Samara Blue`s Arts

[sade]

𝓘𝓷 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓜𝓸𝓸𝓷𝓵𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽
On a night when the moon cast its gentlest light upon the world, something happened that few had ever dared to hope for.

Lady Luna, the quiet moon elf, was keeping her endless vigil. She belonged to the ancient folk of the little elves, those who, like Elyra Moorshadow, Vaesha, and Hilda Maé, walk between light and shadow. But unlike her companions, Lady Luna had devoted herself entirely to the color blue. A pale, cool blue, whose every nuance and shade she knew by heart—and beyond which nothing else seemed to matter.

Her task was as lonely as it was heavy: to keep watch in the darkness when everything else slept, and to protect the balance of the world. She saw where hatred gathered and injustice grew, and tirelessly tried to restore peace. But she had underestimated how deep the malice of some humans could reach. With every skirmish, every poisoned night, she took damage herself. Black marks on her skin bore witness that she could no longer absorb all the negative currents.

And yet she did not give up.

But on this night, someone came who did not belong to her world. A young girl, Nina, who had found her way onto the clouds, carried by curiosity and a quiet hope. Nina was so different from Lady Luna—modern, vibrant, filled with a love of pink that colored everything she did. But she did not close her eyes to other colors.

She had heard of Lady Luna’s lonely work, her strict loyalty to her blue, and her silent sorrow. As a sign of her respect for Lady Luna and her mission, she wore a pale blue cardigan over her pink dress that evening. Her clear blue eyes were a promise that being different doesn’t have to be a threat—it can be a gift.

They met on a particularly soft white cloud, high above anything humans could ever fully understand. Nina lifted her hand and offered Lady Luna a small, softly glowing pink orb. “There are colors that don’t threaten your blue,” she said gently, “but make it even more beautiful.”

Behind them, a small, curious figure had risen—a creature marked by scars, but with eyes still shining with a spark of wonder. Perhaps it stood for all the battered souls who had not given up and still clung to life, no matter how many times they had been broken.

It looked up at Lady Luna and Nina as if to ask whether, in that moment, maybe a little miracle was possible for it too.

Whether this meeting made Lady Luna’s burden any lighter, or whether it helped that small being, no one can say. Perhaps all they heard was a whisper in the wind of the night.

But from that day on, people sometimes saw Lady Luna in garments that were no longer just pale blue. And those who looked closely thought she carried just a little less darkness on her skin.
-Samara Blue/Kerstin Ellinghoven

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[sade]

𝓑𝓮 𝓶𝔂 𝓯𝓻𝓲𝓮𝓷𝓭
Some say friends have to be alike to truly understand each other.
But anyone who believes that has never seen a tiny elf with fragile wings pouring her heart out to a giant, gentle stuffed dog.
Or a crooked wooden toy with oversized grin lifting an arm in quiet sympathy, trying to comfort the little elf.
Friends couldn’t be more different—in size, in shape, in spirit.
And yet, they share something no human could ever fully understand:
a silent agreement to simply be there for one another.
Friends don’t have to be the same.
They just have to listen when the shadows grow longer.
Make space—for tears and for laughter.
And stay, even when everyone else has gone.
Sometimes, that’s all it takes to make the night a little brighter.
-Samara Blue/Kerstin Ellinghoven

Made with DAZ Studio I No Ki I Krefeld 09.07.2025

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[sade]

