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Similar Deviations
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A Jenny Poussin wallpaper I made.

To check out more of my wallpaper, head to my website: [link]
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A wallpaper I made of Dylan Ryder.

To check out more of my wallpapers and get them in different resolutions head to my website: [link]
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A wallpaper I made for Miranda Janine.

Here's a link to her MySpace page: [link]
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Carmella Bing
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Sophie Dee
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Audrey Bitoni
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spechless
:faint:

:ambulance:...... :floating:i'm in heaven

After one week ut of DA:stab:, comes again to your screens with a print version
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i like the nice legs
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M
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“This is the worst thing that has ever happened to me.” James muttered aloud to himself.

He stood in the snack aisle at the grocery store, scanning the shelves in frustration.

“Out of gingerbread cookies...why does nobody have any gingerbread cookies?”

A hand tapped his shoulder tentatively, and he turned to see an old woman carrying a small shopping basket in the crook of her arm.

“Young man, do you have any gingerbread cookies?” she asked.

James turned back to the shelves, bending low to look in the very back; “I’m looking for some myself; Shyla asked me to pick some up-”

“Why don’t you ask your manager?” she asked abruptly, not realizing that James didn’t actually work there.

James straightened with a smile; “Of course! They may have some in the back! Good thinking;”

With that he turned and marched off; the old lady followed close behind, talking loudly to herself.

“Kids these days have no respect for their elders; if I had my way, these thugs would be locked away. What is this world coming to? Can’t even get gingerbread cookies...”

James rounded the aisle, almost colliding with a man standing with his back to him. The elderly lady bumped into James, and would have fallen if he hadn’t managed to catch her.

“Oof! What is the meaning of this?” the lady said sharply.

“Sorry, ma’am;” James said, helping her stand.

“James Garland?” a voice said.

James turned to see the man he’d nearly taken out holding out his hand; James shook it firmly, all the while making sure the elderly lady had steadied herself.

“Yes sir; do I know you?” he asked.

“I am Nathan;” the man said, bowing his head slightly; “in the exchanging of names we become known as ally or enemy.”

“Well, let’s hope we’re allies then;” James said with a smile.

“Excuse me? What about my cookies?” the old lady demanded.

“Oh yeah;” James said, offering her a quick apologetic look before addressing Nathan; “do you know where we can find gingerbread cookies?”

Nathan looked thoroughly confused; “Cookies?”

“Yeah, cookies; I was told to pick some up.” James replied.

Nathan regarded him a moment, his expression a mixture of confusion and displeasure. The old lady gave a huff before storming off; James glanced back at her as she left, then shrugged as he turned back to Nathan.

“Splitting up is usually a pretty good strategy; when looking for cookies anyway.”

Nathan smiled, shifting his whole demeanor rather abruptly; “I’m sorry, you must not be the James Garland I’m looking for.”

James cocked his head to the side; “You’re looking for a James Garland? What for?”

Nathan gestured, shifting his wings to test if James could see them; “A young man by that name lead a break-in into my home; a good friend was killed that day.”

James shook his head; “I’m so sorry; that’s horrible.”

Nathan smiled gently; “You do not lead a band of villains, do you?”

James couldn’t help but laugh, but he caught himself quickly; “I’m sorry; I’m just not the leader type. I tried leading some friends once, and it nearly ended in disaster.”

He offered his hand to Nathan, inclining his head with respect; “If there is anything I can do to help, just let me know; I know what it’s like to lose someone you care about.”

Nathan shook his hand a second time before turning to leave; “I do not sense any gingerbread cookies in this place; you may wish to try another store.”

“I’ll do that;” James said, waving at the man’s back.

As he turned to leave, he spotted the old lady hurrying towards him with a balding store clerk at her back, speaking rather hurriedly and pointing his way.

“Excuse me;” James called, walking toward them; “do ya’ll have any gingerbread cookie mix?”

“That’s him;” the old lady shouted angrily; “he was supposed to help me, but he just stood there talking to his friend in the angel costume.”

James glanced back, but Nathan was already out of sight; “He...he wasn’t wearing a costume, ma’am.”

“You!” the clerk shouted, pointing his finger at James; “You’re fired! Get your stuff and get out!”

James glanced around a moment, confused; “Um, you can’t fire me; I-”

“I don’t care!” the clerk shouted, trying to keep his voice low; “If you quit, that just means you don’t get unemployment; now get out!”

