before and beyond the veil. Your light was mine, your bells were mine, sound against the storm.’  You’ve borne the weight of a memory long lost, a subtle warmth in the eye of a storm that you stood against together.  You can’t remember them as they were, but you recall their steady comfort, and it eases you now as you venture further into the void.

‘You lost your memories of the sun, but for the forest’s words ignited a spark in you nearly as hot and sinuous as the smoke of the sun itself.”  The Black Sun Fox, Divine Muse of Tenacity, lies dead in their mountain tomb.  As memories of someone l

‘You lost your memories of the sun, but for the forest’s words ignited a spark in you nearly as hot and sinuous as the smoke of the sun itself.”  The Black Sun Fox, Divine Muse of Tenacity, lies dead in their mountain tomb.  As memories of someone long forgotten begin to surface within you, you race toward the domain of the sun, swearing on the Ochre Light that your world won’t see another day of darkness.

‘I’ve so longed to see you, and now I must let you go. I’ll cast you back into the womb of starlight from whence you came.  Never fear my absence, for I’ll not be far.  When you see me, you’ll know me, though I’ll shape-shift and gleam.’ The world o

‘I’ve so longed to see you, and now I must let you go. I’ll cast you back into the womb of starlight from whence you came.  Never fear my absence, for I’ll not be far.  When you see me, you’ll know me, though I’ll shape-shift and gleam.’ The world of Donne Toi la Lune is a spiral cradled by an ocean of starlight, said to be the veil that covers the face of the Muse of Passion.  After resurrecting this Divine Muse,  you’ll find yourself waking in the cold, wet cosmos, swimming to shore with your newly acquired piece of the moon and the kiss of the Muse light on your heart.

‘Haunt me with your static, trouble me with your lies, but I’ll follow you to the ends of the earth. I’ll hunt you through the astra, I’ll bloody my teeth in your oblivion. You’ll never be rid of me until I’ve sent you crashing through the stars.’

‘Haunt me with your static, trouble me with your lies, but I’ll follow you to the ends of the earth. I’ll hunt you through the astra, I’ll bloody my teeth in your oblivion. You’ll never be rid of me until I’ve sent you crashing through the stars.’ As with all aspects of this fictional game, your experience playing would vary depending on who you chose to play as. The Huntsmink is a beast of sharp edges and explosive rage, growing in power the longer a battle wages.  This can make for some devastating finishing blows to your enemies if correctly calculated, as long as you can withstand his tendency to rebel from player commands.  

‘The faces didn’t bother us, for we knew them as friends.  Though gone long ago, we could still feel their whispers when we lay among them, our bodies as still as though we were dead ourselves.’  The inhabitants of the queendom have many stories for

‘The faces didn’t bother us, for we knew them as friends.  Though gone long ago, we could still feel their whispers when we lay among them, our bodies as still as though we were dead ourselves.’  The inhabitants of the queendom have many stories for the faces on the stones, but the oldest consider them graves with naturally formed death masks that would appear just before a person’s demise.  No one alive remembers when the last face grew. For the Ochre Queen and the Huntsmink, these faces held a kind of fascination in youth, leading to idle hours spent among the stones trying to listen for the voices of the dead (something the Huntsmink is particularly adept at).

'Far out in the way beyond, a vast, crystalline desert lies cradled by the cosmic ocean.  Deep within the shining rocks, you hear a song that echoes like hollow ghosts chasing you from void to void.' The final realm in the queendom of Donne Toi la L

'Far out in the way beyond, a vast, crystalline desert lies cradled by the cosmic ocean.  Deep within the shining rocks, you hear a song that echoes like hollow ghosts chasing you from void to void.' The final realm in the queendom of Donne Toi la Lune.  If you’ve made it this far, you’re doubtless exhausted in body and troubled in heart, for you thought your journey would have long been over by now.  You consider turning back, but the ghost of a song deep in the distance calls to you like a broadcast through the static of your mind.  You can’t turn away, so you tune into the void and keep going.

We stood on the cusp of a hazy fairy tale, picking flowers in the Ochre Meadow as we tried to catch the whispers of the ghost stones. The presence of Summer was at our sides, but the cold of Winter was all around us.

We stood on the cusp of a hazy fairy tale, picking flowers in the Ochre Meadow as we tried to catch the whispers of the ghost stones. The presence of Summer was at our sides, but the cold of Winter was all around us.

You’ve just begun playing Donne Toi la Lune as the Huntsmink. He’s erratic and difficult to control at the start of the game. Drifting away from player directions, lashing out at nothing, and misfiring arrows as if aiming at things only he can see. H

You’ve just begun playing Donne Toi la Lune as the Huntsmink. He’s erratic and difficult to control at the start of the game. Drifting away from player directions, lashing out at nothing, and misfiring arrows as if aiming at things only he can see. He’s a nightmare. How could he not be after the things he’s done? Forced to once more face an aspect of that which brought about his own downfall, the Huntsmink lies broken, bloodied, and used up in the wilting Ochre Meadow.  Then, the voice of the Moon calls him back from the void.

