[ Duplicity is back on its bullshit. Ephemera doesn't really take pictures of his art - for exactly this fucking reason, as it turns out - but when there's a will, there's apparently a way. And someone has gotten into one of his sketchbooks. He draws in pen more often than not because it gets the lines deeper, starker, and this one's no different. He's sketched out a moment in some shitty Down hallway, Felix staring back on the page. His helmet off, blood running down a thick line on his throat, the shadowy hint of armor around the edges. Ephemera doesn't ever sketch himself, but there's a sense of movement in the picture, a memory instead of something imagined. Something brutal and raw, everything slowed down. The two of them staring at each other, the moment dragging like molasses.
This is the moment they should have killed each other. One of many. And it wasn't. Felix kissed him a moment later and it feels insane now but Ephemera kissed him back. He drew it afterward, like he knew he would. He had to make sense of it somehow, or at least try.
He didn't show anyone. He never would have. But sometimes it isn't a choice around here. ]
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This is the moment they should have killed each other. One of many. And it wasn't. Felix kissed him a moment later and it feels insane now but Ephemera kissed him back. He drew it afterward, like he knew he would. He had to make sense of it somehow, or at least try.
He didn't show anyone. He never would have. But sometimes it isn't a choice around here. ]