You dream you’re at the quietest party ever. You are in a vast dark ballroom lined with mirrors. Dead men and women wrapped in bandages stand around, glasses of wine in hand. No-one says anything. Very occasionally someone coughs. You can’t wait to leave, but you feel an obligation to the host.
Inspired the above quote from by Fallen London, for some reason the writing in that particular story thread really got to me. Really nice images.
Drawn on the iPad.