#[ oops this got long dw abt matching this length since most of it is just describing the art ]

[cursedxartist-moved]

@daemonsnow​ continued from [ x ] 

❝ Aside from a commission I have been working on, I have not; though I have had a few ideas floating about my mind. ❞  

Pale and scarred fingers drift into her messenger bag by her side, in which were two sketchbooks.  One was what she often showed to the public as a miniature portfolio of sorts, it showed off her breadth of technical skills as well as her art style.  The second was her personal sketchbook, where she often planned larger pieces to express emotions she could barely convey in words beyond poetic metaphors and flowery prose.  Within those pages lied work dealing with depersonalization, body horror, feeling like a heartless monster or machine, grotesque imagery drawn with the most delicate hand.  It was work she RARELY ever showed anyone, and never thoroughly explained.  Silver gaze glanced to the mafioso before flickering back to the sketchbooks.  Her heart pounded, anxiety coursing through her veins, but in that moment she gave into the feeling of wanting someone to peer into her very SOUL and see something beautiful.  Akutagawa would have no idea how much this art meant to her, so if he hated it she could simply pretend like nothing happened.  It was a safe risk.  She grasped her personal sketchbook and began flipping through the pages of her most recent plans.  She landed on one page in particular, and held the sketchbook out to him - not to take, but to simply observe the pages within her grasp.

Upon the page were scrawled art plans.  Thumbnail sketches portrayed a doll-like figure with ball joints grasping at their neck, ribs exposed beneath broken porcelain.  Their heard was encased in thorns, blood dripping from the wounds, and the destructive plant life grew up, twisting around the figure’s throat.  The subject was faceless, a being with no identity.  In place of any distinguishing features was a gaping hole where a face should be with a myriad of flowers growing from the dark depths.  Flos adonis for painful recollections, red columbines for anxiety, the blooms of a chaste tree for coldness, and pink larkspur for fickleness.  Above this sketch were notes and color swatches noting the color of each flower, accompanied by reference photos of them as well as some of dolls, ribs, and anatomical hearts. Despite the HORRIFIC imagery, what lied on the page before Akutagawa had been drawn so delicately, it appeared to befit a dainty ceramic teacup. 

❝ I am thinking about beginning with this one here, ❞  she stated, pointing at the page with a single lithe fingers decorated in bejeweled splints.