Cold was the night with the winds howling; sending the colorful fall leaves flying and soaring through the air. Walking along the path was a lone figure, a woman to be exact. Her hazel eyes flickered around with pure interest and fascination. There was also a searching look in them. And that very well was because this woman was searching.
Not for a something; a someone.
She adjusted her leather jacket and flipped her collar up against the howling and chilling wind. In her hand was a small note-card. Her brunette brow quirked as she took a brief glance at it, and her mouth twitched. With a small and quiet 'humph' the woman pocketed the card away again and continued her strides down the road stretched ahead. She dragged along a wheeled suitcase and cradled firmly in her arm a sketchpad, and a peculiar ink pen hung from a long necklace that draped on her neck.
As the woman walked, she passed by a green sign. On it, written in bold white words read;
Madison Delaware
1 Mile Away
She didn't so much as glance at the sign. Her gaze was locked strictly forward, and when the moonlight shined dimly upon her the nib of the ink pen glimmered a light green.
"You are a very hard man to find, mister Stine…"
✎╣? ﾟﾔﾑ? ﾟﾔﾐ╠✐
A Character is an Extension of
A Writer's Soul.
A Writer's Soul is that of a mere Mortal's;
Quaint, Frail, Easily Broken.
It is of a Writer's Nature to
Express Pain through Words and Representations
of Themselves and People and The World Around Them.
If the Writer is Unbalanced,
So is the Character Manifested from those Unbalanced Feelings.
In the End,
Characters are just as Human and Flawed as We Are…
Despite All that Others may Deny.
✎╣? ﾟﾔﾑ? ﾟﾔﾐ╠✐
The InkMaster
ArtMun
Illustrations found here;