milda-second - Tumblr blog

[milda-second]

Hourglass

I had a dream. Or a vision. Or just… an image crossed my mind.

That image of her still haunts me now and then. 

Who am I even kidding, I constantly think about her.

Maybe the girl’s beauty, maybe her sweet but twisted mind – something about it just won’t leave me. But really… I don’t try to run away from it.

Her name is Aevum. Or at least I think of her as Aevum. 

She doesn’t know her name. And she will never know it. 

Aevum is stuck…

In a gigantic sand-clock. 

The clock is so broad that she fits in it with ease. 

It’s not tall enough to fit her standing, but gives her enough space to sit in the corner comfortably. 

The void lingers outside the hourglass. Pure darkness. Nothing to see, nothing to hear.

From the hourglass’s upper part falls sand, slowly. And quietly. And… it shines. Every small fraction radiates light and warmth that can’t be found anywhere else around.

Sand falls on the girl’s black as coal hair, like little stars or glitter. The light is playing around her silky locks, shimmering and reflecting. Shimmering and reflecting… Shimmering… Reflecting… Hypnotizing..

Aevum is extraordinarily beautiful, or at least my male eyes see her as such. Hah… Who am I even kidding? She is magnetizing. Everyone, no matter their sex or age, or taste in art, would agree to that.

But she is mine. Aevum is mine. No one knows about her, no one can lay their eyes upon her. Her beauty is all mine.

Aevum’s straight, black, as the void around her, hair frames her little, round face with two big as lakes eyes, which have a supernatural purple glow. Purple glow! Just imagine…

Her lips are thin and slightly red, forming a melancholic line. Oh, those lips…

A black dress rests on her small, pale body, exposing her naked, fragile hands that hold a book. 

A fairy tale book. 

Aevum loves fairy tales. She herself believes that she is, in fact, a princess. 

Yes, yes she is. The most beautiful princess there is.

And this princess waits for her prince. For love. For freedom. 

She despairs for freedom. 

Her legs ache from desire to finally stand up. To walk. Dance, jump, spin..!

Occasionally, Aevum tries to shatter the glass wall around her. 

But she always fails. Her arms are too weak to fight the glass.

So the girl waits for help from the outer world. She waits… And waits. And no one comes.

How long has she been waiting? 

Even I don’t know. 

And I know everything about her. 

I know her favorite tale is about Rapunzel, because she can relate to her, her - being trapped in a tower. 

I know that she hates adventure tales, because she can’t leave her own prison. She despises, feels jealousy towards free adventurers. 

Hatred…

Hatred, hatred, hatred overflows her as she tries to break free once again. 

Aevum raises her numb hands and throws them against the glass wall. 

She hits it and hits it, and hits it, hands start to bleed, sharp pain signifies that she should stop, blood, her blood covers the view with a thin red layer. 

But she doesn’t stop, screaming, she never screams, in fact it’s the first time she hears her own voice, so raw and rich of agony. 

Chaos fills the gigantic yet so small sand-clock. 

And my eyes can’t leave Aevum’s face, twisted with pain. It’s as if she knew that I am here, seeing her in all her beauty.

Oh, but I wish she knew what I know. 

She can’t and will never leave the clock. 

Because, she is. 

She is the time itself. 

My own little time, Aevum. 

A short story by me. (Illustration is mine too)

[milda-second]

Artworks are all by me!!!

Hourglass

I had a dream. Or a vision. Or just… an image crossed my mind.

That image of her still haunts me now and then. 

Who am I even kidding, I constantly think about her.

Maybe the girl’s beauty, maybe her sweet but twisted mind – something about it just won’t leave me. But really… I don’t try to run away from it.

Her name is Aevum. Or at least I think of her as Aevum. 

She doesn’t know her name. And she will never know it. 

Aevum is stuck…

In a gigantic sand-clock. 

The clock is so broad that she fits in it with ease. 

It’s not tall enough to fit her standing, but gives her enough space to sit in the corner comfortably. 

The void lingers outside the hourglass. Pure darkness. Nothing to see, nothing to hear.

From the hourglass’s upper part falls sand, slowly. And quietly. And… it shines. Every small fraction radiates light and warmth that can’t be found anywhere else around.

Sand falls on the girl’s black as coal hair, like little stars or glitter. The light is playing around her silky locks, shimmering and reflecting. Shimmering and reflecting… Shimmering… Reflecting… Hypnotizing..

Aevum is extraordinarily beautiful, or at least my male eyes see her as such. Hah… Who am I even kidding? She is magnetizing. Everyone, no matter their sex or age, or taste in art, would agree to that.

But she is mine. Aevum is mine. No one knows about her, no one can lay their eyes upon her. Her beauty is all mine.

Aevum’s straight, black, as the void around her, hair frames her little, round face with two big as lakes eyes, which have a supernatural purple glow. Purple glow! Just imagine…

Her lips are thin and slightly red, forming a melancholic line. Oh, those lips…

A black dress rests on her small, pale body, exposing her naked, fragile hands that hold a book. 

A fairy tale book. 

Aevum loves fairy tales. She herself believes that she is, in fact, a princess. 

