Portrait of a decrepit Pierrot in a tattered and faded yellow wig, set against a backdrop of a midnight graveyard's crumbling headstones, his once-white face now twisted into a grotesque grimace of shocked despair, the skin sagging under thin eyes that seem to have witnessed every atrocity of a forgotten era, his gown a gaudy mess of ripped and stained fabrics, flame-like hues now faded to sickly yellows and grays, catching the moon's faint light in sinister threads of chiaroscuro that highlight the creeping horrors that seemed to be dissolving his skin at its seams like damp fabric, every aspect from the distinctive half-circle cutouts of his nose and mouth down to the miniature spiral tips of his high heeled shoes that seem to ripple as if about to melt into the frosty graveyard air, offering a photorealistic vision of a pale, devastated figure turned as cruel and wicked as the macabre Clarion decreeting his death, standing with eyes pinned to some unimaginable terror only he can see, in an obscure era when demons haunted hospitals at night and maniacs painted themselves with moonlight.