James pondered this turn of events briefly before offering both the clerk and the old lady a stiff bow. With that he turned and walked out of the store, still wondering how he managed to get fired from a job he never had when all he’d wanted was gingerbread cookies.

He stepped out into the sunlight with a cheerful smile; “Even normal life can sometimes be exciting.”
James Galand is the very definition of average by appearance. He became leader by necessity during the first story arc, but wanted nothing more than for life to return to the way it was before: safe and mundane. With their return home, he believes they have truly succeeded, and discarded everything he'd gained from their journey in the hope that he would never again need any of it.

This piece is intended to contrast the seriousness of the others; James' complete normalcy leaves Nathan the Harbinger completely nonplussed. And yes, his grandest adventures during this time are battling traffic and grocery shopping. You try having the fate of your closest friends thrust suddenly on your shoulders with deranged lunatics hunting you all down as you try to find the path home.

And with this piece, I have finally written something for each of the eight main characters. I've done an abstract peice for one of the villains already, but I'd love to do more to help establish them. :)

Really excited right now. Hope I have time to actually use this energy for something productive. :)
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A book sits in the library of the great temple where those who follow the god of Justice reside; its cover bears three images. First is the image of a human priests holding a golden cage which both blesses and binds. Second is the image of a knight in armor darkened by ash and blackness; his hands bear a sword of pure white, and with it he stands in judgement over the earth. Third is the image of an orcish priest; bearing himself with humility, his head is bowed and his arms are outstretched in supplication.

An inscription on the back cover reads: ‘These are the words recorded in the first book of the followers of the god of Justice; an account of the first orcish priest of the god of Justice, and the interpretation of his dreams. May it ever serve as a warning against corruption to all who serve the gods.

---

I had that vision again.

Flashes of light and darkness course the my memory as I tried to cling to the fading images in my mind.

A human priest clutching a bag of coin to his chest as he condemns a man in rags for corruption.

A man in darkened armor bearing a shining sword slaying both priest and poor in rage and anguish before the darkness of his own armor consumes him.

A young orc picks up the fallen coin and  gives it to those remaining, bringing life to the world once more.

All of these left me as quickly as they came; I did my best to record the details of my vision. My hands shook with excitement or fear, making my task all the more difficult.

In times past I would have chosen to tell my vision to a priest of one of the many gods for interpretation, but with the gods absent the priests were powerless to help. Only the dwarves or the fey could interpret visions during this troubled time, so I sought out an Oracle of the fey rumored to be gracious toward my kind.

“Come for a tell? Or come to be told?” the Oracle muttered, settling down on a log as he spoke.

Unsure of what he meant, I did my best to remain courteous as I replied; “I have had a vision, and I seek a meaning, great Oracle.”

The fey were said to be descended from the gods, and so were unpredictable in nature. Although generally peaceful, the fey were unkind toward any threat, and would not hesitate to end my life if they deemed it necessary to do so.

The Oracle drew out a pipe and began smoking; the essence of different types of weeds and magic filled the air, making my eyes water and sting.

“Then tell, and be told.” the Oracle said.

And so I told the Oracle my vision of the priest, the beggar, the priest, the knight, and the orc. All the while he watched me intently; I sensed he judged my words and my wishes as I spoke, so I did all I could to keep darkness from my thoughts lest they corrupt my words.

When I finished the Oracle leaned close, breathing smoke into my face; “And you think you are the young orc you saw?”

I lowered my head; “I cannot say, for my memory is already clouded. The orc in my vision did what was good; I would say that I strive to be like him.”

The Oracle pondered my words, puffing clouds of thick smoke into the air, where it coalesced into a dark and ever shifting cloud above us.

“Tell me this, young orc; how is it you came by visions?” he asked me.

“I know not;” I replied honestly; “visions come from the gods alone save for the fey and the dwarven-kind.”

“You must have fey blood within you;” the Oracle surmised.

I knew not to refute the word of a fey, but this revelation was more than could be believed. I set the matter of my heritage aside as the Oracle began to speak once more.

“You know the matter the gods have left this world to discuss, do you not?” he asked.

I nodded; “A god was slain by a god, who in turn was slain by a man.” the recent events he referred to were common knowledge.

“Not one man, but three.” he corrected; “The death of a god by the hands of humans will not be easily forgotten by the gods. Neither too will the death of a god by the hand of a god be forgotten by humans.”

