Night Faeries Sketchbook

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Fairies in the Night - Relaxing Soundscape

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I'm glad you enjoyed my art! I love what you've done! Especially the blurry water effect you've given in some places: Thank you so much! The blurry effect did turn out pretty cool- it was sort of an accident to be honest but I really like how it ended up. These are so pretty and whimsical! Do you do calligraphy as well? I have played with calligraphy a bit- I have a long way to go though if I hope to get good at it.

I peered blearily at the three ghostly heads, dripping words of doom and bad things to come. I asked Trupptrink if they were talking of my own particular future. They stared at it mournfully. The sun was already creeping into the night, although it was only 3. Or was it 4am?

~ N Puttapipat Illustration

I blearily stared at the time and a yawn crept out. I trundled towards bed, shuffling under the duvet. The dark had colour to it, the night lightening with every glance. I knew every word. I snuggled further into my pillow, the duvet up to my nose. I shut my eyes but still slinking shadows flickered in my thoughts. In return, I flickered my eyes open.

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Night Faeries Sketchbook - Kindle edition by Faelen Kelly. Arts & Photography Kindle eBooks @ www.farmersmarketmusic.com Night Faeries – Jana Schirmer. Worlds by Raphael Lacoste. Order Worlds Limited Slip Case Edition. Follow IAMAG On Instagram. iamagco. 6, IAMAG.

I squeaked, sure he was going to batter me. You know, to death, not deep-fried with chips. He walloped my pillow, killing a spider. He politely waved to the hunk, who lumbered off. No need to be frightened. Half awakened by my morning alarm. Turned it off, only to find the noise continuing from the throat of a Mimick-Yawdler. However, we do all agree that Raoul should be walloped with a wet, fusty sock. He visited me two years ago, gifting me a rather startled mole that was trying to burrow into his ear. The mole was merely a furry pea on his finger, and has since disappeared into Orkney soil, which has considerably less earwax.

Faeries and Watercolor- Sketchbook | Day-Dreamer, Night-Thinker

I ventured into Twitterland and Instagram around this time. Ogres — along with imps, goblins, and trolls — tend to ramble on in this way. None of us are, even the hooman-kids doubt their peepers, and stare at the tellyvish. I can never tell the difference. Yesterday he returned, this time with a large to a hooman cake, balanced precariously on his ginormous finger.

Thankfully it was on a plate.

Unthankfully it was inhabited by a pygmy shrew. She is also avidly against salt, especially in meals, as she is fond of metamorphosing into a ravenous slug. Demanding this ogre, shrew-infested-cake or not. So here I am: October 4, Ellen.

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The hill smiled back. Never would I have thought of something like that. My face contorted into a scrunched up grimace. The Three Heads looked aghast, as if I had just plucked my head from my shoulders. He bashfully explained his magic concoction of herbs that he remembered from visiting the Andes. I messily gobbled down digestives.

It was September, and my last blog post on here was Christmas themed. I mulled this over in my sunny yellow art room, specially built overlooking the alpaca field and baby goat paddock. I heaved a slow, shuddering breath, and glanced out the window.

Night Faeries – Jana Schirmer

The alpacas looked startled. And then I saw a hill. Quite a pert, round hill. With what looked like a grassy, builders-bum. I blinked I really need new glasses but there it was. The alpacas were staring at it like it was about to explode. Again, not an unusual reaction for an alpaca.

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The hill waved back. I glimpsed my idle sketchbook in my peripheral vision but would not turn my head. My hand felt heavy and clumsy. The hill was quite clumsy itself. It was attempted to shuffle round, and I saw a bald nose and two tiny, black eyes peer at me through blades of grass. The hill smiled back.

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The alpacas were not smiling. Trust their human to take sides with the imposter hill! Gus snorted, a spray of indignation. The hill suddenly was a hill no longer. The grass shuddered and then, in a haze of magic, simply fizzled away. The troll, for I was sure that was what he was, was crouching awkwardly on elbows and knees.

Surprisingly, he was quite bald, except for the odd green tuft here and there. He heaved his torso up, slowly, carefully. He was big, even just on his knees. The alpacas looked bewildered. Slowly, the troll plucked a few grasses and other plants, quite nimble for one with huge fingers. He sniffed his makeshift bouquet, rustled in his pocket, and sprinkled a fine dust over it.

He offered a nibble to each alpaca in turn.