Date : Some meeting, mid-winter 2006-2007
Media : All pen, no pencil. Minor post-scan touchup
For a sketch with no pencil guidance, it most soundly rocks. In no way does it relate to actual Gaslight story lines, real or imagined.
In the back of her mind, perhaps she knew what sort of fate she sealed for herself when she bit into the pear. But in all likely hood, she stood staring at that wretched fruit too consumed with hatred for the faeries to be much shocked.
The tingling in her scalp would have sent any normal London miss into hysterical fits of screaming. The twisting vines about her boots and ankles ruffled her sense of modesty, but what did modesty much mean when the slowly lifted hem of her skirts, pushed up by ever thickening vines, revealed not the pretty curve of calf but rather a solid wooden trunk. It was her hand, in truth, that gave her fright. That appendage which channeled so much of her power- through deftly handled wrench and lighting quick pen strokes. Her last breath was drawn into her lungs as a horrified gasp. The sensation of vines sprouting, crawling across her scalp was the last she felt- the becoming of wood overtaking her fully after that.
And so she stood, a wooden woman made half of sprouting tree, still clothed in her fine, fashionable London dress and holding that fruit which cursed her. Though it soon rotted, she remained- each bud flowering to reveal fruit with a mechanical pit and, in time, no fruit at all but rather a unique wooden gear.