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kikyobelladonna

Yaelderee DarcHeim
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I'm going back into business and I'm trying to raise funds via GoFundMe. I have wonderful donor rewards prepared. Please visit and share. Let's make this go viral! www.gofundme.com/e6lcmc
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Adversary

5 min read
It's 2 am and the house is quiet. Youtube is playing in the background and I've pu the kettle on for tea. Every light in the house is on and I sit with my back to the wall: laptop open, fingers busy. I just got a new work assignment yesterday and I've only got a couple weeks to pull it all together. Ah, the joys of freelancing.
I reach back to rub my sore neck. Tensions hae been high lately with the holiday season looming on the horizon. I should be asleep. I know being up at night is no good. I know I should keep more normal hours, but I can't. Night time means darkness, and darkness...means a visitor. I've kept her away for three days now, staying up all night and sleeping all day, but I know it won't be long until she shows up.
She's been with me since I was a child. My earliest memories are of us, alone in my room. I've never liked her. She's tall, and dark, with long teeth and even longer claws. Her arms are too long, her face too ugly, and her hair writing like something living. I'm never sure if the black shrouding her is clothing...or more of that horrible, twisting hair. She reeks of rot and old books and her every movement is rustling. The worst thing is her shadow, looming large over the wall, melding with other innocent shadows to form a mural of writhing nightmares on my wall. It's hellish.
The only thing good about her is her voice. Well, it would be if she used it for anything worthwhile. It's so quiet, so smooth, it could honestly decieve a less aware person. It is the voice of the mother crooning to her fussing babe; of the lover, whispering the sweet promises of passion; of the priest, intoning the rites of salvation to the huddled masses on a Sunday. I wish I could block it out. I wish I didn't have to listen to her. I don't want to hear her but I can't stop. No matter how tightly I stop my ears, no matter how loudly I hum or how fervently I pray, I still hear her.
She is mean sort of thing. Her sole reason to be seems tied to my misfortune. Everything from the antics of a poltergeist, to the calculated destruction wrought by a demon is in her per view. On good days she might whisper cruel taunts as I bathe or wrap her hand around my throat and choke off my words in front of a client. When this gets boring, she likes to make shadows leap at me from the corners of my eyes while I drive or sit on my chest while I struggle to breathe.
The worst days are a carnival of madness and pain. She will lie on top of me, pummeling me relentlessly as she screams her hatred in my face. If I manage to push her off she will chase me through the house, shadows leaping toward me as she grabs my legs to weigh me down. Stoves will seem to burn hotter and the smell of burning will fill the air. Cracks form in the cielings and strange gurgling squeals come from the pipes. Doors rattle as though someone is frantically demanding entry and the windows will momentarily flash leering faces. All the while, she talks to me. She recounts my failures and sings my fears in a chorus of agnoy.
I've tried doctors. I've tried religion. I've turned to drugs, alchohol, sex and mutilation. Everything just makes her bolder. As soon as I escape one game, she comes up with something new. She is smarter than me, or at least more determined. She will not forgive me for avoiding her all this time. As I type this I can hear her growling and I feel the heavy cold rising up from beneath my feet.
I want nothing more than to grab her writhing hair and drag her up to face me. I want to stare into her eyes as I beat her senseless. I want to watch her face shift and change as I wrap my hands around her throat and crush her in my bare hands. I want to see every drop of the pain she's inflicted leak from between my hands...but I can't. As soon as I grab her, she disintegrates. If I chase her, she laughs. If I strangle her, she calls out to me in the voices of those I hate the most or surrounds me with images from my nightmares.
The cold is getting worse. I run to my bathroom and fumble in the medicine cabinent for my only weapon. A handful of pills, all shapes and sizes, seem to glow in my hand as I hear her infuriated hiss. I swallow quickly, choking them down, and a faint smile crosses my lips. She can't follow me into my dreams like this. No matter how she slaps me or how cold she makes it, she can't drag me from this medicinal embrace. Even as she mocks me in the voice of an enemy, I know that the night is mine. Tomorrow we will meet again. Tomorrow we will fight again. This is a game to her, and one she never intends to stop playing.
Anxiety is Hell.
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Life Is The Foe
Life is the foe;
Death is the friend;
Hate is the good deed;
Love is the sin.
Hope is Hell;
And joy a sick vice;
Grief is healthy;
Despair is paradise.
Happiness is filth;
Dreams are atrocities vile;
Banality is the cleanliness;
Sorrow is wholesome in style.
Courage is damning;
Fear is redemption;
Comfort is a punishment;
From which pain brings exemption.
Dark is light;
And light is dark;
In my mutilated soul;
And my desecrated heart.
  Leather Purse by kikyobelladonna  Henna Montage 01-12-14 by kikyobelladonna  Composer's Sheet Music Gift Set by kikyobelladonna  Memorial Tattoo 3 by kikyobelladonna  Love Music Redux by kikyobelladonna

I've been a member of dA for 7 years. This site has seen me at my best and my worst and I've picked some pieces to illustrate my growth both as a person and as an artist. The first item is a poem I wrote in high school after the murder of my husband (yes, I was a teenage bride). It was a screed that reflected both my grief over his death and the hopelessness of being unable to escape my abusive family. The second image is the leather purse I made for my aunt. It represents a time when I was finally starting to expand as an artist and was the last time I tried to build bridges to my family. The third image is the henna art I did to celebrate a new year and a new sense of purpose after cleansing my life of the last of the negative people in my past. It took me nearly a decade but I had finally been able to break the cycle of abuse and addiction that plagued me for the majority of my life so far. The fourth picture is the first birthday gift I was ever able to give my father, whom I did not meet until I was 25. The fifth image is the base of a memorial tattoo for my late son Raziel Kane Darnall who was stillborn in November of 2010. The final image is a drawing of myself and Raziel's father Anthony as the OCs of a comic we were writing before his loss. I feel that it illustrates the skills I have refined and my return to digital illustration. This is my dA story and I thank you for reading it.
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Silver threads within my grasp
 Beautiful things that never last
Golden light before my eyes
 Gone before I realized.
Now there stands that onyx door
 That I can't open anymore
Trapped in these alabaster halls
 My screams are bouncing off the walls
From crystal glass I take libations
 To drown the sound of hesitations
And diamond vials hold the cure
 For that illness of never being sure
Red rubies falling from the knife
 My last remaining sign of life
Blinded by the sapphire tears
 Longing for those forgotten years
The pearls that life threw at my feet
 Lost in the mud called Incomplete
And the emerald time that we call youth
 Was lost in the ocean of bitter truth
These precious things, a-glimmer with wishing
 Wasted on a life that was always missing.
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Today, well...there's not a way to describe it. Today there occurred something that I never thought was possible, and I'm so happy. Yet, there are those around me who still want to bring me down. I know that I have a mission and a duty as an artist, but some days it is truly hard. For right now, I know I have someone beside me who will always have my back and I will do my best to be strong. There are so many obstacles to what I want and what  I need, but I know I can do it.

Been thinking of finally working on "Nevermore Mother" again...I just need lots of good gore ref pics (not as easy as you think, then again I'm looking for specific scenes/wounds/scenarios)!

Well, the Muse is slowly clouding my mind so I'll let it be for now. Goodnight all.
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