::previously known as My Art Book::
Morbo is a Spanish word with no direct translation; the love of things creepy, scary and bone-chilling despite having fear of it.
And your dear friend here has a Morbo. Don't worry, most of the graphics here aren'...
This is a banner contest, and I'll admit I don't like how it turns out. I had no idea how to balance everything, and "sky" isn't much of a fantasy element (a genre I love) . It screams "werewolf" but it didn't scream "fantasy".
And my banner looks blurry, damn you wattpad
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Hope you like it!
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Anyway, I'm also providing y'all an excerpt of my WIP story!
The title is still not decided, though I wanted something to do with playing cards. It takes place in the Victorian-Edwardian era, in an island named Gammobourne. So yes, it's steampunk! The coolest, most flamboyant genre ever :)
This story is about an emotional aristocrat named Emerett from the upper class, who, after being tricked into drinking an illegal potion, becomes invisible. Right on the night he was about to be engaged to Lady Blanche.
Rejected by society, he is forced to face his fear of change. All would've been lost if not for Cat, a magician (mainly consists of card tricks and smoke bombs) from the lower class who also works out steam machinery. She takes him in and teaches him the way of living in the dangerous streets. They were at odds, as they grew in very different environments and from different classes.
But what is this string of feeling inside him? Why does he feels like coming closer and closer to her?
Enjoy the excerpt!
She looked like a shadow, an odd grim over her eyes as her hooded gaze fell on me.
Her palm traced up my chest, and stopped there. My heart pounded under her touch, my breath sharp. I didn't know her motive behind it, but it made my ears hot, it made me wait. I lingered my fingers in hers, hers cold and clammy yet fitting in just right with mine.
She stared at it intently, her hand leaving a mark--a sensation of flushed heat when she looked up at me--her deep eyes lingered with meaning and secrets, and pulled it away, clenching it to her sides so hard that her knuckles were white. She looked like she was hurting, like she was torturing herself, when she closed her eyes for a moment.
“Are you well, Cat?”
She looked back at me with pursed lips, her eyes glinting, before nodding. “I'm very well, Emerett. Thank you.”
“Will you be waiting for me?” I asked, my voice soft and slow. “When I'm done?”
I didn't understand why I felt a flutter in my chest. Why I was so hopeful for the answer I desired.
“I do not promise anything,” she tilted her head. “But I will try to.”
“Stay away from trouble,” I blurted, my eyes unable to leave hers. “Be careful.”
“I know how to do my job,” she gave me a lopsided grin, then tipped the brim of her hat. “Cheers.”
