You can find the limited prints I have for sale here.

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Sophidea and Auribel once found themselves stuck in their inescapable kinship. They were evenly matched siblings who represented each other’s unwanted features. Sophidea was strong, stubbornly so. Auribel too vulnerable, and overwhelmingly venomous.


Yet, try as they may, their conflict never could cause the divide they desired. After all, the Mirror Sisters lived as befitted their name; in each other’s reflections, forever and always, one and the same.


Conflicts have brewed and concluded. Truth has been told and concealed. Power has been given, and of course, taken. In all of it, the Elixir of Storms plays an impossible role.


It is, in a most inexplicable way, the elixir of everything. Trust, and mistrust. Welcome and farewell. Most avoid the storm. Others... Well, they win or lose, if history serves.

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Though black as night, these resourceful creatures exist brightly in the darkest corners of our world. You may find one passing through, carrying supplies, faithfully committed to their mysterious tasks. Those fortunate enough to enjoy their companionship, even for the briefest of moments, are left in awe of that warm, fuzzy feeling of being touched by one of the Critterkin.

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To understand the Catkin is to realize that they are never caught by surprise. They control the ins and outs of the woods, the surrounding riverbeds, and all that stretches beyond, and should the time come for them to lend a helping hand… Understand that they find you, and not the other way around.

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Despite being afforded a limitless life through flight, the Birdkin experience little reliance on their wings. They may avoid the skies for days at a time as they collect herbs from around the Willows, remaining watchful from the lands below. Still, you would rarely have the luxury of spotting them. But watch they will. And you will know, because you will feel it. You will feel seen, in the warmest way, and reach higher heights than any wings ever could.


Crafty creatures who enjoy a certain degree of invisibility. Constantly outwitting the fierce hunters of the forests and meadows, the Bunnykin have an unmatched knack for survival. As a result, they’ve maneuvered their way around impossible situations, remaining an essential part of nature, while ensuring the rest of us continue to get a taste of its offerings. Should the pleasant scent of cooked food bless your nostrils in the wild, a Bunnykin may just be nearby.


Maiden of Masks. She Who Challenged the Guard. The Champion Crowned Queen. Important names kept alive through tales and uncontrolled speculation. Whether true or the mark of time, many crave the honor and respect she commands. To be acknowledged by someone as grand and powerful as her, and just maybe, to be the first to know her true name.

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While rarely seen, the timeless impact of these creatures is strongly felt by all. They tune their small clocks to the sun with such precision that their voyages know few bounds. Dedicating their all to what we leave behind, it is them who preserve our history in the purest of ways. It is them, the Wayfarers, who allow us to lose ourselves in the greatest of our own stories, and to experience what it feels like to travel through time.


Yes, these tales exist too. In them, your role is meager. In them, you are a pawn.  You surrender your passions. You forfeit your dreams. They do not belong to you anymore. You may speak, but you are not heard. When you listen, you do not hear. You are a story no one cares to tell. A lesson no one learns from. And when the time comes for you, the prey, to wonder about the hunter, you realize it will not matter. Heed these words. You. Will never. Matter.

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As all things fade with time, so has the Centurion. Theirs is a near forgotten legacy, quietly prevailing in the face of a dying age. They have left behind their glory, outlived by that which they have fought for, becoming mere chapters of a story that had always been larger.


And yet we page through these chapters, still finding just enough resonance to mourn a time that was never ours. Such is history. Such is the Centurion.


Who are we to seek luck? To possess what cannot be possessed, and to be brought that which is rarely brought? We may only hope to stumble upon it, out there, where the Moon Maru and their crystals serve as the sweet divine when all else fails. The Maru guide us toward this unknowable art. As such, it is not luck we win, but the favor of those it belongs to.

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Some say love is built on energy. An unmistakable feeling residing deep inside one’s soul. This was reality for He Who Gave, but this did not stop the yearning. It did not stop that powerful lust, aching throughout one’s body, of laying a finger upon the owner of your heart. He would never.

But She Who Took lived and breathed sacrifice. So He Who Gave, doomed with the wrong limbs, was at last gifted hands, so that he may now obey his lover’s command.


She Who Took knew no remorse, and as such, He Who Gave remained ignorant. It is true that her choice had only strengthened a bond that was destined to last forever... But love cannot be forced to its apex.


She Who Took made her sacrifice to ensure a complete romance, where lust and longing would be fulfilled. When she did, a cost was met. It would mean the return of solitude, and the end of their love, leaving behind only the parts that were once taken away.

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As close as they are to the clouds, even closer are they to our souls. Long ago, these creatures were first embraced in our prayers, when divinity had lost its godly meaning. Since, we are reminded of their presence by the arrival of each half moon, as we religiously watch the Cloud Fish move through an overcast sky with both the grace of wind and the idleness of water.

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All artworks were brought to life in collaboration with writer and storyteller Chaakir Benzina