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TrebleStudios-Don't Starve Fan Art

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TrebleStudios

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A deadly silence had filled the room, and remained there for a fair amount of time. The shadows no longer burbled and hissed among themselves, but rested in the tense dead air, their white eyes watching the figure sat in their Master's bed. The one on the furniture looked ahead with a blank stare. His eyes were dark from exhaustion, and red from sobbing. His face was pale from illness, and also from the truths recently revealed by his own mind. The young man still shook slightly in fear, for the longer he pondered on these truths, the harder it became to conceal his emotion. Eventually, a blank stare became difficult to hold, his lip quivered and he struggled to refrain from sobbing.

He'll be back soon, Wilson thought as his breathing became heavy and frantic. He kept repeating this statement to himself, his fear soon overcoming his sadness. Maxwell wouldn't hurt me....would he? He...he cares...doesn't he? These things Wilson once believed to be true now became questionable. He began to fear for his life, and was desperate to escape his possible fate.

Unsteadily, Wilson tried to bring himself to his feet. With shaking limbs, he moved himself from the bed to the floor. Upon standing, he leaned against the bedside table for support and looked at himself. He was certainly smaller than he was when winter first rolled around. His clothes were neater and clean, though. Probably washed while he was unconscious. Wilson slowly moved himself to the dresser beside the large door and looked in the mirror. He barely recognized himself. His face was pale from sickness and injury, and his eyes were bloodshot and dark. A small rustle sounded from around him, causing him to jump in surprise. He was tense. The thought that Maxwell planned ill for him never left his mind, and he began to think fast.

Having regained his balance, Wilson moved swiftly despite his pitiful condition. He located his red vest and quickly put it on. His shoes were beside the bed, as he later discovered, and Wilson slipped them on just as fast. Wilson then stood and took the time to think his next move through. He was getting out of there, no doubt. But he owned no winter coat of his own, and Maxwell had left with his. There was a tall rack beside the bedroom door, and on it hung another coat. Maxwell's very own that he was dressed in most of every time Wilson saw him. It wasn't exactly suited for winter, but it was better than nothing. For the moment, Wilson draped his over his shoulders and exited the room.

Directly outside the door was a large room that seemed to have no end. In a darker space in the room was a small living quarter, the very same where he was saved by the man who has betrayed him. In the center of the room, flanked by menacing spikes that rose high towards an invisible ceiling was the Throne. Wilson was taken aback by its strange beauty. Dark but slightly draped in a shaft of light. The shadows surrounded it, seemingly saving it and readying it for the Puppet Master's return. Glowing eyes from the darkness watched him, but not in an unkind way. More curious. They seemed to beckon him to the Throne. Wilson approached it and reluctantly sat upon it, and the demons around him made no move to stop him. They accepted him; almost welcomed him. Wilson ignored the strange feeling of power that coursed through him, and pulled an object out of the breast pocket of the jacket he had about his shoulders.

A rose.

He studied it carefully, and held it gingerly before a sudden thought bubbled into his mind, and he dropped the silky flower onto the floor, where the shadows soon consumed it, and it became an evil flower at the foot of the Throne. A life once good in nature consumed by evil, and transformed into something of the darkness.

Wilson rested there for another moment before remembering the task at hand. Upon rising from the Throne, Wilson felt slightly...euphoric. 

 

roses__king_of_winter_page_17_by_trebles

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TrebleStudios

TrebleStudios

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I realize I haven't been linking my pages, so these might be tricky to find. I apologize for that.

 

The crisp winter wind whistled through the pines, blowing snow from their branches. The snow continued to fall in large, fluffy flakes and settle gently on earthbound surfaces. A strange peace in the midst of madness.
In a clearing next to a smoldering fire, crimson had become the new white, for it blanketed the earth like the snow. The trails and pools of this reeking crimson lead to their sources whom were dying or already dead. The last to writhe in pain from the terrible bisecting stared frightened into the dark eyes of their killer, who grinned down at them with demonic fangs, before placing a clawed hand mockingly over his face. 
“Shhh....”  he hissed as the young man whined for the final time.
As the victim began to close his eyes in acceptance, tears fell for the last time as he whispered a foreign word. “..M..monstre..”
Maxwell smiled. “I know.”
Around them lay the other mangled bodies of the group that once conquered the wilderness. Sprawled and bloodied, still clinging to the weapons they believed would protect them. As Maxwell passed over them, his long coat brushing the ground, he kicked their tools and other miscellaneous objects aside, such as detached appendages and entrails that lay in his path. All the while, he looked down on them like a king to his subjects as he walked down his own red carpet. The King of Winter stared into the blank, wide eyes of his victims with a stone face as he approached the last standing piece on the board. 
Well, standing wouldn't be the correct term. This “piece”, dear reader, was incapable of standing altogether. As the Puppet Master set his black eyes on her, she froze just as much as the snow she lied in. With wide, white eyes, she watched him approach her and stop directly beside her. He held himself so proudly, as though he had won the greatest tournament. Maxwell stood tall and rocked on the balls of his feet as the woman rasped below him. 
“Maxy,” Charlie rasped, trying to appeal to him. 
Tears came to her eyes at the thought that the monster who stood before her used to be a man. A very handsome gentleman. A man who used to care. Now, all these human qualities were masked by Them. The gentle blue that pierced her own soft gray eyes was no longer there; replaced by an emotionless black with only a small sphere of white to stare into your soul. His soft, yet firm hands were corrupted by demonic claws that were still stained with crimson along with his gloves.
Charlie looked up into the eyes of her companion, tears staining her cheeks. “Max..please. Don't do this. You've gone too far.”
Maxwell stared at her blankly for a moment before answering. His eyes scanned her unamused. “Too far? My dear Charlie, the sun hasn't risen yet. The game is still afoot.”
“What game?” she challenged in a hoarse voice as she clutched at the wound on her left arm. Her voice broke as she began to raise it, as she prayed it wouldn't. “They're dead! Maxwell, they're all dead! And for what?” She paused to sniffle. “You monster!”
Charlie then wished she could take the words back, for Maxwell moved as fast as the demons inside him. He crouched as his hand reached for her throat and there he held her for what seemed like an eternity. For an eternity, Charlie stared into the face of a demon. And for a moment, she thought she saw a spark of blue in his evil eyes.

 

You're in there, aren't you? 
 
alive__king_of_winter_page_18_by_trebles
Edited by TrebleStudios
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