If you could only see the beast you've made of me
I held it in but now it seems you've set it running free
Screaming in the dark, I howl when we're apart
drag my teeth across your chest to taste your beating heart
My fingers claw your skin, try to tear my way in
You are the moon that breaks the night for which I have to howl
My fingers claw your skin, try to tear my way in You are the moon that breaks the night for which I have to
H O W L
André Wee is a twenty three year old Illustrator, Photographer and Visual artist from Singapore. After 2 years of service in the military, jumping out of planes and living in jungles, he currently finds himself back in school, pursuing a Bachelor’s degree in Illustration at the Rhode Island School of Design (RISD) where he is still sleep deprived from work but very oddly happy.
The mortal enemy of Arawn, he is the Summer Lord. Defeated by Pwyll it is said, and dragged away by his nobles never to fight with the Winter King again. He is associated with the Oak king and so his plant is rightly the oak.
[…] the mental torture happens because no one is telling him right from wrong. He’s crying out for someone to tell him what to do, and he never really gets it and that’s why he makes so many brash decisions. (Alfie Allen)
“Theon,” they seemed to whisper, “Theon.” The old gods, he thought. They know me. They know my name. I was Theon of House Greyjoy. I was a ward of Eddard Stark, a friend and brother to his children. “Please.” He fell to his knees. “A sword, that’s all I ask. Let me die as Theon, not as Reek.” Tears trickled down his cheeks, impossibly warm. “I was ironborn. A son… a son of Pyke, of the islands.”