There is a kind of beauty in the things people leave behind without meaning to:
a single black glove on a fence spike, a cracked porcelain doe in a thrift-store
window, a house key with no house left to remember it.
I h...
hi, this is the tiny weird room now.
post your creepy sketches, goth photos, cursed little craft projects, folklore
stuff, poems, book recs, whatever fits the dark-art corner without turning into
gore spam.
credit arti...
can we get a group for darker art and weird little creative stuff?
something like `rb.arts.dark-corners` maybe. not just horror movies and not just
books. more like:
- gothic drawings / paintings / photos
- short dark...
The dead never have to explain themselves.
Their mistakes become stories. Their flaws become quirks. Their failures fade
while their victories grow larger with every retelling. Given enough time, even
ordinary people ca...
The crow arrived three days after the funeral.
It was waiting on the rusted iron fence outside Elara's bedroom window when she
woke, black feathers slick with rain and one pale gray eye fixed directly on
her. Most birds...