The Oracle shifted his bony legs, folding one beneath the other as he continued; “Humankind has long been the arbiters of the will of the gods, carrying out deeds of justice and mercy according to the god they serve. But as there is corruption found among the gods, there is corruption found among men.

“The vision of the human priest is a vision of that corruption; with the gods absent, they are left to their own devices and so tout their superiority over all others.”

“How can this be?” I implored; “To be chosen by a god is an honor unparalleled for mortals!”

“Honor without honor is no better than fire without heat, or breath without life.” the Oracle replied calmly; “All that is can both corrupt and be corrupted; even the priests of the god of Justice have long served themselves before others.”

As he spoke, a light formed in the midst of the cloud of smoke above us. I looked to see the same priest of my vision standing before the dais of the world. In his outstretched hand he held a ring from which a dish hung, suspended by a string; from this dish flowed waters of pure blessing upon the earth. He smiled at his work, but it was not a kindly smile; from his eye came a locust as though graven of gold, and it flew to the dish in his hand, and settled in its center.

“Corruption” the Oracle explained; “is like a disease, spreading from heart to heart until all are corrupt.”

As I watched, metal strands like bars stretched out from the priest’s palm, extending out and around the dish until it took the appearance of a bird cage large enough to hold a human child were that its intended design. The dish bearing the locust hung in the midst of the cage, continuing to pour waters of blessing. But as the waters passed between the bars of the cage they became as iron chains, wrapping around the earth in cruel restraint.

“Justice and goodness become a cage for the hearts of men when borne by corrupt men. Left to their own devices, the priests of the gods have used their calling to further themselves and condemn all others.”

I looked on as the man clad in darkened armor arose from the earth and drew a blade from the dish in the middle of the cage. Contrasting the darkness of his armor, the blade shone with the brightness of purity, and with it the man slew the priest and shattered the cage.

“The man in darkened armor is a mystery. He is an arbiter of corruption; a Dark Paladin. Taking up a holy sword imbued with magics to harm only those with corruption in their hearts, he will slay the priests of the gods and destroy the civilization of mankind.”

“But none can harm a priest of the gods!” I protested, resisting my despair at the horrible sight before my eyes.

“But the gods are withdrawn, and their protection with them.” the Oracle replied; “Nothing stands in the way of the Dark Paladin, and by his corruption shall corruption be judged.”

There was no falsehood in the Oracle’s words, and my heart grew heavy with sorrow for the race of man. Their deeds were terrible, but judgement should come from the gods, not from men.

As I watched, the darkness in the Paladin’s armor spread and consumed him as he turned his blade against the rest of the world, his thirst for judgement unquenched. But the darkness consumed him fully, and was in turn consumed by itself before he could harm the world further.

“But the gods will not suffer corruption to stand judge, and so will cast him out into the void as they did the evil gods of legend.” the Oracle explained; “Mankind will lose all favor with the gods, spurned and cast aside for the darkness of their hearts.”

The vision he showed me now looked bleak, as the remainder of mankind was scattered across the earth; the chaos of a world ungoverned filled me with fear at what was to come. The smoke dissipated, and my attention was drawn to the Oracle once more.

“What can be done?” I implored him.

The Oracle shifted, offering a shrug; “Without the gods this vision cannot be altered. However there is hope found in the end; the gods will choose the orc as their priests in mankind’s stead, and with them shall rebuild the world to what it once was.”

“But we have only ever served the people of the world!” I protested; “How can we possibly lead them?”

The Oracle tilted his head at my words; “What do you believe leadership to be if not servitude? It’s this very quality that makes you fit for leadership.”

I pondered his words, incapable of comprehending the reality of what was to come.

“Then I shall strive to do what I can.” I said; “I know that mankind will forever be shunned by even my people for their deeds, but this vision has granted me insight; I will not suffer their extinction.”

The Oracle stood and placed a hand on my head ; “Fools like you are the reason there is hope in this world; remember your oath here and you may one day repair the damage done by men.”

With those parting words, the Oracle faded to nothing; I was left alone with my thoughts of priests and cages and the Dark Paladin.
This piece is written for the :iconwriters--club: Writing Tournament 2014 first round.

I was really fascinated when I saw the theme selected was "bird cage" simply because this imagery has been simmering in the back of my mind for years.