Yes, yes she is. The most beautiful princess there is.

And this princess waits for her prince. For love. For freedom. 

She despairs for freedom. 

Her legs ache from desire to finally stand up. To walk. Dance, jump, spin..!

Occasionally, Aevum tries to shatter the glass wall around her. 

But she always fails. Her arms are too weak to fight the glass.

So the girl waits for help from the outer world. She waits… And waits. And no one comes.

How long has she been waiting? 

Even I don’t know. 

And I know everything about her. 

I know her favorite tale is about Rapunzel, because she can relate to her, her - being trapped in a tower. 

I know that she hates adventure tales, because she can’t leave her own prison. She despises, feels jealousy towards free adventurers. 

Hatred…

Hatred, hatred, hatred overflows her as she tries to break free once again. 

Aevum raises her numb hands and throws them against the glass wall. 

She hits it and hits it, and hits it, hands start to bleed, sharp pain signifies that she should stop, blood, her blood covers the view with a thin red layer. 

But she doesn’t stop, screaming, she never screams, in fact it’s the first time she hears her own voice, so raw and rich of agony. 

Chaos fills the gigantic yet so small sand-clock. 

And my eyes can’t leave Aevum’s face, twisted with pain. It’s as if she knew that I am here, seeing her in all her beauty.

Oh, but I wish she knew what I know. 

She can’t and will never leave the clock. 

Because, she is. 

She is the time itself. 

My own little time, Aevum. 

A short story by me. (Illustration is mine too)

[milda-second]

Hourglass

I had a dream. Or a vision. Or just… an image crossed my mind.

That image of her still haunts me now and then. 

Who am I even kidding, I constantly think about her.

Maybe the girl’s beauty, maybe her sweet but twisted mind – something about it just won’t leave me. But really… I don’t try to run away from it.

Her name is Aevum. Or at least I think of her as Aevum. 

She doesn’t know her name. And she will never know it. 

Aevum is stuck…

In a gigantic sand-clock. 

The clock is so broad that she fits in it with ease. 

It’s not tall enough to fit her standing, but gives her enough space to sit in the corner comfortably. 

The void lingers outside the hourglass. Pure darkness. Nothing to see, nothing to hear.

From the hourglass’s upper part falls sand, slowly. And quietly. And… it shines. Every small fraction radiates light and warmth that can’t be found anywhere else around.

Sand falls on the girl’s black as coal hair, like little stars or glitter. The light is playing around her silky locks, shimmering and reflecting. Shimmering and reflecting… Shimmering… Reflecting… Hypnotizing..

Aevum is extraordinarily beautiful, or at least my male eyes see her as such. Hah… Who am I even kidding? She is magnetizing. Everyone, no matter their sex or age, or taste in art, would agree to that.

But she is mine. Aevum is mine. No one knows about her, no one can lay their eyes upon her. Her beauty is all mine.

Aevum’s straight, black, as the void around her, hair frames her little, round face with two big as lakes eyes, which have a supernatural purple glow. Purple glow! Just imagine…

Her lips are thin and slightly red, forming a melancholic line. Oh, those lips…

A black dress rests on her small, pale body, exposing her naked, fragile hands that hold a book. 

A fairy tale book. 

Aevum loves fairy tales. She herself believes that she is, in fact, a princess. 

Yes, yes she is. The most beautiful princess there is.

And this princess waits for her prince. For love. For freedom. 

She despairs for freedom. 

Her legs ache from desire to finally stand up. To walk. Dance, jump, spin..!

Occasionally, Aevum tries to shatter the glass wall around her. 

But she always fails. Her arms are too weak to fight the glass.

So the girl waits for help from the outer world. She waits… And waits. And no one comes.

How long has she been waiting? 

Even I don’t know. 

And I know everything about her. 

I know her favorite tale is about Rapunzel, because she can relate to her, her - being trapped in a tower. 

I know that she hates adventure tales, because she can’t leave her own prison. She despises, feels jealousy towards free adventurers. 

Hatred…

Hatred, hatred, hatred overflows her as she tries to break free once again. 

Aevum raises her numb hands and throws them against the glass wall. 

She hits it and hits it, and hits it, hands start to bleed, sharp pain signifies that she should stop, blood, her blood covers the view with a thin red layer. 

But she doesn’t stop, screaming, she never screams, in fact it’s the first time she hears her own voice, so raw and rich of agony. 

Chaos fills the gigantic yet so small sand-clock. 

And my eyes can’t leave Aevum’s face, twisted with pain. It’s as if she knew that I am here, seeing her in all her beauty.

Oh, but I wish she knew what I know. 

She can’t and will never leave the clock. 

Because, she is. 

She is the time itself. 

My own little time, Aevum. 

A short story by me. (Illustration is mine too)

[milda-second]

Aevum.

Hourglass

I had a dream. 

It still haunts me now and then. 

Maybe the girl’s beauty, maybe her twisted mind – something about it just won’t leave me. 

Her name is Aevum. Or at least I think of her as Aevum. 

She doesn’t know her name yet. And maybe she will never know. 

Aevum is stuck. 

In a gigantic sand-clock. 