𝓟𝓲𝓹𝓹𝓲 𝓖𝓻𝓮𝓮𝓷𝓱𝓪𝓲𝓻 & 𝓱𝓮𝓻 𝓹𝓪𝓵 𝓕𝓲𝓵𝓪𝓽𝓸𝓸
No one really knows where she came from. One day, she was just there—standing in the shadow of a giant fly agaric mushroom, deep in the underbrush, between mossy roots and steaming ferns. Pippi Greenhair, the stubborn little guardian of all things green.
With her glowing green hair, sturdy leaf-wings, and the voice of an angry acorn, she was impossible to miss—and definitely impossible to ignore.
“This isn’t some random jungle garden!” she would snap whenever tangled vines tried to push out a patch of sun-herbs. And if you thought her small size meant a quiet, gentle nature, you were in for a surprise.
She knew every plant by name. She could tell when they sprouted, when they bloomed, when they faded. No fern escaped her sharp gaze, no root tangle went unnoticed. She could hear the sigh of ancient oaks and the soft giggles of flower buds.
And whenever the forest's balance shifted—whether due to rivalry between species, encroaching fungi, or dwindling pollinators—Pippi was already on her way.
She had her own way of restoring order. With a mix of sensitivity, unwavering authority, and a sprinkle of leafy magic, she managed to get even the most stubborn plants to find their proper place.
Thornbushes that tried to sprawl too far were sternly put in check. Weak, fading plants were nursed back to strength. For endangered species, she found new homes—matching soil, light, and plant neighbors with the precision of a seasoned green alchemist.
But there was something else about her—something that didn’t quite fit the harmony she nurtured. A darker spark. Almost invisible, but undeniable if you dared look deep into her red eyes.
Some say they saw a flicker there—like a storm hiding behind a calm summer sky.
It wasn’t evil. But it was powerful, raw, and maybe even unstoppable if ever set loose.
Pippi never spoke of it. Maybe she didn’t even understand it fully. Maybe she feared what might happen if one day she wasn’t strong enough to keep it caged.
At her side lived Filatoo, a sly-smiling chameleon as green as she was—but far from innocent.
Filatoo had a gift: he could sense lies. He’d know if someone was faking, if plants pretended to wilt despite being watered, or if someone was hiding something.
Maybe it was his own shapeshifting nature. Maybe he was just born with a nose for falsehood.
But despite his shady vibe, Filatoo was fiercely loyal. And if anyone tried to mess with Pippi, he would step forward with a quiet growl—soft but spine-chilling.
Together they roamed the enchanted lands—Pippi Greenhair and Filatoo. An unlikely, unforgettable duo. Guardian and scout. Order keeper and truth sniffer.
One with a sharp eye for the bigger picture, the other with a flawless sense for the hidden details.
And sometimes, just before midnight, when mushroom shadows stretch long and the air hums with strange whispers, the forest clock flickers to 11:55.
That’s when you know: something is about to change.
And Pippi Greenhair is ready.
-Samara Blue/Kerstin Ellinghoven

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[sade]

𝓜𝓮𝓬𝓱𝓪𝓷𝓲𝓬𝓼' 𝓒𝓸𝓷𝓼𝓲𝓵𝓲𝓾𝓶
"Even patience has its limits – at some point, it hisses like a boiling steam kettle."

She had tightened screws. Cursed. Tinkered. Slept not a wink.
And when the gears finally clicked into place, it happened: the hissing, the bubbling, the steam creeping through the workshop like an offended memory.

The small, red-haired elf Kira Copperfly, apprentice in the Transitium workshop, stands tall on the top step – a lantern in one hand, the thick apprentice manual in the other. That’s how you reach eye level.
"I’m ready," she says.
Her voice is steady. Her gaze burns.
The toolbelt on her hip is still empty. But not for long, if she has any say in it.

She wasn’t alone.
She had asked her little companions for help:
– the old clockwork owl with wise eyes, now studying the open instructions as if the fate of all gears depended on it,
– and the small, tin-faced mask creature doing its best to understand and assist.
Together, they tried. With courage, with curiosity – and a touch of chaos.

The master craftswoman, Prudence Clockwise, says nothing. Not yet.
Her monocle gleams coldly while the smoke slowly settles. Her posture is like the clock on the wall – unmoving.
Because those who work with time learn one thing above all else:
Not everything that clicks runs smoothly.

What the girl sees as progress, the master sees as a sign – not of talent, but of impatience.
And yet… a spark has ignited.
Maybe not in the machine.
But in the apprentice.

The clock keeps ticking. The belt remains empty. For now.

"Tell me – how many times can you fail before it counts as skill?"
-Samara Blue/Kerstin Ellinghoven

Made with DAZ Studio I No Ki I Krefeld, 07.08.2025

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[sade]

𝓤𝓷𝓭𝓮𝓻𝔀𝓸𝓻𝓵𝓭 𝓝𝓾𝓻𝓼𝓮𝓻𝔂
“My young lady, how many times have I told you not to fib to me?”

“𝘉𝘶𝘵 𝘔𝘢𝘮𝘢, 𝘪𝘵 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘸𝘢𝘴𝘯’𝘵 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵. 𝘏𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘭𝘺, 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘪𝘵 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘬𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘸.”

“I’ve been around a few hundred years longer, my child. I can tell very well when someone is twisting the truth. Your little horns are glowing, your eyes are flashing gold. Any more questions, my dear?”

