Monday, April 3, 2006
I am dark and terrible. Consumed by visions of ghosts, tormented by the night. By people. By Men. The one over my left shoulder looks like Dearheart. I hide my eyes, trying not to see the deamon, but crying all the same. See the blood-spatter tears on my throat?
I wear black lace, raven feathers, silent silk.
My eyes are ugly, my hands are hideous. I am cursed with womanhood and beauty.
Run away you men. Here stands nothing but pain and trouble. A festering woman who is tortured by ghosts of her past.