This short story serves as a minor teaser setting up the unveiling of the Dark Paladin as a major villain in my 8 of Hearts project; I may post a more direct story following the events prophecied at some point, but I may wait until closer to the project's release.
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The Ormon and The Little Storyteller


The Temple of Ormon stood as majestic as it had since it was first constructed so many years ago; the columns and tapestries giving off an aura of peace and harmony that was a comfort to all who came to learn there.

But this day there was something different, something that made the temple seem a place of nightmares rather than a place of wisdom and learning.

The screams were so loud.

A young girl, no older than five years knelt with the Ormon within the temple awaiting the end. The ancient man sat with his eyes closed in peaceful meditation, but the girl could not steady the racing of her heart.

The many weapons of those who had already died lay strewn about the floor around the pair; but the girl could derive no comfort from them.

She had been cared for by the kind people of this land since she had first arrived a week before, and now the sound of their deaths overwhelmed her completely. Even her mother had gone out to fight the forces of the Drim, all to keep her safe.

But the fighting should have been far away from the temple; the screams could only mean that they had failed.

She felt a hand rest on her shoulder, and she raised her head to see the wise Orman looking at her comfortingly.

“The end has come, my little Storyteller.” the Ormon said, his voice filling the large room with power; “I have but one request from you in these last moments;”

The little girl wept; “What can I do? Everyone else is bigger and stronger than me, and they’re all gone now.”

The cries of terror drew closer, but the ancient man remained calm and at peace.

“Little Storyteller, you are stronger than you know; you inspire those who love you to fight.” he said gently; “If you will sing for me, it will give me the strength to protect you until I breath my last.”

“I don’t-” she cried, hugging the Ormon tightly, and burying her face into his shoulder; “I don’t want you to die!”

The Ormon embraced the child, his shining eyes misting over for the first time since they started glowing so many years before.

“I will not leave you, little one; I will stay right here with you. Now be strong and sing for me before they come, and do not stop until it is over.”

The little Storyteller lifted her head and nodded to him, shifting to her knees as the Ormon stood.

“Close your eyes and keep them shut, my child; I’ll keep them back as you sing.” The Ormon said, lifting his hands in meditation.

The little girl lowered her head and closed her eyes and began to hum. Her tune was as simple as a lullaby, and her voice quiet and unsure, yet the Ormon smiled as he listened.

He closed his eyes as well, and the ancient man let free the wild magic he had stored so carefully within. A pale blue light flowed over him and pulsed out once, his robes stirring as the magic passed over them.

The weapons of the fallen heroes lifted suddenly off the ground, spinning around the Ormon and the little girl in a windless tornado.

Even as the Ormon started his spell, a cloud of ash and corruption flowed into the temple; as dark as the waters of the Valley of Ichith, so the wave of death and dead flowed toward them, eager to consume them as it had so many.

But the Ormon was no mere mortal; he was ancient and powerful, saving all his great strength for this final moment.

The Ormon opened his eyes and threw himself into the midst of the flowing weapons even as the shadows tried to break through, dissipating momentarily before rushing at them again.

The Ormon was a blur, using the weapons around him to stem the torrent of ash with an agility unmatched by any other.

No need to weep, my little dear, 
Your heart I’ll keep, safe and near,
No need to cry, my precious one,
Your tears I’ll dry, just like the sun,

The little girl now sang with all her heart; though her song was simple, there was more power and more stories held in her voice than existed in all the worlds.


The winds may blow, and tempests rage,
And demons below, may rock their cage,
But don’t be afraid, brave of heart,
The storm will fade, clouds will part,


Her head bowed and eyes closed, she knelt there surrounded by the Ormon’s defenses doing her best to keep singing past her mounting fears.

The day will break, dawn will come,
Light you’ll make, this song you’ll hum,
Sing your song, to fight the fear,
Loud and long, when I’m not here,

A blade of shadow and ash sliced dangerously close before the Ormon crushed it with John Henry’s hammer; another slashed from the opposite side, but the Ormon was there as well, turning it away with Mykeala’s staff.

Oh be brave, my little dear,
Others to save, truths ring clear,
Seize the days, my precious one,
I’ll love you always, my heart you've won


The battle between the Ormon and Storyteller and the Drim’s forces raged on, with the Drim gaining ground each passing second. The Ormon’s strength faded, and the shadows grew in number, until finally a shadow broke past his defenses.

The Ormon threw himself between the shadow and the singing child; the girl’s song was silenced as she felt her protector’s blood splash over her, staining her white shirt red.