“𝘜𝘮…”

“None. Not even the holy shine will help you now . Off to your chest, Seraphian. Not another word. Tomorrow we’ll decide what to do. And now sleep, before your excuses grow wings.”

“𝘚𝘪𝘨𝘩.”

As you can see, raising children in the demon realm is no walk in the park. Only here it’s not doors that slam, but horns that glow.
-Samara Blue/Kerstin Ellinghoven

Made with DAZ I No Ki I Krefeld, 01.09.2025

DShards
Piplette ©Dazdaway/https://3dshards.com/product/piplette-9/

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“Well, Seraphina, your little horns are back to normal. And I can already see your eyes are blue like a clear lake. What am I supposed to make of that?”
“𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘐’𝘮 𝘣𝘦𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯, 𝘔𝘢𝘮𝘢. 𝘈𝘣𝘴𝘰𝘭𝘶𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘺. 𝘞𝘦𝘭, 𝘺𝘦𝘴, 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘢 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘦.”
𝓗𝓾𝓼𝓱 𝓵𝓲𝓽𝓽𝓵𝓮 𝓑𝓪𝓫𝔂...
“A whole while, huh? You know only those who really overdo it end up in Heaven. And you don’t want to go there, do you?”
“𝘕𝘰, 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳! 𝘐’𝘭𝘭 𝘣𝘦 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥. 𝘈𝘵 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘵 𝘶𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘭… 𝘸𝘦𝘭𝘭… 𝘶𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘭 𝘪𝘵 𝘨𝘦𝘵𝘴 𝘣𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨.”
“I’ll take your word for it, my dear. But remember, I will notice the moment your little horns start glowing again.”
“𝘚𝘪𝘨𝘩… 𝘺𝘦𝘴, 𝘔𝘢𝘮𝘢.”
The mother hums a soft lullaby, not about shiny gifts but about sparks and trust.
Sleep now, Seraphina — far from Heaven and very close to me.
-Samara Blue/Kerstin Ellinghoven

Made with DAZ Studio I No Ki I Krefeld, 04.09.2025

Piplette ©Dazdaway/https://3dshards.com/product/piplette-9/
3dshards.com

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[sade]

𝓣𝓻𝓪𝓷𝓼𝓲𝓽𝓲𝓾𝓶 - 𝓢𝓽𝓪𝓽𝓲𝓸𝓷 𝓫𝓮𝓽𝔀𝓮𝓮𝓷 𝔀𝓸𝓻𝓵𝓭𝓼
The elders say that there are places that are not of this world. For those who are curious and brave enough to travel there, there must be suitable train stations. Since Harry Potter's methods of travel seemed too suspicious to me, I built the “Transitium.” A train station that connects foreign worlds. It's not without danger, but then again, what in this life is?
Here you see Pips Greenhair, an elf from the dwarf lands, where her years of wandering as a mechanic have taken her. She doesn't say where she wants to go. Perhaps she doesn't know herself yet. But she certainly appreciates a good cup of tea in good company. Of course, the Transitium has the perfect atmosphere with its café, “Zwischenzeit-The 3d Cup.”
-Samara Blue/Kerstin Ellinghoven

3DShards
Piplette ©Dazdaway/3DShards/https://3dshards.com/product/lunar-spir ... iplette-9/
The Hatter Teaparty Hat ©Mysticartdesign 3d Content/3DShards
Steampunk Time Traveler Outfit ©Sinsarii/https://3dshards.com/product/steampunk- ... or-g9-g8f/
Steampunk Monocle ©Arah3D/https://3dshards.com/product/arah3d-ste ... 8f-and-g9/
Time Traveler Props ©Sadriel XV/https://3dshards.com/product/time-traveller-props/
Steampunk Vignette ©Doba3D ©https://3dshards.com/product/steampunk- ... tea-house/


Kind of Promo Art - Made with DAZ Studio I No Ki I Krefeld, 02.08.2025

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[sade]

𝓖𝓻𝓮𝓮𝓷𝓱𝓪𝓲𝓻 – 𝓒𝓱𝓻𝓸𝓷𝓲𝓬𝓵𝓮𝓻 𝓸𝓯 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓘𝓷‑𝓑𝓮𝓽𝔀𝓮𝓮𝓷
She doesn't speak much, but when she does, it sounds like steam escaping an old valve. Mysterious, slightly dangerous, almost poetic. Her eyes look as if they've already seen what others don't even dare to dream.

