“The Nightingale” by Renáta Fučíková
The poor emperor, finding he could scarcely breathe with a strange weight on his chest, opened his eyes, and saw Death sitting there. He had put on the emperor’s golden crown, and held in one hand his sword of state, and in the other his beautiful banner.
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Finished the self-portrait from earlier.
I think … I think I’m doing this whole Red Pants Monday thing wrong.