She opened her eyes to see the Ormon before her, shielding her with his own body; a blade of shadow extruded from his chest, and the light of his eyes was fading fast.

She had no time to cry out to him; his eyes locked on her for a brief moment, and with the last of his strength he raised his clenched fist over his head, sending out a powerful shockwave that swept the Drim from the temple.

The ancient man let his hand fall to his side; the weapons around them fell with a clatter to the ground as his magic faded away.

The Ormon smiled at the girl with the last of his strength; “Be brave, little Storyteller.” he whispered, closing his eyes for the last time.

As his body collapsed to the floor, the little girl rushed to his side; she clutched ancient man’s hand and wept.
I promised cheerful and funny! That's...tomorrow, I promise.

This piece is completely surrounded by spoilers, so I can't explain too much or answer too many questions.

Edit: The lullaby the Little Storyteller sings is the wonderful commissioned piece: Dawn will Come by Tara-the-Brave.
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Miss Scarlett -- :iconscarlett28:

..... . .. . .. .. . ... . .. .. . . .. ...... . . .... . ..

Rikk DarkMoon DarkMoonPhotography aka 19.5
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Miss Brooklynn

Like this pose has never been done before. A thousands times maybe, or many more, but here is our version.

"191"

Rikk DarkMoon DarkMoonPhotography aka 19.5
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Miss Scarlett -- :iconscarlett28:

Miss Scarlett was one of the first model I started this Legacy Art Collection of image with. From the days before I retired as I was retiring. Many of the image of Scarlett was with film as the very first days of digital cameras came on us.

The cameras have gotten bigger and the cameras have gotten much better so my hope is the images now will be better from the earlier days of working with Scarlett.

Rikk DarkMoon DarkMoonPhotography aka 19.5
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I didn't expect to wake up, I didn't want to, everything hurt. To breathe, to move, to think. But to listen, it's what I could do with peace. I heard footsteps, sometimes talking. I heard shuffling feet. I felt a hand on mine, and lips pressed against my forehead. I felt someone's presence, and another person's presence as well.


"Cian, she lost lashings av blud... yer canny expect 'er ter recover in a day" a familiar female voice said and the grip on my hand tightened.


"Aye, oi nu... but 'tis been tree" Cian sad. I wished I could squeeze his hand back, but at that point the pain took over my body again and I passed out.


When I woke up again... the pain was gone, I felt... amazing... but I was stiff. Really stiff.  I slowly checked to make sure I had functions over my fingers, hands, my arms, my toes, my feet, my legs, my neck, my mouth.... and then finally I opened my eyes. Everything seemed brighter, much brighter. I didn't like it. Everything looked foreign to... but I knew exactly where I was. The back of Cian's moms bar. Where she dealt with... different customers. Leena, Cian's mom, was the type of woman who never asked questions. If you were hurt, she would heal you. I don't know how she did... she just did. She had so many herbal recipes... but there was something magical in what she did. She was also not, the first person I saw when I opened my eyes. It was Cian... he was asleep in the chair that was pulled up right next to my bed. I sat up quietly, noticing the dark circles underneath his eyes, how his hair looked longer than usual, how the worry lines on his face were prominent. I reached out my hand to touch his face, only to stop as soon as I saw the tattoo on it. It didn't look like a regular tattoo.... more like it was burned, or even etched, into my skin. It was the Triquetra, a Celtic trinity symbol. It could mean so many different things... Spirit, Mind and Body, Thought, Feeling, and Emotion, even Past, Present, and Future. I just couldn't stop staring at it.


My attention was drawn to the door, where I saw Leena walk in. She stared at me with a stunned expression on her face. But her smile quickly turned to a scowl when she saw Cian sleeping. I started shaking my head vigorously... but that wasn't going to stop Leena.


"Cian! Yer lazy arse, wake up!" She yelled, kicking his chair out from under him


"OI!" he shouted out before falling on his face. I winced as I heard him make impact with the floor. He looked even worse down there than i had been feeling the past few days.


"She's up!" Leena said pointing at me. I hid my hand underneath the covers, although I was pretty sure Cian and Leena had already seen it


"Ah Neck, oi tart it didn't work... oi tart yer were dead." Cian said sighing with relief. I had no idea what he was talking about... did it have anything to do with my dream? Leena obviously knew because she sighed.


"Yer shud tell 'er what yer did Cian ... she deserves ter nu" She said. The look that passed over Cian's face was of pain and desperation.


