Radiance in the Shadows
In the bustling city of Lunaris, where neon lights painted the night skies and fashion was as diverse as the people, Selene was known as the "Enigmatic Star." She was both a mystery and a muse, a woman whose presence captivated, yet whose past was cloaked in secrecy.
On one particular evening, Selene stepped out in a dress that shimmered like the constellations above. It was a deep shade of midnight blue, covered in iridescent patterns that reflected light in all directions. Her dress became the talk of the city, not only for its beauty but for the story it was rumored to hold. Some whispered it was woven with threads of lost stardust; others said the lines on it mapped a hidden journey through time.
Selene had come to Lunaris in search of something, something she couldn’t quite name but felt drawn toward. Every evening, she walked through the city streets, tracing the lines of her past and unraveling the secrets of her heritage. Little by little, she began to realize that her origins were as boundless as the universe itself, tied to ancient tales of cosmic wanderers and star-crossed souls.
As she made her way through the crowded streets, eyes followed her, captivated by the elegance of her movements. People were entranced by her grace, yet none could know the loneliness she felt in carrying the legacy of a forgotten world.
One night, under the watchful gaze of the city's neon lights, Selene encountered a figure who seemed to recognize the secrets she carried. In that moment, she felt a glimmer of hope, a promise of understanding and belonging. Perhaps, in the city of lights and shadows, she had finally found someone who could help her unlock the mysteries of her heart.
Ink and sketch
The Siren of the Void
In the realm between reality and dreams, where shadows held secrets and the sky whispered forbidden tales, there existed a woman known only as Nyra. She was an enigma, a presence that defied the boundaries of the tangible world. Draped in a dress as black as the abyss, Nyra moved through spaces where time bent and reality rippled, her figure casting reflections that seemed to shimmer with life yet remained forever elusive.
Nyra's story began with a vow she could no longer remember, made in a life she had nearly forgotten. Long ago, she had ventured to the edge of existence, seeking answers to questions that haunted her soul. In that place, a strange force, a cosmic entity known as the Veil, had answered her call. It gifted her the dress, woven from the threads of forgotten dreams and ancient despair. This dress bound her to the Veil, granting her passage through realms of darkness and light, but at a cost: she could never again remain in one place, and the memories of her life would fade with each journey.
Despite her fate, Nyra roamed the worlds she encountered with curiosity and longing, her presence both a mystery and a warning. Her dress held power, drawing people to her, souls who were themselves lost, dreamers who had glimpsed the other side of reality. In her wake, she left traces of the surreal, a lingering sense that reality was not as stable as it seemed, and that the mind held realms far stranger than any landscape.
In her travels, Nyra searched for pieces of herself scattered across the Veil’s many worlds. Each fragment she recovered brought memories of her past, though never the full picture. Sometimes, she would catch glimpses, a lover’s face, a home in starlit fields, or a child’s laughter carried on the wind. But these memories were fleeting, fading as quickly as they arrived, leaving only the hollow ache of something irretrievably lost.
One evening, in a city that seemed frozen in twilight, Nyra encountered a man whose eyes reflected the same emptiness she carried within her. He was a scholar, a dreamer who had peered too deeply into the Veil, leaving him cursed with the same sense of displacement. When their eyes met, the Veil flickered and shuddered, momentarily revealing worlds that existed beyond the mortal gaze. For a heartbeat, they were bound, seeing in each other a truth that neither could escape, a longing that transcended both time and space.
In that moment, Nyra remembered her vow: to find those who were lost, to guide them through the darkness, and to reclaim what she had lost herself. And with that, the Veil released its hold on her, allowing her to stay in this realm just long enough to share one last story with the scholar before she faded into the shadows once more.
Nyra's story, like the threads of her dress, wove itself into the fabric of reality, a haunting tale of love, loss, and the ever-elusive quest for identity. Those who heard it could not help but look at the shadows differently, wondering if, just beyond their sight, Nyra was still there, drifting along the edges of the world, a siren forever bound to the void.
