She trods the line between beauty and haunting, as cunning as a crimson serpent and gentle as a dove.
Woe thee, Sharlotte Faye, the sun kissed, and moon bathed princess of the Red. Bitter be the fate of thine foes, for they shall know the prick of your thorn. Merry be the fate of your loved, for they shall be loved as none other.
She bares no taste for the thrones of the idle. She leaps, she dances, she laughs, she fights, bowing as the victor. She knows no envy, but yours.
She bares the seeds of mystery and longing, she is the Blood Rose Princess, needing no crown but the one you wear, and whether your heart is safe in her care.
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Drawn by hand, scanned, and colored with Adobe Photoshop 7.0.
