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YuriPlatov — 'Fae and demon'
#demon #fantasy #girl #katana #pencil #demonhanter #tattoo
Published: 2017-08-13 08:11:59 +0000 UTC; Views: 4516; Favourites: 140; Downloads: 0
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Description
Illustration for 'Of Demons and Blue Moons' by Andy Farman
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Comments: 6
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YOUR WORK IS SIMPLY DEVINE! Wow!
May i use some of your work for y group please?
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Loving everything this! Especially the detail on the demon's head.
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Superb, digital pencil illustration commissioned from yuriplatov.deviantart.com/ for the forthcoming 'Of Demons and Blue Moons'.
Model reference, with the kind permission of Natalia Andreeva for 'Fae's' rear view.
At long last, perspiring and breathing heavily, with the morning sun now pouring through the bedroom windows, they rolled apart amid a turmoil of rumpled sheets and scattered pillows on an antique four-poster.
He laughed, a little breathlessly, on seeing a mirror above the bed.
Shamelessly naked beside him, limbs akimbo, her long chestnut hair lay on her pillow in riotous disarray, and with her pale skin that shone as if oiled, she was simply stunning.
“For a well brought up young lady, you have acquired a lot of kinks in only twenty years.”
“Well,” she sighed, reaching for a ready rolled reefer and lighter on her bedside table. “You can blame St Justine’s Convent School for Daughters of the Gentry, for suppressing all those hormonal urges… one doubts that she will ever make up that lost time.”
She lit up and took a toke before offering it to him.
He declined with a shake of the head.
“I have to admit, I was about to cancel my membership at the gym, but then you strolled in,” he said. “Do you often just walk up to complete strangers, old enough to be your father, and proposition them? not that I am complaining.”
She stretched like a cat and rolled onto one elbow to look at him. He was tall, tanned, toned, with a dash of silver at his temples, but he had not disappointed her.
“Yes, one does, as a matter of fact, sometimes twice a day,” she drew down more of the narcotic, looking him in the eye as if challenging him to call her what he may now be thinking. “Do you often go to bed with complete strangers, young enough to be your daughter, whom have propositioned you?”
“Touché,” he allowed, and she grinned.
“But why me?” he asked.
“I heard you like corrupting young girls, and like a moth to a flame, one could not resist.”
He looked into her lovely eyes, seeing a wild light in them, not the guileless innocence he preferred, and yet, she had somehow seduced him.
“You are wonderfully shameless and completely beautiful,” he continued, “But now I must go,” and swung his feet to the floor but staggered, unaccountably weak, reaching out a hand to one of the bed posts to steady himself.
“That would be you overdoing it on the treadmill,” she purred. “There was no need to show off; anybody there would tell you that I am a sure thing.”
He frowned, blinking, light headed as well as weak of limb.
“Maybe a shower will revive me.”
She pointed across the large bedroom to double doors.
“Ensuite bathroom with shower.”
His legs really were rather rubbery, but he kept his balance, crossing to the doors and gripped the handles.
“You never asked for my name,” he said. “It’s Robert, if you were wondering.”
The doors opened and he staggered back, his eyes wide.
The doors did not open onto a bathroom; they exposed a large, floor length and very old mirror of burnished silver.
“In Speculum Veritatis,” she said, in an almost conversational tone. “The Mirror of Truth, one acquired it in Pompeii not a month before the eruption.”
The reflection of her lover was not the forty-something banker with washboard stomach and charming smile, but a leathery winged demon, its skin a dark red from horns to cloven feet.
He barely registered the low hum of the approaching blade before his head was tumbling off to bounce on the polished teak floor.
She stretched out a long and sculptured leg, using a foot to turn the head so that he could see her.
“I already know everything about you, Robert, over the previous six hours I drained your memories, your powers, and your life force.”
She turned away and he saw, in his failing vision, the mark of two hounds paws on a firm right buttock.
“You never asked my name, either,” she said without turning, using his shirt to wipe clean the blade of a katana. “It’s Fae, if you were wondering.”
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