You're as restless as the ghosts that haunt the static snow of these woods. You can't let go, can't abandon that which you've held so tightly to, even as you crumble into the numerous ruins of the castles that came before you. Fear not, for the shado

You're as restless as the ghosts that haunt the static snow of these woods. You can't let go, can't abandon that which you've held so tightly to, even as you crumble into the numerous ruins of the castles that came before you. Fear not, for the shadows hold more than pain. As with all darkness, if you're willing to peer into the void with compassion, your eyes begin to adjust, and kinder things become clear.

Ocean swell becomes cosmic Bubbles glimmer in moonbeams The world of Berceau is ever-changing, often more rapidly than the beings who call it home can adapt to. The cosmic sea, a tumultuous plain of water and starlight that cradles the small world,

Ocean swell becomes cosmic Bubbles glimmer in moonbeams The world of Berceau is ever-changing, often more rapidly than the beings who call it home can adapt to. The cosmic sea, a tumultuous plain of water and starlight that cradles the small world, is the birthplace wherein such change began.

A body falls, A tree rises The Seed Seeker sees death as a beginning. A harvester who turns the fallen bodies of Berceau into trees to replenish the dying forests. This piece is a reminder that though we may live in a world where it feels like all

A body falls, A tree rises The Seed Seeker sees death as a beginning. A harvester who turns the fallen bodies of Berceau into trees to replenish the dying forests. This piece is a reminder that though we may live in a world where it feels like all goodness is constantly being choked by roots of greed, we have the power to take our pain and turn it into action. Sometimes it feels so hard not to give in to absolute grief for all the world’s suffering, but even the smallest of actions has the power to seed something greater.

An empty moon holds no light Yet the arrow of the hunter flies true Into the red ghosts within you that dissipate like smoke The Red Ruminations are the thoughts we haunt ourselves with. Those that replay in our minds late at night, creating violent

An empty moon holds no light Yet the arrow of the hunter flies true Into the red ghosts within you that dissipate like smoke The Red Ruminations are the thoughts we haunt ourselves with. Those that replay in our minds late at night, creating violent fantasies all their own, cursing us to a life wherein our mind is always in fight or flight. Yet there is hope, for the ghosts are fearful of the mind that doesn’t feed them, of the person who can peer through the dark within into the bright and present world of the outside. The ghosts have little power without their ability to hold our attention captive, and fear, above all, the arrow of the hunter who shows them for the fragile fantasies that they are.

The Ochre Queen falls through the cosmic branches of a tree that once rocked her to sleep, where she’ll land among the echoes of a place she used to call home. Will she find solace there, or more turmoil?

The Ochre Queen falls through the cosmic branches of a tree that once rocked her to sleep, where she’ll land among the echoes of a place she used to call home. Will she find solace there, or more turmoil?

The Green Man Cried by the cosmos, the original seed of the world of Berceau   Beloved keeper of the orphaned unicorn daughter. And yet, only the ghost stones could tell you who they really are. While it isn’t known what happened to the parents of t

The Green Man Cried by the cosmos, the original seed of the world of Berceau   Beloved keeper of the orphaned unicorn daughter. And yet, only the ghost stones could tell you who they really are. While it isn’t known what happened to the parents of the orphaned Ochre Queen and Huntsmink, we can assume it was similar to the fate of the rest of the world. A warped history lost to the clouded minds of the inhabitants of Berceau. Here, Ochre recalls happier times, riding upon the back of the Green Man, a creature that once dwelt in the roots of the world before they were pulled lovingly into this form by their own adopted children.

The snow is blinding as you traverse the ancient woods. The deafening wind drowns out the sounds of the crackling power lines that grow unnaturally like trees from the earth.  A sudden light in the distance draws your eye, and you peer through the ch

The snow is blinding as you traverse the ancient woods. The deafening wind drowns out the sounds of the crackling power lines that grow unnaturally like trees from the earth.  A sudden light in the distance draws your eye, and you peer through the chaos of snow at the towering form that looms on the horizon. You’ve encountered the Neon Stag.

Unicorn daughter, By the blood the moon, you go. Into the restless wood to chase the lying light from the shadows. Listen well to the whispers of the ghost stones, lest the wood drown your truth in its static.

Unicorn daughter, By the blood the moon, you go. Into the restless wood to chase the lying light from the shadows. Listen well to the whispers of the ghost stones, lest the wood drown your truth in its static.

