“I believe in everything until it’s disproved. So I believe in fairies, the myths, dragons. It all exists, even if it’s in your mind. Who’s to say that dreams and nightmares aren’t as real as the here and now?”
Language of Flowers - All of these were posted separately throughout this year before summer, but I kind of wanted to have them altogether in one post, sorry to those who already seen them! :) These illustrations were part of my bachelor’s project. In place of my signature was the project’s logo, typography was slightly different in spacing in presented pieces.
Fairies with the wings of an eagle instead of a butterfly
Or the wings of an albatross, because these water fairies spend their lives at sea and need powerful wings to travel across oceans
Cave fairies with black skin smooth as soft leather and the wings of bats, seeing with sound
Fairies who live deed in untouched jungle whose wings look like leaves and skin streaked with green so they can remain hidden in the trees
Albino fairies that live deep in the antarctic where no human can survive, the size of small planes, flying around in dazzling areal displays then dropping to the ground, snow white skin and hair serving as camouflage when actual planes fly over head
Fairies that live amongst humans that are so tiny we mistake them for insects or don’t even notice them at all
Arguably one of the most well known species of fairy, it is their hypnotizing bioluminecet glow which has labeled them the fairy who sets wanderers a stray. The Will-o’-the-wisp are a highly skittish, yet inquisitive race. While they may take joy in toying with a lost traveler, it rarely has any devious intention. Though various magical users will use the trance ability of the Will-o’-the-wisp to their advantage. Bog witches in particular will snaring Will-o’-the wisps in invisible strings to use as lures to draw in victims.
As with all fairy races, The Will-o’the-wisp are multi-realm inhibitors, traveling at will amongst, between and through different realms of existence. While sentient, they fall relatively low on the ladder of sentient beings and are incapable of reaching the heavenly realms. Despite this, they can be used by said beings as messengers.
“I’ve caught one,” the fisherman screams, grinning at his hook stuck in the girl’s cheek. “I caught myself a mermaid!”
Her hair is green, algae curled around it. The fisherman’s grip is greed, is lust, when he rips at it to get her closer. Her mouth glints like a pearl and oh, he could sell her after he’s - well, once he’s done with that beauty of hers. “Aren’t you a pretty one,” he licks his lips, “and all mine. I caught you, so you’re mine.”
All at once, her song ends. No sound comes out of her mouth that stays open, teeth tiny and many, sharp in the slick night. She tugs the hook out of her cheek. The fisherman watches, his heart burning from how fast it runs against his flesh, as her wound closes up and a bit of blood drips from her little mouth.
“Yours,” the mermaid says. The sea echoes her voice, an accent he can’t define, oh who cares, she’s just - just prey - and her pupils snap into slits. “Yours?”
The ocean ripples.
The waves tremble.
The wind whispers, smiles, then stills to not disturb the song that rises once more. “No,” whisper a thousand voices, whisper a million teeth, whispers ten thousands of stares in the water. “We caught you. You are ours.”