I have not slept in days.
The storm continues to rage outside.
The pounding raindrops are like tiny needles pecking at my skull. Peck...peck...peck...
The clock here in my chamber now strikes 12. Midnight is upon me.
I am haunted by images of a dark beauty shrouded in robes of lush fabric and elaborate detail. Is her clothing medieval or gothic?
To what can I attribute these manifestations? My collection of vampire pictures on the walls? Too many horror novels or films? Not enough chocolate? Am I going mad?
I peer out the window of my chamber, and notice that the rain has now ceased.
As I watch the sea of fog now crawling and curling across the landscape, she emerges.
This gothic beauty, parting the mist with deliberate grace.
I am intoxicated.
My curious eye cannot look away as it follows the dark siren on her path, when, there in the distance, I see them.
A coven of living gothic dolls has now congregated out in the cemetery.
Male and female. Equally beautiful figures with pale faces making mischief among the graves.
Like ghoulish children conjuring up splendid games and Halloween costume ideas the night before All Hallows Eve. I began to wonder what sort of tricks they would play, and what fiendish treats they would eat.
And as I observe these collectible figures in macabre costumes, I notice the little ones.
Oddly complected kindergoths, toddling like infant zombies.
They dance together like a mad cult of fashion goths in their fiendish frivolity.
My eyes dance by their side in the darkness. What a morbid and glorious site this is. The goths are so wonderful I could cease to exist.
Waltzing through tombstones like vampires, elegant and lithe in medieval dresses.
Beautiful makeup, and elaborate hair done like strange fashion collector dolls.
These pictures of witches persist. Almost as if my head were a cauldron and these goths were concocting a wicked brew of nightmarish gothic dolls percolating to perfection.
Suddenly, these fruits of lunacy made clear my purpose. I fantasize myself the dollmaker! The creator of this dark beauty and her macabre companions!
Now, the question is how? How to appease these beings that leave my brain teetering on the bleeding edge of insanity? How to exorcise these collector dolls from the caverns of my morbid mind, scratching, clawing, reaching towards freedom?
Of course! My father is quite the wicked craftsman, capable of bringing to life innumerable concoctions of collectible toys and figures for many generations.
Perhaps he could help me to squelch these haunting visions, and yet, bring them to their full and beautiful realization.
Dark gothic dolls and collectible toys, shrouded in ornate dress, with elaborate makeup and hairstyles.
A gallery of gloom, designed for the collector of dolls with a taste for the macabre, a glorious hunger for goths.
Sirens of splendid melancholy, tattooed, pierced and on the very edge of fashion...bleeding edge goths!
Their names shall be Dagger, Abcynthia, Trinity. All are welcome in this factory of shadows.
And she, the dark beauty...my muse, I shall call her Storm!
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