Beneath her hat – tiny worlds. A clockwork ticking inward. A steaming cup of memory. And a drop of truth, distilled from things better left unknown.

She collects routes that appear in no atlas. Portals that only open when you've forgotten you're looking. And sometimes, when no one is watching, she vanishes. Just like that.

Will she ever return? Only she knows.
Or maybe her hat does.

But tell me, if you met her – would you be brave enough to go with her?
-Samara Blue/Kerstin Ellinghoven

Made with DAZ Studio I No Ki I Krefeld, 03.08.2025


3DShards
Piplette ©Dazdaway/3DShards/https://3dshards.com/product/lunar-spir ... iplette-9/
The Hatter Teaparty Hat ©Mysticartdesign 3d Content/3DShards

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[sade]

𝓑𝓵𝓾𝓮 𝓜𝓪𝓰𝓲𝓬 — 𝓣𝓱𝓮 𝓣𝓪𝓵𝓮 𝓸𝓯 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓑𝓵𝓾𝓮 𝓕𝓵𝓪𝓶𝓮
Once upon a time there was a young woman from the borderlands of light.
They called her the Blueborn, for the sea lived in her hair, and between her fingers slept a spark as cool as moon water. When she laughed, the smallest shadows flew out of the hedges. When she fell silent, people whispered, "Too bright for our village. Too different." So the Blueborn learned early to hide her flame in her hand, as if it were a shy creature.
But on days when hard winds swept over the fields and the voices of the world grew heavy and slow, doubt padded through her heart like an uninvited wolf. The masters of the great guilds tested her, and often her magic failed on the first try. Sometimes colors fell to the ground like shards. Sometimes the light hurried past her. Then she wondered if she was only a will-o'-the-wisp on the wrong shore.
In that time she found a path no one walked anymore: the Way of the Quiet Flame. It began where the blue of dusk touches the earth and led through forests whose leaves sang soft songs with the wind. At the first gate a voice waited, old as the source of all wisdom.
"What do you seek?" asked the voice.
"My own self," said the Blueborn. "A strength that does not only boast, but holds."
"Take your light into an open hand," said the voice, "and keep a small remnant of doubt like a little thorn. Not against yourself, but against every glare."
She did so, and behold, the flame did not grow wilder but truer. It did not burn; it shone. Its blue lay around her scars like calm water around stones.
At the second gate stood rain without clouds. "Will you stay when no one calls you?" it asked.
"I will stay," she said, "but not rigid. I will dance until my worries lose themselves in the wind." Then the rain mixed a trace of turquoise into her aura, and the world gained edges where hope could hold on.
At the third gate a mirror of night awaited the Blueborn. It showed her all the voices that had ever pulled at her: "Be nicer. Be harder. Be less." The Blueborn raised her spark, and the image bowed before the blue. "I am not too much," she said softly. "I am exactly right." The mirror did not break, but it turned transparent, and behind it began a path of pale slate that felt like a promise.
From then on she practiced the art of colors each day: she brushed a strip of sky light across every wound of memory. She set azure markers at the borders of her heart, kind but firm. She tied a ribbon of water-blue around each of her "yes" and wove a night-blue into each of her "no."
People still whispered, but their whispering no longer hurt. The Blueborn gathered other proofs: a spark of courage that came home at dusk; a step that did not glitter but carried sure; a laugh that arched like a small bridge over the day. And when the world creaked again, she tilted her head and heard her blue whisper, "Stay with yourself." Then she stayed, not from fear or stubbornness, but from loyalty to herself.
So she wandered on, and wherever she went, the colors grew a little braver. Children learned to lift their own tone without shouting. The old remembered songs no one taught anymore. And whoever met her saw the blue flame in her hand and felt less alone.
Yet the Blueborn never forgot the little thorn. She carried it under her heart as a quiet warden, so that no false sparkle could lure her away and no golden noise could drown the true. For Blue Magic, she now knew, is not a trick but a path: color in the shadow, light in the deep, joy with watchfulness.
And when on some evenings the worries hung heavy on her like wet dew, she opened her hand. The blue spark lifted its head, breathed once for them both, and the night moved a little to the side. So the Blueborn found what she had been seeking: not another self, but her own, fully at peace. And the blue remained.
-Samara Blue/Kerstin Ellinghoven

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[sade]

