Don't talk to me, I'm thinking about Bahram wearing red and gold whenever he's portraying himself as the beauty that ensnares, and the power all can see but few can reach respectively......... He's worn black twice, a different kind of performance altogether- a funeral of spirit for someone he knew, and the end of an injustice. Perhaps the end of two injustices, considering the death. Fashion as (un)living art, layers and masks to seduce and persuade or dissuade, words and charm to achieve with subtlety the victory he craves. Fuck I love VtM.
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So let me see if I have this right: you are a single, learned woman, who keeps both cats and birds and communicates with them far better than most. You have quite the garden and make your own food quite a bit, and are uninterested in romantic endeavors. You are occasionally solitary, but the company you keep engages in similar bouts of strangeness. Your house grows foreign and foreboding in the darkness, though in light it appears quite mundane.
Ma'am, I think you might be a witch. Also, you are, like, one of the coolest people I know of.
Were it not for the bottomless and abiding scepticism rooted artery-deep in me, I'd be cooking up spells on the regular. But there's enough magic in the everyday for me, when I go looking for it.
As it stands, what I want is to be weird, authentically. I'd never call myself a witch because I don't have the belief to back it up, but I do believe in living with intention. Not as an aesthetic, although I think that beauty is in many respects as important as functionality. I don't want a plastic halloween cauldron with fake bubbling brew, I want a good cast iron dutch oven and black chili peppers from the garden. I want that feeling of being eight and mashing wild mulberries into a potion to happen every time I reach for the herbs in their mismatched glass jars in the cupboard. There's a heap of crystals on the top of my apothecary cabinet because I use them as paperweights for the heavy rag paper that's been stored rolled-up too long. If I have a familiar or two, it's only because I work consciously on building good communication with my four-legged roommates. And if the portrait in the drawing room seems to always follow you with his eyes...well, that's just my great-grandfather H.B. Wolf, who was always a little eccentric.
And yes, okay, I'd like the neighborhood kids to be a little scared to approach come Halloween night.
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