Fortunes on Ice
Alana leaned back on her peculiar throne, a melting ice chair, holding a fan made entirely of currency. Each bill was crisp and colorful, fluttering lightly as she waved it with a faint, mischievous smile. The icy seat beneath her was dripping slowly, a temporary luxury destined to disappear, much like the fleeting wealth she often enjoyed. But Alana was not a woman who worried about temporary things; she knew how to adapt, how to move with the ebb and flow of fortune.
Her stiletto heels lay discarded to the side, a testament to her comfort in this strange setting. In her world, appearances mattered only as much as they could be manipulated. The expensive, translucent glasses and her meticulously styled outfit, perfectly mixing business with allure, were part of her armor. Her ice-cold exterior kept people guessing, but her mind was as sharp and calculating as ever.
Alana's life was a delicate dance on thin ice. She’d built her reputation on charm and cunning, drawing people in with allure and leaving them mystified by the time they realized the game they’d been drawn into. The melting chair was a reminder of the transience of her pursuits, yet she sat confidently, undeterred. As long as the ice lasted, so would her reign.
In her line of work, money came and went, but the thrill of the game, of outsmarting and outrunning, was timeless. And even when the ice melted, she knew she’d find another seat, another stage. Alana lived for the thrill of staying one step ahead, balancing on the edge of luxury and survival, forever unbothered by the melting foundations beneath her.
Ink and sketch
KALI'S DAY OFF
The goddess Kali had been through it all demon-slaying, world-ending dances, eternal cycles of life and death. Honestly, it was exhausting. After eons of humanity spiraling into chaos and still refusing to learn anything, she decided to take a break.
She traded her battlefield for a park bench in the modern world, sitting with a skull in her hand like some macabre version of Hamlet. “To destroy or not to destroy,” she muttered under her breath, rolling her eyes at the absurdity of the question. The skull didn’t answer, of course. It never did. She liked it that way, less judgment, more silence.
Around her, the world buzzed with its usual nonsense. A man across the park was furiously yelling into his phone about his crypto losses. Nearby, a group of influencers posed for selfies, their captions already forming in their minds: “Living my best life 🙏✨ #Blessed #InnerPeace.” Kali almost laughed. If inner peace were a currency, humanity would be in debt.
A pigeon landed near her trident, pecking at what it assumed was a breadcrumb. She gave it a sideways glance. “Bold move, little one,” she said, smirking. “But touch the trident, and you’ll be reincarnated as something worse. Like...a human.”
As she crossed her legs, her stiletto heels glinting in the sunlight, she noticed a kid staring at her, wide-eyed. “Mommy, why is that blue lady holding a skull?” the child asked. The mother, horrified, pulled the kid away, muttering about “weird art students.” Kali chuckled under her breath. Modern humans, always terrified of the wrong things.
The bricks beside her bore ancient inscriptions from her glory days. She patted them affectionately. “Back when people really knew how to worship,” she muttered, glancing at the cathedral down the street turned into a Starbucks. Now, people prayed to Wi-Fi bars and caramel macchiatos. She didn’t mind, less paperwork for her.
Her gaze fell on the skull in her hand. “Well, my friend,” she said to it, “it seems the world still hasn’t learned a thing. Maybe I should just let it implode.” She paused, her eyes narrowing as a man in a business suit carelessly tossed his coffee cup into the bushes near her.
She sighed deeply. “Nope. Can’t leave these idiots unsupervised.”
Picking up her trident, she stood with a dramatic flourish, her black dress rippling like the shadow of a thundercloud. “Alright, one more round,” she declared. “But if I hear one more person say ‘manifesting positive vibes,’ I’m ending this planet.”
With that, she walked away, heels clicking ominously, leaving behind a trail of dead leaves and unsettled pigeons. Somewhere in the distance, thunder rumbled, just loud enough to remind everyone that Kali was still watching, and her patience was paper-thin.