You've come upon a strange cabin Music seems to be playing from within It sounds familiar. Like a lullaby. A song you’ve always known. You’ve come to the Hauntling Wood in search of a cabin, or at least, that’s what the Muse told you.   The thing is

You've come upon a strange cabin Music seems to be playing from within It sounds familiar. Like a lullaby. A song you’ve always known. You’ve come to the Hauntling Wood in search of a cabin, or at least, that’s what the Muse told you.   The thing is, the cabin has a tendency not to stay in one place. She wanders about freely, but she’s become reclusive and fearful of late.  Perhaps the familiar song that’s begun to haunt you might lead the way….

It’s like a fear I’ve never known.  Like the cosmos themselves are burning. The Cosmic Veil, domain of the Muse of Passion, whose veil holds together the astra and ocean that surround the tiny world of Berceau. When the Huntsmink enters this place,

It’s like a fear I’ve never known.  Like the cosmos themselves are burning. The Cosmic Veil, domain of the Muse of Passion, whose veil holds together the astra and ocean that surround the tiny world of Berceau. When the Huntsmink enters this place, however, the Muse is nowhere to be found, and the smell of dying stars is heavy on the air, crackling like the magenta flames that have begun to creep toward him.

Your mind seeks words in the static burning from a radio The noise is deafening, but you listen closely.

Your mind seeks words in the static burning from a radio The noise is deafening, but you listen closely.

The Creeping Wulf is a powerful symbol of adaptation in the world of Berceau. Said to have been born of snails and something far fiercer, the two beings were merged against their will.  A ferocious soul persisted in the small body which might have be

The Creeping Wulf is a powerful symbol of adaptation in the world of Berceau. Said to have been born of snails and something far fiercer, the two beings were merged against their will.  A ferocious soul persisted in the small body which might have been a torment for the creatures, yet they found their way rather impressively. If the grim visages of the ghost stones affixed to their shells aren’t enough warning to those who dare to cross them, then a bite from the tiny venomous fangs and the fatal hallucinations that follow usually do the trick.

There once was a singing horse whose love of music blazed until it echoed across the forest like a thousand rays of starlight. Jealous of their creativity, the wicked roots that grew within the world set the horse ablaze, turning their once joyful p

There once was a singing horse whose love of music blazed until it echoed across the forest like a thousand rays of starlight. Jealous of their creativity, the wicked roots that grew within the world set the horse ablaze, turning their once joyful passion into a force of destruction. But the horse harnessed their newfound fire, becoming brighter with a tenacity and control that allowed them to burn only the roots of the being that had tried to undo them.

Your tenacity can no longer pull energy from bone. Rest now, beneath the woods, and let the earth give you all that’s to come. The aftermath of exhaustion is a fate known to many of us. That moment when all that once felt light now carries the weigh

Your tenacity can no longer pull energy from bone. Rest now, beneath the woods, and let the earth give you all that’s to come. The aftermath of exhaustion is a fate known to many of us. That moment when all that once felt light now carries the weight of boulders.  We hope we’ll return to a state identical to the one we once held, and yet that’s not always the case. Sometimes we must accept the death of one form, with the knowledge that we may become something more suited to our current needs. It can be frightening, letting go. But what is evolution without death?  Is death not renewal in the greatest sense? Though we may cling to the forms we were attached to, perhaps accepting the renewal of rest and allowing ourselves to reshape what we once were is the true way forward.

A moon waxes A hunt has begun And the boundless energy of your spirit longs to join. The Ghost Hounds run, bringing the wild night with them. The gleam in their crescent eyes an ode to the Muse of the moon, whose silver light feeds their every step

A moon waxes A hunt has begun And the boundless energy of your spirit longs to join. The Ghost Hounds run, bringing the wild night with them. The gleam in their crescent eyes an ode to the Muse of the moon, whose silver light feeds their every step and wingbeat. There is no stopping the hounds on a hunt, for they live in tune with the moon’s cycles, amassing an unmatched energy that grows with its light.  

Words burn before you in a crown of colossal antlers You’re alone in yourself, but you don’t have to be Had you forgotten that? The Neon Stag is a messenger bringing wisdom, warning, and truths we’ve locked deep within the corridors of our souls, a

Words burn before you in a crown of colossal antlers You’re alone in yourself, but you don’t have to be Had you forgotten that? The Neon Stag is a messenger bringing wisdom, warning, and truths we’ve locked deep within the corridors of our souls, afraid to acknowledge them. And yet, there is no escaping from the looming presence of this being, or the words they bring before us.

An Omen of Summer appears. A black sun rises above. What are you willing to let die in order to reveal your path? This piece is a reminder of the things we cling to. Obsessions we can’t release despite the doors that would open if such a release wer

An Omen of Summer appears. A black sun rises above. What are you willing to let die in order to reveal your path? This piece is a reminder of the things we cling to. Obsessions we can’t release despite the doors that would open if such a release were to happen. The four-winged crow is called Aestas, a creature I’ve painted in various forms over many years.  An omen of death, a gateway to new life. When she appears for you, you must ask yourself what it’s time to let go of.

HOW WILL YOU GRIEVE? WITH WHOM WILL YOU REMEMBER?