Cursed Womb Death Painting Romane & Geschichten

But that wasn't what made her breath hitch. On the walls were paintings. And not just any paintings. Paintings of naked bodies engaging in nasty things. One big canvas, held a hyper realistic painting of a woman on her knees, throat bulging around a thick black cock. Another painting was a muscled man on all fours, face slack as two men were slammed inside his ass and mouth. The biggest piece was a woman sprawled on a huge bed covered in red drapes, legs spread wide, a fat prick was buried in her slick pussy.

I nod, moving along with him, and together we walk slowly along the wall, studying the images drawn there. As we walk along the length of the wall, I at first assume that the images are simply decorative. The Goddess of Life is in most of them, doing magnificent things. I see some of her standing with pregnant women and newborn children, pressing what looks like light into their hearts, blessing their minds. Another shows her hand and hand with her brother, Death, as they together usher the shades of dead through the Deadlands, him showing them the way in, her showing the way out.

The quieting is this. No separation. The life lives. The life dies. The birth cries. The death sighs. All within this. None apart from this. The living is this. The dying is this. The crying is this. The sighing is this. No separation. The light that is. The love that is. The being that is. The living that is. The dying that is. The birthing that is. The deathing that is. Only this. The story of the cursed wolf was this.

It shows a pregnant Moon Goddess squatting over the forest that is supposed to be far below, the head of a hideous Lycan pup poking out between her legs, while other female gods are looking down upon her, supposedly supporting her through the birth. In the painting, the Goddess is smiling, and I guess it’s meant to be beatific, but the artist didn’t quite capture the emotion of the moment or her beauty. In our writings, the Moon Goddess is described as having white hair like the clouds and silver eyes like the moon, but in the painting her hair is the colour of old straw and her eyes are flat, completely white and she has no pupils – it reminds me of a corpse. Thaddeus stands next to me, pre

The groom mounting the bride on a throne of corpses. My hand moved faster than my mind. I dipped the brush deeper, harder, tearing at the canvas like I was cutting flesh. I mixed the reds and blacks until they bled together, thick and viscous. The eyes I painted stared back, wide and lifeless. The flowers were rotting. The sky dripped gore. A massacre. And I smiled. They wanted a masterpiece? I’d give them one they’d never forget.

she whispered, staring ahead. The first painting was the shadowy mouth of a large cave beneath the ocean. The second: A throne made of rotting skulls. And the third: a painting of me. Cordelia's fingertips ran down my pale face in the canvas. "You're dead." I swallowed. She spun around to face me. "You have a fourth drawing." I forced myself to speak, "Yeah... It's. . it's the reason I'm awake." I handed it over. She looked at it.

“The Lycan King was married once... Three years ago.” What? No one has ever mentioned this to me. “She died two years ago…. During childbirth.. both child and mother died.” the assistant adds. Something cold slides into my chest, settling there heavily. I swallow, my throat tightening. Of course it was the curse. It has to be. But it is still surprising that Kael didn't bother to mention any of this to me. I'm quite sure the girl is the other girl in the painting, it has to be. It all makes sense now, she died for him and I am to die for him, so he paints us wearing wedding gowns. What a weird way of showing appreciation?

There were several sections in the hall, exhibiting different paintings and different art forms, but my eyes glued to a particular painting. A serene, pregnant woman stands in the center, her body seamlessly merging with a grand, mythical tree. From her shoulders and back, branches extend, bearing fruit. As the fruits start falling from the tree, they appear normal at first. But as I looked deeper, I realized they weren't just fruits—they were transforming into cherubic babies, gently descending to the ground. The scene is bathed in twilight hues of purple, blue, and pink, creating a dreamlike, ethereal atmosphere.