Every night with a clock in her hand she walks on the ruins of the ancient lake. Every night she waits and hopes that the promise once made will be kept. Sometimes when walking gently from stone to stone, a cold night breeze whispers in her ear and touches softly her long black hair. Then she shivers, cold in her madness, when the night wind speaks with his warm voice. But he never came and never will.

Painted with photoshop and a lot of coffee. This one took me a lot of time, and I really couldn't stop adding things.
Thanks for taking a look.

Some Close-ups:
http://www.mindofka.com/images/lotus-details.jpg