Digital Speed Paint: Handmaidens | TEGN | Fantasy Art

Morn has come and the red rays of the new day wash over the procession as it emerges from her hall. The Mother, her handmaidens all around, garbed in gold and black and smoke and chaos, the procession marching from her cold marble feet and coming forth to bid them all remember: Betrayal. Loss. Even death cannot undo her. Though they set themselves above her, the gods are still the Children of Ayi. Her Children. The head leaves the body behind, as it was in ages past, and that which was once terror is now bedecked in gold and finery, summoning from the crowd hushed awe, rather than the screams and wails of doom. Though doom it was, for some. They have not forgotten. Neither has she who now speaks through veils and whispers in the twisted tongues of her handmaidens. Memories deeper than the roots of the mountains, long as the song of the sea, she has lost the anger that might have driven her to grudges and vengeful dreams, but too cold now in her death-sleep to contemplate forgiveness. Only whispers, and oracle