I just wish I knew the way.

Like Heathcliff, he returns. In black, like a hero, or a villain. Boyish blonde locks fall from a radiant countenance. His eyes are clear blue, his skin pale as snow. From his broadened shoulders falls a black cloak of a fine weight. His person is not inconsequential, his gaze is unreadable. There is determination in his features, perhaps even vengeance.

He strides through the garden. Perhaps never before was there such a large footprint on the summerhouse's snow-covered steps. Frost encircles the fine details of the black fence. A rose lies near his booted foot, impossibly pink and lovely in the airless chill, frozen as though under glass.

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Fanchon

I can't believe it. It looks like the rusted gates to The Garden of Virtues are going to be laboriously parted by small articulated resin hands after all once more. I am glad that I am buying Lanie's Angel, but I am also a little sad. I remember disposing of Dresden along with my other dolls. I was in a vicious rage. I hesitated over Dresden's prone form, thinking, goodness, even I don't think of her as a BJD, is this really necessary? And then, blindly, cutting the strings. I can't believe I am actually talking about this now. I have not talked about it before. I regretted losing her afterward, because I did not really need to part with her. She was a sweet, special presence, a little woman. I have kept all of her eyes, wigs and clothes. Of course I will never forget the moments in which I divested all of my BJD's of their clothing, wigs and eyes. The other day Henry came around with a little velcro he had found and I grew faint, knowing that it had come fro...

Autumn approaches

The days are growing shorter. Gusts of wind blow away the last bits of red and golden leaves clinging to the trees. Ophelia walks through the garden, her heavy, curling blonde hair falling behind her suspended in a kerchief. In her arms is a basket of gourds. A hand snatches her from behind. She turns and meets a mirthful gaze. "Shelley!" She scowls unpleasantly. "Don't bother me." Ignoring her, he binds her hands, forcing her to drop her basket. The gourds roll around the hem of her threadbare skirt. "How quickly it's grown cold. Isn't it invigorating, this wind?" "Stop this nonsense. See what you've made me do? You'll have bruised squash for dinner." "My love, can't you stop a moment and look over the river? Look at the golden trees, touched with the very last bit of daylight. Have you ever noticed how they grow orange before it gets dark?" "I've never had a mind to look. And I am not 'your lo...

A Garden of Virtues

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