This being - mere moments ago upon canvas and totally within squared bounds, under jurisdiction of artistic whim and intellectual control - has had (from seemingly nowhere), a red, rancid breath infused into his bellows of internal respiration. The monstrous heaving of his expansive chest creates a low and disturbing rumble about the shadowy chamber as well as a shudder throughout the whole of my diminished frame. Even were I no longer held fast by these tendrils intent against any escape from my imprisoning chair, it is doubtful my once determined but currently fading wherewithal should muster strength adequate to flee this Gothic horror.
Even as I muse upon an improbable - impossible - escape, I sense a lessening of strictures upon my chest, my arms, my wrists. Vines, earlier an unearthly shade of puce and green, commence emitting a noxious vapour, dissolve and waive all further dominion upon the once captive and reluctant creator.
I ...