My legs are to run far in to the forest and across the river to the dreamy side where the undead souls reside. My legs need protection and need to be beautiful that when we dance I may float above the wooden floor and pirouette on an axis of pure diamond dust in the arms of my soul mate and the members of my wolf pack. I am not dainty nor am I an ogre. Strength is my beauty and my passion to feminize my strength is as natural as the flowers petals are to make the morning happy to have dawned. Be damned those who sneer or mock my unique Gothic look for these legs are a gallows for your contempt and I hang people like you every day an sunset.

Laced and bound up my thighs and across my waist and holding tight against my hips are the skin tight colored robes that mark the territory where we roam. From across the sandy dunes& where buried crypts hold the remains of my ancestors to the freshly growing grass on Highlands deep in pine forests where the newly hatched wonderings emerge to start their life in the spaces between the atoms of existence. Pockets for holding the pesos and pestilence and eyelets for belts of arrows for my bow.

I dress in the Gothic style to exhibit the truth sense of my faith and to run in my own direction without the dogma of a formal religion or a strict code of ethics; mine being the Gothic menace, the infamous sweet elixirs of the dark life that flourishes on the eternal fruits of love and madness.