𝓒𝓱𝓻𝓸𝓷𝓸 𝓒𝓸𝓾𝓽𝓾𝓻𝓮: 𝓣𝓱𝓮 𝓑𝓻𝓪𝓼𝓼𝔀𝓲𝓬𝓴 𝓢𝓲𝓵𝓱𝓸𝓾𝓮𝓽𝓽𝓮
„𝘓𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘴 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘥, 𝘤𝘭𝘰𝘤𝘬𝘴 𝘧𝘰𝘭𝘭𝘰𝘸.“ - 𝘝𝘦𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘳 𝘉𝘳𝘢𝘴𝘴𝘸𝘪𝘤𝘬
Photo session in "Bloodcog City." The clever, slightly spoiled Vesper Brasswick, daughter of Mayor Gideon Brasswick, at the shoot for her 18th birthday. She already knows exactly how to work the scene. Only her trouble-cat Luzzzie (yes, with 3 Zs, because that is the sound she loves to make) isn’t quite on board with the photographer yet...

I love "Mix and Match" and I really went to town here. Mysticartdesign 3d Contents Bunny Hoop gave Hailey Rose a good dose of cool and some extra curves. Then I dove deep into my steampunk wardrobe and brought in the new Sinsarii pieces to test them. Impressive how cleanly these items can be fitted and positioned. After that, a bit of this and that. Amazing what you can find in a content stash if you search long enough.
I moved the studio to DM’s "About Time," one of the first environments I ever picked up. Now it’s time to see what wonderful images will emerge here, and whether they will win the young lady’s favor.
-Samara Blue/Kerstin Ellinghoven

Made with Daz 3D I No Ki I Krefeld 28.08.2025

Kerstin
3DShards
Haley Rose ©Mysticartdesign 3d Content/3DShards
Bunny Hoop ©Mysticartdesign 3d Content/3DShards
Steampunk Time Traveler Outfit ©Sinsarii/https://3dshards.com/.../steampunk-time ... outfit.../
Steampunk Monocle ©Arah3D/https://3dshards.com/.../arah3d-steampu ... es-for.../
Time Traveler Props ©Sadriel XV/https://3dshards.com/product/time-traveller-props/

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[sade]

𝓝𝓸𝓽 𝓮𝓿𝓮𝓻𝔂 𝓭𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓶 𝓫𝓮𝓬𝓸𝓶𝓮𝓼 𝔂𝓸𝓾𝓻 𝔀𝓸𝓻𝓵𝓭. 𝓑𝓾𝓽 𝓮𝓿𝓮𝓻𝔂 𝓭𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓶 𝓶𝓪𝓴𝓮𝓼 𝔂𝓸𝓾𝓻 𝔀𝓸𝓻𝓵𝓭 𝔀𝓲𝓭𝓮𝓻.
Sometimes we expect visions to settle accounts—to be measured by goals, deadlines, results. And every time, something quiet loses ground. Dreams are not contracts. They are training rooms for courage, shadowboxing with our fears, test flights beyond the gravity of everyday life. Not every flight can land safely. But each one expands the sky.

There are fantasies that never come true—and yet they fulfill us. They let the soul travel while the body must stay. They sharpen our view beyond the edge of the plate, open corners in our thinking where we have never looked before. Illusions are not lies then, but a lab: a safe place where we may try out who else we could be. Sometimes that is enough. Sometimes it is even necessary.

The critical question is not: “Will it come true?” but: “What did it do to me?” If a vision teaches us to see farther, feel softer, act clearer, it has already helped. And whether we speak of it remains our right. We can keep the experience as a quiet treasure. Or we let it speak—in images and words that spark like embers and make the invisible visible. In this way, journeys that never “happened” still become real: in us, between us, and sometimes exactly where a new reality might begin.

Between soot-red light effects and violet flicker stands a figure like a promise with a clause. The flaming ring above her head is no halo, more of a reminder. Visions are full of promise, but they oblige us to nothing. In her hands, sparks crumble into tiny pixels—as if reality glitched for a second to let our gaze pass through. Tattooed signs, black translucent fabric, a dance of light and cracks. This is where dreams show their real job: not “to come true,” but to open us—to paths we never walk in daily life, to questions we otherwise don’t ask, to courage that would never come without fantasy and vision. Some fantasies remain ritual without result. And still they can change us, because they let the soul travel while the body stays.

Whether you tell it is up to you. Keep it like embers under ash—or let it speak, in images and words that strike sparks and shape visions.
-Samara Blue/Kerstin Ellinghoven

Made with DAZ Studio I No Ki I Krefeld, 21.09.2025

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