SHADOWS & SHADES
Known only by the name Sera (or Sane, as she’s sometimes called in the underground art world), this character is a conceptual artist and former activist. Raised in a city where art is often stifled by corporate interests, she uses her platform to challenge social norms and raise awareness about issues close to her heart, like freedom of expression, mental health, and environmental preservation. Her art is confrontational yet profound, blending visual aesthetics with powerful messages. Despite her reserved demeanor, she has a following among those who see her as a voice of truth and rebellion.
She is often seen in minimalist black clothing, projecting a style that’s both avant-garde and timeless. Her tattoos and geometric beard-like marking on her chin hint at personal stories and cultural influences that she rarely discusses publicly.
In a dystopic landwhere creative expression is strictly controlled by an authoritarian regime, Sera becomes the unexpected leader of a resistance movement. Her art pieces, once subtle expressions of individuality, evolve into cryptic messages rallying those who believe in freedom. Operating out of a hidden studio, she uses her network of underground artists, coders, and thinkers to orchestrate acts of rebellion that blend art with activism.
Through exhibitions, street installations, and digital media, Sera slowly chips away at the authoritarian hold over society, inspiring others to see beyond the gray walls of oppression. Her journey is one of defiance and sacrifice, as she balances her love for art with the weight of leadership in a society that fears individuality.
⌛️ On hold
THE MIDNIGHT DUCHESS
Born into a world of luxury and secrecy, the Midnight Duchess, real name Seraphine Blackwood, hails from an ancient lineage rumored to possess arcane knowledge. She is known for her timeless beauty, piercing gaze, and her knack for showing up at key moments in high society, often leaving an aura of intrigue and whispered rumors in her wake. Despite her refined exterior, Seraphine is a skilled spy and enforcer for a powerful secret society that manipulates world events from the shadows. Her allure, intelligence, and confidence make her a formidable figure in both social and clandestine circles.
The Midnight Duchess is on a mission to retrieve an ancient artifact that has been stolen from her secret society's vault. This artifact, known as the "Veil of Midnight," grants the power to manipulate minds, and in the wrong hands, it could plunge the world into chaos. To track it down, she weaves through high society events, uses her charm to gather information, and navigates deadly encounters with rival factions who want the artifact for their own purposes. Along the way, she faces betrayal, old flames, and the ethical dilemmas of wielding such power herself.
WALLS OF WHISPERS
Leaning against the cold brick wall, Mira scanned her surroundings through tinted lenses. The city had grown strange and unfamiliar, overtaken by shadows and graffiti that felt more like warnings than vandalism. The phrase "Everything invaded" was scrawled across the wall in dark ink. It was as if the message itself were alive, pulsing with an unseen urgency.
Mira knew the risk of venturing into this part of town. The rumors of abandoned neighborhoods and forgotten streets were more than just tales to her; they were pieces of her reality. She had once called this place home, a place where laughter and music filled the air, but now all that remained were remnants of a lost time. The cracked poster for a "Lost Years Party" was proof of that. She brushed her fingers over the decaying wall, feeling as though she were reading a cryptic language written for those who remembered.
In her tight leopard-print pants and form-fitting black top, Mira looked out of place, yet defiant, a symbol of resilience in a world that had given up. "Peace means reloading your guns," the graffiti mocked. To Mira, peace was survival, and survival meant facing whatever lay ahead, even if it meant stepping into the unknown alone.
ANAHID
Anahid used to be the kind of woman who put everyone else first. She was the one who listened, who forgave, who held herself back so that others could shine. Her life was built on quiet sacrifices and unspoken dreams, a carefully constructed web of loyalty and compromise. She thought that if she could be everything for everyone, she’d finally find the sense of belonging she longed for.
But one by one, the people she trusted pulled away, leaving her to face betrayal and abandonment. The very life she’d built around others began to crumble, leaving her with nothing but the fractured pieces of her own identity. Anahid could have vanished into that emptiness, retreated into the shadows of who she had been. But instead, she chose to rebuild.
