I was born in the dark of winter, and it seems that the thick darkness of the season still draws me. The most wonderful darkness must be the winter half of the year, up in northern Europe, chilly Scandinavia, with its compact, near-constant darkness. A close second would have to be the south eastern mountains of Poland, and further east still. Not quite as heavy as the Scandinavian night, it is still such peaceful quiet. I am much disappointed with the Japanese winter nights; they seem transparent, frail in comparison.
I practice the Wiccan path, sometimes in coven-esque structures, but mostly I am a solitary practitioner. I do respect all beliefs, however, and expect to have that same respect offered to me by others.
Looks are deceiving. I do not believe that you should judge others by their looks, simply because I know how small changes will change the impression I make, sometimes so much so that people do not recognise me. Make up and styling fascinates me, for that simple reason. It really is body language that will betray you to others, and even that I have studied again and again, to find similarities between different cultures, backgrounds, whatnot. It's all right there, just concentrate, pay attention.
I miss my baby, but I was forced to leave her behind. Perhaps, I shall be able to return to her. Perhaps. I can only hope she will not shun me when I do return.
What else is there to say? I am in love with 1800s Victorian fashion from the United Kingdom, especially the bustle dresses, and I do enjoy looking at vintage patterns and imagining the prints and fabrics. My sweetest mother tells me often that I was born into the wrong era, and perhaps she is right in saying so ...
There is some sort of gentle attractiveness in the shape that a woman's silhouette takes when dressed in such clothing, and often, very often, I wonder what it is that is stopping me from dressing in similar ways ... But of course, the number one reason would be, as always in this world, that my economy might not agree with it. Other than that, I am not the kind of person who would feel too strange to wear it in public, nor am I ever too cowed by others' opinions on my looks. I do believe that I would feel very comfortable in it! And as such, I will strive for it.
Corsets, petticoats, pantaloons, drawers, and other such undergarments also hold my interest. As it is, I was forced to leave my steel-boned corsets behind when I moved, but I do miss them very much.
I do feel very much connected to ravens, foxes and cats. Growing up, I had several magical encounters with vixens and their kits, as I spent a lot of my childhood running through wild forests, collecting pretty things while my grandmother would tell me the secrets of the little people, how to watch for trouble and how to be safe from larger, stronger predators. I have always had cats around me, and almost always we do get along famously.
As for ravens, beautiful corvus corax, I tend to stop and speak with them when I see them, and also their smaller cousins, common black crows. I believe it is the bright intelligence that attracts me, and as such, my power animal takes the shape of a raven.
In truth, I consider myself a writer and an actor. I enjoy telling stories, and I enjoy shouldering personalities that sometimes have very little - if anything - in common with myself. It is liberating, and rewarding. I enjoy painting pictures for others to step into, work through mysteries and scenarios, I love creating characters.
And of course, there is the fae nature bred into me, the reverence of nature that I have been brought up with, and how I have such strange memories. When I was younger, all I wanted was to live as close to nature as possible, and the home I own in the darker parts of the world does indeed lie not far from the wild forests, and even has its own little garden, that is wilderness contained. I still leave offerings for whatever beings and creatures that venture into my garden, and just last spring I had the strangest flowers blooming near the roses, flowers that I have not seen anywhere in the neighbourhood. Gently lilac petals opening up like tiny mouths, and I cannot for the life of me figure out how their seeds might have ended up there.
We have a hedgehog family that visits, sparrows that nest, a large magpie nest in one tree, and there has been St John's Wart shooting up where I empty my cauldron. It is a place that my visitors claim pulses with strange magic, and attribute it to my care of the plants. I do not know what to think, other than that it is so very marvellous to be allowed such beauty as that of nature. Perhaps, perhaps, I shall make my way to Cornwall in a year or two, because the faery nature in me is calling for the company of the ones I have only met briefly, that part of me acting as though they are old friends, and they do ask me all the time when I will go back to visit them. But all in its own time.
But in the end, I have been through too many things to give up on this world, I have tried to leave too many times to ever wish to be successful, and I should have died so many times, but have always been pulled back, no matter if the death should have been an accident, or brought about by force. Rest assured, that I will not attempt to be something I am not, while I will most certainly be all the countless facets of the mind that is my own.
You may call me anything you like, because I go by a million names. I am always going to be myself, however different that self might seem from day to day. There is no use lying to oneself; I have lied for far too long, and there is nothing more that I have reason to hide.
Now then, sweet creature, have a pleasant night, and do not let the bed bugs bite ...
