Lilian softly plays with the pen between his fingers, thoughts escape from him, taking refuge in caves of his mind that he does not dare to enter. A whole day's work has left him exhausted; fingers trembling after so much writing, eyelids drooping under the weight of the sleepless hours, legs numb from a long day of barely moving from the seat.

Beneath his hand, the gleam of undried ink glistens on the scroll he has just completed. It will be a few more minutes before he can seal it, wrap it and put it away with the others. It is during these moments of solitude that he is seized by a melancholic feeling of longing, which speaks to him of distant reminiscences. When a tender current from an unknown whisper shakes the candle's glow, it begins to draw strange shadows on his desk, and on the skull that holds it. That change in the luminescence of its hollow features made it seem to Lilian that the skull was smiling, and the absurdity of this foul thought, made him smile too.

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I made this piece like a portrait for myself some time ago. It cost my various days to complete it but when I did, I was very satisfied with the final result. I am quite fond of it.