The clock is so broad that she fits in it with ease. 

It’s not tall enough to fit her standing, but gives enough space for her to sit in the corner comfortably. 

From the hourglass’s upper part falls sand, slowly and quietly. 

It falls on girl’s black as coal hair. 

Aevum is extraordinarily beautiful, at least my male eyes see her as such. 

Her straight hair frames her little, round face with two big as lakes eyes, which have a supernatural purple glow. 

Her lips are thin and slightly red, forming a melancholic line. 

A black dress sits on her small, pale body, exposing her naked, fragile hands that hold a book. 

A fairy tale book. 

Aevum loves fairy tales. She herself believes that she is, in fact, a princess. 

And this princess waits for the prince, for love, for freedom. 

She despairs for the freedom. 

Her legs ache and desire to finally stand up. 

Occasionally, Aevum tries to shatter the glass wall around her. 

But always fails. 

So she waits for help from the outer world. 

How long she’s been waiting? 

Even I don’t know. 

And I know everything about her. 

I know her favourite tale is about the Rapunzel, because she can relate to her. 

I know she hates adventure tales, because she can’t leave her own prison. She despises, feels jealousy for free adventurers. 

Hatred, hatred, hatred fuels her as she tries to break free once again. 

Aevum raises her numb hands ant throws them against the glass wall. 

She hits it and hits it, and hits it, hands start to bleed, blood covers the view with a thin layer. 

But she doesn’t stop, screaming, she never screams, in fact it’s the first time she hears her own voice, so raw and rich with agony. 

Chaos fills the gigantic yet so small sand-clock. 

And my eyes can’t leave Aevum’s agonizing face. 

Oh, I wish she knew what I know. 

She can’t and will never leave the clock. 

Because, she is. 

She is the time itself. 

My own little time, Aevum. 

A short story by me. (Illustration is mine too)

[milda-second]

Hourglass

I had a dream. Or a vision. Or just… an image crossed my mind.

That image of her still haunts me now and then. 

Who am I even kidding, I constantly think about her.

Maybe the girl’s beauty, maybe her sweet but twisted mind – something about it just won’t leave me. But really… I don’t try to run away from it.

Her name is Aevum. Or at least I think of her as Aevum. 

She doesn’t know her name. And she will never know it. 

Aevum is stuck…

In a gigantic sand-clock. 

The clock is so broad that she fits in it with ease. 

It’s not tall enough to fit her standing, but gives her enough space to sit in the corner comfortably. 

The void lingers outside the hourglass. Pure darkness. Nothing to see, nothing to hear.

From the hourglass’s upper part falls sand, slowly. And quietly. And… it shines. Every small fraction radiates light and warmth that can’t be found anywhere else around.

Sand falls on the girl’s black as coal hair, like little stars or glitter. The light is playing around her silky locks, shimmering and reflecting. Shimmering and reflecting… Shimmering… Reflecting… Hypnotizing..

Aevum is extraordinarily beautiful, or at least my male eyes see her as such. Hah… Who am I even kidding? She is magnetizing. Everyone, no matter their sex or age, or taste in art, would agree to that.

But she is mine. Aevum is mine. No one knows about her, no one can lay their eyes upon her. Her beauty is all mine.

Aevum’s straight, black, as the void around her, hair frames her little, round face with two big as lakes eyes, which have a supernatural purple glow. Purple glow! Just imagine…

Her lips are thin and slightly red, forming a melancholic line. Oh, those lips…

A black dress rests on her small, pale body, exposing her naked, fragile hands that hold a book. 

A fairy tale book. 

Aevum loves fairy tales. She herself believes that she is, in fact, a princess. 

Yes, yes she is. The most beautiful princess there is.

And this princess waits for her prince. For love. For freedom. 

She despairs for freedom. 

Her legs ache from desire to finally stand up. To walk. Dance, jump, spin..!

Occasionally, Aevum tries to shatter the glass wall around her. 

But she always fails. Her arms are too weak to fight the glass.

So the girl waits for help from the outer world. She waits… And waits. And no one comes.

How long has she been waiting? 

Even I don’t know. 

And I know everything about her. 

I know her favorite tale is about Rapunzel, because she can relate to her, her - being trapped in a tower. 

I know that she hates adventure tales, because she can’t leave her own prison. She despises, feels jealousy towards free adventurers. 

Hatred…

Hatred, hatred, hatred overflows her as she tries to break free once again. 

Aevum raises her numb hands and throws them against the glass wall. 

She hits it and hits it, and hits it, hands start to bleed, sharp pain signifies that she should stop, blood, her blood covers the view with a thin red layer. 

But she doesn’t stop, screaming, she never screams, in fact it’s the first time she hears her own voice, so raw and rich of agony. 

Chaos fills the gigantic yet so small sand-clock. 

And my eyes can’t leave Aevum’s face, twisted with pain. It’s as if she knew that I am here, seeing her in all her beauty.

Oh, but I wish she knew what I know. 

She can’t and will never leave the clock. 

Because, she is. 

She is the time itself. 

My own little time, Aevum. 

A short story by me. (Illustration is mine too)