Friday, September 19, 2008

Vampire finished

Here she is, the Little Vampire. She is the smallest doll I've made so far and that's been tricky. Glue guns are a messy necessary evil but things got particularly tricky as she is so wee. She's cute though, I think. She has become a vampire at the last moment, but was inspired by a different type of creature altogether, from a story I have been working on for a few months now (to be a Comic Book... or Graphic Novel when I am feeling cocky!) writing (THE HARD PART!) and illustrating.

This is a shortened version of her part in that story "The Fable of Weirdly Nightshade":

She has one leg longer than the other, or one shorter, if that is your inclination. She once dreamed of being a glamorous dancer on the Parisian stage, but reluctantly, accepts that it will never be. Her dreams are tattered at the edges, shop worn and neglected. Too ungainly, too stooped... pretty enough but not dazzling, not born to command attention.

She works in a nightclub, taking coats and hats and smiling at patrons whose eyes move over her so swiftly that her image doesn't even register. To them it appears as though the coat rail has arms and looks after their outerwear with no human intervention, she has perfected anonymity. She feels as though she could walk out onto the stage and the spot light would shine right through, she wouldn't even cast a shadow. But she is near what remains of her dream, watching the beautiful performers in their dazzling costumes, all eyes on them, night after night. She will never never join them, and sinks further into the twilight the closer she is to their glow.

Tonight is a blur of familiarity until right now, this second, this tall young man shaking rain droplets from his overcoat, his hand brushing her's as he passes her the garment. The rain sparkles on the black cloth and she looks up to see it in his hair too, tiny stars twinkling. His eyes meet hers and she feels a blush rise to her cheeks, dizzy, a feeling of belonging that she had never known before is sweeping over her. She might swoon (how humiliating) but instead she breaks this contact and scurries away, red faced, embarrassed by her own emotions, embarrassed to be noticed at all!

She gathers her composure in the protective embrace of empty coats, deep in thought amid the comforting steamy aroma of sodden wool. His face is handsome, is this mere attraction? Why does it feel more like the fear, excitement and confusion of recognition? Too much to take in now, she will save her puzzlement for later. She reminds herself firmly that she is just a drab little sparrow amongst the dazzling peacocks. He will be turned away when I return with his ticket, distracted by the dancers along with all the rest. She steps back into the booth and her practiced smile, the smile no-one ever stops to gaze upon, fades. The gentleman is nowhere to be seen, just a calling card left upon the counter.

She is momentarily wrong footed, oddly empty of feeling where seconds before they had jostled for a chance to be felt. She reaches for the card, suddenly guilty, as though for the first time ever, all eyes are upon her. She studies it, baffled, something so small, so slight, so mundane but she feels as though the world is shifting slightly on it's axis as she reads the printed name :  J.W.Nightshade, and a message in a strange inky scrawl..."This place is all rouge and paste, mere fakery, come join us, true magic awaits you"... there isn't even an address. As the familiar nightly hubbub goes on around her, an image begins to appear in her head, like mist swirling and catching the pale glow of moonlight, she can just make out that same young man, now sat in a dark and dusty room surrounded by glass cases in which myriad tiny creatures glitter and move so slowly over darkened landscapes. He leans closer to a large glass dome and now she can see what he sees; at first she thinks of moths, of insects, a dark creature fluttering up toward his face, her face. He lifts the dome and it settles on his hand, a tiny man with great black wings of gossamer.

She drops the card as though it is has just brunt into flames and has the strangest feeling that they are both watching her now, she feels herself lifting, rising up, floating out of the booth, above heads, the sound of voices dimming and now she is up in the darkness looking down upon a strange young man who collects things even stranger than himself."

If you want to learn her fate and how she grew wings, well, you could try asking her, failing that you will have to wait until I finish writing and illustrating The Fable of Weirdly Nightshade. I've a feeling that could be quite some wait!


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