"What did you do Cian..." I asked, my voice cracking from being dry. My whole mouth was dry. Cian looked at his mother for help but she shook her head and glared at him


"I'll go make sum tay for yer Nicolette, it'll give yer sum time ter tink." She said walking out of the room. I shifted my gaze from Leena's retreating figure, to Cian's pained face. He slowly got himself up off the floor and sat at the edge of my bed. He took my hand in his, the one with the Triquetra, and started tracing it with his fingers.


"Yer 'av ter understan' neck, it wus de only way ter save yisser life." Cian said looking ashamed as he traced the Triquetra.


"Cian... What did you do?" I asked again, my voice cracking again.


"Oi sauld yisser Soul neck, not ter de divil... but ter someone pure powerful. an auld, nameless, deity. yer man promised me yisser salvashun in return for yisser soul but... yer man neglected ter menshun dat once yer fulfil yisser purpose you'll die... again." Cian said and I couldn't speak.


"Oi couldn't lose yer Neck... oi jist couldn't" He said


I wanted to smack him... but at the exact same time I wanted to kiss him. Cian had just saved my life, but he sold my soul. I couldn't decide whether to be angry, or over joyed, so I just stayed silent. Cian just kept tracing the Triquetra on my hand until I said something.


"What does it mean Cian?" I asked staring at the design in my flesh.


"It means past, present, an' future... an' 'oy 'tis in yisser 'ands" he said solemnly.


"Wait, what? No, Cian, it can't. I'm not a hero. The past, present and future can NOT be in my hands" I said Shaking my head.


"So'tiz neck, everyone future is in yisser 'ands, if we mind de past is in yisser 'ands. 'oy we live the-day is in yisser 'ands" Cian said.


I didn't want this... any of this. I didn't want to be the girl who saved the day. I couldn't be a hero... there were no such things. I had just stood by and watched my family fall apart. I watched my mom and dad fight over and over again until they died, then I watched as my brother was killed. I didn't have any power or money... what was there that I could do? I choked back a sob.


I couldn't even look at Cian right now... so I went back to looking around the room. There was the bed I was in... a bookshelves, a window with a window seat that had several plants on it. a full length mirror the show the expression on my face. I looked healthy as ever, except for a faint pink line going across my neck. Obviously from where Sebastian had cut me... My dark brown hair was a tangled mess, my green eyes seemed to turn into an unnatural shade of it. I was as pale as ever, and it didn't help that I was wearing black. From what I could see I was in a simple black tank-top and jeans. My nails were as usual, painted jet black, but it seemed like someone had painted a fresh coat on them. Right now the only sound in the room was Cian's breathing and my own... Well now things were just going to get awkward

Nicolette is a girl who’s lived on the streets most of her life. As she got older, her life started looking up for her. She had an apartment, a job, a best friend... and even if her life wasn’t all that great she had so much more to live for... that is until she died. Nicolette got her throat slashed trying to save her best friends life, and she succeeded. Only, the exchange cost her, her own life. Fortunately for her, there was a force out there looking out for her... and that force is her best friend Cian. He’s mixed up in more things than gang debts. He comes from a long line of Irish mages, his mom being the one who taught him. Cian saved Nicolette’s life... but he also sold her soul for it. Now the only thing keeping her alive is the Triquetra on her hand, and once she fulfils her purpose it’ll disappear. Nicolette will die again. Now she has to find a way to save countless lives as well as her own, while Cian has to find a way to save the girl he loves all over again.
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....
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Enjoy
:D

Don't forget the rest of my gallery ;)
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:)
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Another wallpaper of stunningly hot British glamour model Jessica Jane Clement in 1920x1080 resolution.

Feel free to comment & fav :)


PS: Don't forget to check out my gallery for more wallpapers ;) and if you like my work, add me to your deviant watch, so you won't miss any of my wallpapers ;)
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Since wallpapers with Jess are one of the most popular, i have decided to create more wallpapers of her.
Enjoy :)

More of her coming soon. So stay tuned.

PS: Don't forget to check out my gallery for more wallpapers and if you like my work, add me to your deviant watch, so you won't miss any of my wallpapers ;)
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Just a simple wallpaper of British glamour model Jessica Jane Clement in 1920x1080 resolution.

Feel free to comment & fav :)


PS: Don't forget to check out my gallery for more awesome wallpapers ;)
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Wallpaper in 1080p
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Wallpaper in 1080p
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