The last rose bush was planted at the top of a mountain, isolated from the world as punishment for having been a source of temptation and wicked desires. In its hair, bloomed the heavy flowers of its past passions, and birds made of bronze guarded it zealously, ready to peck out its eyes should it try to descend.
However, it does not try, for the rose bush is wise and knows the hearts of men, and prefers to stay up there, away from them, refusing to feed their perverted desire of watching it crawl.
(ink + colour touches for the inkgroup at dA. The version I sent has more shades, as I wanted to increase the idea of volume, and the one at dA has colours, colours everywhere. This is the one I am fond of)
1 comment:
muy interesantes esas aves-maquina voladoras
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