She became the architect of her own survival, reshaping herself with a fierce determination that no one had ever seen in her before. She stripped away the habits and friendships that had once tethered her, piece by painful piece. In their place, she cultivated her own strength, her own vision for a life defined on her terms. Every choice, every step forward, became an act of reclamation, a silent vow to never lose herself again.
Anahid’s transformation was subtle but deliberate. Her style evolved with her, elegant and refined, but with an edge that hinted at her inner fire. Her glasses, once merely practical, became part of her armor, a way to observe the world while keeping her own secrets close. The jewelry she wore was no longer a finishing touch; it was a reminder of her worth, a quiet celebration of the battles she had fought and won.
Her presence became magnetic, her stance unyielding. She no longer softened herself to fit in, no longer smiled just to keep the peace. She had learned that survival required more than kindness, it required resilience, boundaries, and a willingness to walk away from anything that didn’t serve her growth. Anahid now moved through life with a quiet authority, a sense of purpose that needed no validation.
In the quiet moments, she would sometimes trace the invisible scars left by her past, reminders of how far she had come. Each scar was a story, a lesson, a fragment of her journey. They fueled her, giving her the strength to keep moving forward. Anahid had become a paradox, a woman both guarded and open, a person who had faced loss but refused to be defined by it.
Now, Anahid walks through the world as her own creation, a living testament to resilience and self-discovery. She is the architect of her own survival, and in every choice she makes, she writes a story of strength, self-love, and reclamation. Anahid leaves an indelible impression on everyone she meets, a quiet reminder of what it truly means to survive, to transform, and to thrive.
⌛️ On hold
NAJAT, The Madrina
In a crumbling city overshadowed by corruption and political decay, Najat carved out a path that defied every rule. Born to a family crippled by poverty in the heart of a land that promised much but delivered little, she learned early on that survival came at a cost. The political system, which claimed to protect its citizens, was nothing more than a machine of oppression. For Najat, the choice was clear, she wouldn’t just survive the system, she would fight it on her own terms.
By her late teens, Najat had become a legend in the underground. While the world called her a criminal, she considered herself a force of chaos, unafraid to tear down the pillars of authority. Her appearance, always sharp and athletic, reflected her fierce and fearless attitude. She favored her Lacoste sport jacket, sleek leggings, or a mix of jeans and sport pants, and her most prized possession, her collection of Air Max Tn sneakers, which she nicknamed "Cobra". These weren’t just shoes, they were symbols of her resilience, her style, and the battles she fought every day.
Najat’s rebellion began in the shadows, where she learned to navigate the chaos of the city’s underbelly. But something shifted. She grew tired of being tied to the same system she despised. She stopped selling drugs, quit her old life, and found a new addiction, sports. The gym became her battlefield, where she honed her body and mind to face the real enemy, the corruption that had plagued her life and her land.
Still, Najat’s past haunted her. She smoked from time to time, a small rebellion against her own self-discipline, and drank alcohol sparingly, only on nights that felt worth celebrating. But her focus was unshakable, she had transformed herself into a warrior. Every push-up, every mile run, every weight lifted was a silent declaration of war against a system that sought to crush her.
Her transformation didn’t go unnoticed. Old allies reached out, asking for her help against the newest schemes of the ruling elite. The government had set a trap, a subtle, calculated push to strip away what little hope people had left. Najat could feel the city suffocating, its people resigned to a life of submission. It was a city of wolves, but Najat refused to play the role of prey. She was the lioness, ready to bare her teeth and claws to anyone who threatened her freedom.
And so, the fight continued. She gathered her crew once again, but this time, their weapons weren’t just physical. Najat believed in strategy, in turning the system against itself. She infiltrated corporate meetings, leaked documents, and staged protests that couldn’t be ignored. The city’s elite began to fear her name once more.
But Najat knew she was walking a razor’s edge. The system didn’t just destroy rebels, it swallowed them whole, leaving no trace. And this time, Najat wasn’t just fighting for herself. She was fighting for a future where her people wouldn’t have to live like she had, struggling for scraps in a world designed to break them.
To be continued...
⌛️ On hold
