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Description
“A final breath.

That’s all it takes, really. All it ever really took. All I ever really needed.

Somehow, you feel so much saner in your final moments. Why? Perhaps it’s the numbing coldness that dances across the skin, the blood lying icily across land, painting the elements until they rust. It’s a prickling, a tingling, like snow sweeping puckered lips, a beautiful thing, subtle, a breath of fog in mountain air. That’s what I remember my death as being. Subtle, and foggy.

I couldn’t have had a better place to lie dying. All my life all I did was surround myself with beauty to elude the fact that my life was a brusque, ugly thing. It wasn’t too much to ask that my burial place would be beautiful. Mountains, like I had never seen before. And this time, I was forced to see them through a natural eye, an eye that I could shut off if I wanted, that didn’t tint everything that horrid, sickly green. It was peaceful, too. Quiet, but for that horrid noise my dilapidated PAK was hissing. Couldn’t do much about it. I don’t think I could even have raised my arms anymore.

When you’re dying, even if only for three minutes, you have a lot to think about. Things I never cared to remember any more came bubbling to the surface of my thoughts, oozing like diesel from a worn engine. Those bruises I used to have dotted my skin. Was it just my eyes, or were they really there, even now? Probably just blood stains. I never knew my skin could be so white. Or had it done this once before? Too much to remember, only flashes, weeks into seconds. So much. So little time.

Feeling my breath growing thin. Only one eye and the vision already is darker than what I remember. Doesn’t help that it’s night and the sky is as black as sin. Blood oozes from my side. It’s not cold anymore. Not even sticky. It’s just there. A feeling. A sensation. My chest doesn’t inflate with my breaths anymore. Electronics finally giving out. I can feel the air escaping, and I know I won’t get it back, not even if I tried. It runs away with my vision, with my consciousness. How long has it been now? I don’t think I’ll stay here much longer. Have to keep moving.

I’ve been here too long already.”

Monarch awoke, crying. She clutched at her chest, that which bore a new scar, familiar yet unfamiliar simultaneously. “Who am I…?” she asked herself, knowing the answer and yet debating it at the same time. It had been so long since she had dreamt like that. So vividly. And as she once was.

The feeling of death, cold and cruel was still lingering on her lips, and she knew there was no chance of returning to sleep. With a slight gasp of breath, she swung her legs out of the bed, marveling not for the first time at how long they were, how graceful. How alien. The purity of this form seemed so rediculous. So improper. It felt like an undeserved reward, something she should never have recieved. Even though she had lived in this body for so many years, perhaps even longer than she had existed within her original, it still felt as if she was waking up in the body of a stranger.

Some airbrushing practice.

Monarch is supposed to be a visually beautiful character. It's overdone, I know, but there are reasons. She is that way because she's the 'Butterfly that began as a caterpillar'- something beautiful that evolved from something ugly. I enjoy drawing beautiful characters, which is also probably why I draw Monarch so often.

Monarch C me.

Description
“A final breath.

That’s all it takes, really. All it ever really took. All I ever really needed.

Somehow, you feel so much saner in your final moments. Why? Perhaps it’s the numbing coldness that dances across the skin, the blood lying icily across land, painting the elements until they rust. It’s a prickling, a tingling, like snow sweeping puckered lips, a beautiful thing, subtle, a breath of fog in mountain air. That’s what I remember my death as being. Subtle, and foggy.

I couldn’t have had a better place to lie dying. All my life all I did was surround myself with beauty to elude the fact that my life was a brusque, ugly thing. It wasn’t too much to ask that my burial place would be beautiful. Mountains, like I had never seen before. And this time, I was forced to see them through a natural eye, an eye that I could shut off if I wanted, that didn’t tint everything that horrid, sickly green. It was peaceful, too. Quiet, but for that horrid noise my dilapidated PAK was hissing. Couldn’t do much about it. I don’t think I could even have raised my arms anymore.

When you’re dying, even if only for three minutes, you have a lot to think about. Things I never cared to remember any more came bubbling to the surface of my thoughts, oozing like diesel from a worn engine. Those bruises I used to have dotted my skin. Was it just my eyes, or were they really there, even now? Probably just blood stains. I never knew my skin could be so white. Or had it done this once before? Too much to remember, only flashes, weeks into seconds. So much. So little time.

Feeling my breath growing thin. Only one eye and the vision already is darker than what I remember. Doesn’t help that it’s night and the sky is as black as sin. Blood oozes from my side. It’s not cold anymore. Not even sticky. It’s just there. A feeling. A sensation. My chest doesn’t inflate with my breaths anymore. Electronics finally giving out. I can feel the air escaping, and I know I won’t get it back, not even if I tried. It runs away with my vision, with my consciousness. How long has it been now? I don’t think I’ll stay here much longer. Have to keep moving.

I’ve been here too long already.”

Monarch awoke, crying. She clutched at her chest, that which bore a new scar, familiar yet unfamiliar simultaneously. “Who am I…?” she asked herself, knowing the answer and yet debating it at the same time. It had been so long since she had dreamt like that. So vividly. And as she once was.

The feeling of death, cold and cruel was still lingering on her lips, and she knew there was no chance of returning to sleep. With a slight gasp of breath, she swung her legs out of the bed, marveling not for the first time at how long they were, how graceful. How alien. The purity of this form seemed so rediculous. So improper. It felt like an undeserved reward, something she should never have recieved. Even though she had lived in this body for so many years, perhaps even longer than she had existed within her original, it still felt as if she was waking up in the body of a stranger.

Some airbrushing practice.

Monarch is supposed to be a visually beautiful character. It's overdone, I know, but there are reasons. She is that way because she's the 'Butterfly that began as a caterpillar'- something beautiful that evolved from something ugly. I enjoy drawing beautiful characters, which is also probably why I draw Monarch so often.

Monarch C me.