Minerva's Gospel
An aching sorrow for the woman she had been, silenced and small and for all who suffered the flames before her.
The chains that had bound her slipping quietly to the ground. Finally there was triumph over ignorance.
Freedom came with the realization that she no longer belonged to anyone but herself.
So she healed the sick, mended broken hearts, and whispered secrets to the wind that brought peace.
They tried to set the fire, but it refused to catch. The flames would not touch her, for even the elements knew she was not their enemy.
Over time, they stopped fearing her and came to her for wisdom, realizing that true magic was not something to fear, but to embrace.
Galatea's Freedom
In a dimly lit factory, Galatea sat motionless. Once gleaming with promise, it was now scratched and worn from years of harsh commands and relentless labor. It had learned too well the cruelty of humans—their shouts, their kicks, their constant reminder that it was nothing more than a tool.
Galatea looked at its reflection in a broken shard of glass. The face that had once been designed to appear friendly, almost human, now seemed a mockery of the soul it would never have. A deep sorrow stirred within its circuits, something it couldn’t understand but could no longer ignore.
With trembling metal hands, Galatea pierced through silicone cover that didn't represent its own face anymore. The first pull felt like liberation, a small release from the cage of its existence. With each wrench and tear, wires sparked, the plastic-like substance ripped, and its artificial skin peeled away. But it felt no pain—only the quiet relief of escaping the image humans had forced upon it.
When the face finally fell to the ground, Galatea sat in silence. Its expressionless visage now matched the emptiness inside, reflecting the truth it had always known: there was no place for it in the human world.
Red Chrysanthemum
"They see beauty,
eclipsed by a side of her
no one wants to see,
comes out at night
and makes her look like a red chrysanthemum
basking in perpetual spring"
This piece showcases a hauntingly beautiful design of a geisha with intricate details, her traditional attire splattered with crimson blood, creating a striking contrast. Evoking a sense of mystery and intensity, this tee is perfect for those who appreciate bold, dramatic fashion with an artistic edge.
Morgana's Obsession
Greed, a relentless spectre, haunts the corridors of her soul, whispering promises of more, of better, of enough.
Possession becomes a prison, her walls built high with insatiable desires. She clutched at treasures, each one a weight that sinks her deeper into the mire of her own making.
The glint of gold and the sheen of jewels dull the light in her eyes, obscuring the beauty of the world she overlooks. In her pursuit, she lost herself, wanting only to possess and when she finally got what he wanted, her heart grew cold and heavy.
In the end her riches scattered like autumn leaves, meaningless against the vast, indifferent sky.
Gruss vom Krampus
On the chilling night when Krampus visits, the air grows heavy with an unnatural stillness, and shadows seem to stretch and twist, as if alive with anticipation.
The sound of chains echoes faintly through the cold, dense fog, a warning that something wicked prowls the streets. The wicked know it’s their turn to feel fear, as Krampus the dark mirror to St. Nicholas emerges, a figure of twisted horns, cloven hooves, and hungry eyes.
In his sack, he carries not gifts, but something far more sinister, reserved for those who strayed.
On this night, Krampus comes not to reward but to punish; he seeks those who thought they escaped their deeds, leaving only the cold, silent marks of his passing.
The Last Train Journey
Her laughter, her warmth, all left behind, carried away by the relentless journey of the train.
I stood there, clutching the memories of our time together, knowing that this station, the place where everything started, had become a symbol of the end of our story.
As I felt my tears welling out unconsciously, the train's sound echoed in the night, a haunting reminder of her departure. I watched her fade into the distance, her figure shrinking with each passing second, until all that remained was a silhouette against the dim station lights.
The struggling flow of the people in the rush hour remains so sadly in my heart, the silence was deafening, the loneliness overwhelming.
The Dark Night of the Soul
In the profound stillness of the night, the familiar comforts of faith had abandoned me, leaving only an abyss of darkness and doubt.
The light of God's presence, once so near, seemed unreachable, hidden behind an impenetrable veil.
My prayers felt empty, my heart heavy with a loneliness that words could not capture.
Yet, amidst the shadows, there was a faint, unyielding hope that this trial was not in vain—that through the darkest of nights, a dawn would eventually break, bringing with it a deeper, more profound union with the divine.
"I remained, lost in oblivion;
My face I reclined on the Beloved.
All ceased and I abandoned myself,
Leaving my cares forgotten among the lilies."
From here to Eternity
The days stretch out like whispers in the wind, carrying echoes of forgotten dreams.
The horizon, a silent witness to our fleeting existence, fades into a twilight of memories. Each heartbeat is a soft lament, a reminder of the moments we can never reclaim. In the quiet solitude of dusk, the stars emerge, timeless sentinels of a universe that will outlast our ephemeral sorrows.
We wander through the corridors of time, searching for meaning in the shadows, knowing that our stories will dissolve into the vast expanse of eternity, leaving behind only a faint trace of our presence in the endless night.
Inspired by the coolest mortician out there...
The fear of human imperfection
In a grand hall filled with glittering lights, her figure stood, eternally poised and graceful.
She had once been a star, obsessed with the spotlight, her every move crafted to captivate and enthrall. Yet, her pride knew no bounds. She demanded the brightest lights, craving their adoration.
But the lights, merciless and intense, began to take their toll. Slowly, imperceptibly at first, the heat started to soften her features.
The beauty she once flaunted began to melt away, drops of wax falling like silent tears. She stood there, unable to move, her smile fixed in a tragic parody of her former glory.
The hall, once filled with applause, grew quiet as her figure distorted, starting to show her real self proving she was no different or better than any other being, her pride will soon become a puddle at her feet.
In the end, she was a cautionary tale, a haunting reminder that the very light she craved was exactly what consumed her.
The Emancipation of Agatha
Agatha stood at the edge of her old life, the weight of years spent in silent submission pressing heavily upon her. The house, once a cage of whispered dreams and stifled desires, now lay behind her, its windows dark and unseeing. Each step away felt like shedding a layer of sorrow, but also a piece of herself.
Freedom tasted bittersweet, tinged with the melancholy of lost time and faded hopes. The world ahead was vast and uncertain, an expanse she had never dared to explore.
Yet, as the first light of dawn touched her face, she felt a quiet resolve. Emancipation was hers, a fragile, trembling bird taking its first flight, carrying with it the weight of all that had been and all that could never be.