Greetings to all. I am a writer & author of traditional gothic books, writings and dark poetry works set in Central European countries during the 1400's. "Traditional gothic", as in European landscapes, castles, mixed with horror, mystery, supernatural, suspense, erotica, etc., and above all- "love." Not modern day gothic: Please don't confuse me with such rubbish.
To make it quite simple for now, I am in the process of writing & re-writing my next book, "The Black Journals."
I am seeking (though in no hurry a'tall) an individual with the right look to portray "Tatiana", the lead female character of the novel. I will be considering subjects that appeal to the character's likeness, to portray the cover art of the novel, plus other possible art therein.
I will also be looking for a photographer that has a good knack of transforming photography of the subject he or she is shooting, into artwork likenesses, that would best fit the cover art of the novel; much like an oil painting, or in that direction.
I have just begun to get familiar with this site; and I must say- what beautiful looking creatures abound here!

Jack Frost

I offer a small excerpt from the works in "The Black Journals"

Enjoy- J.F.

For the first time since the agonizing ordeal had begun, I felt the unnerving trembles of fear. It took root, slowly- in my soul, and began to spread increasingly outward, weaving its tendrils into the very fabric of my being like it was a living, breathing thing: until I felt as though I was being consumed alive by terror. I tightly squeezed my eyelids together as I had when I was a boy: not wanting to see whatever horror awaited me, unable to face the panic that had pushed all rational thought from my mind. I squeezed them until I was sure I could take no more- when, just as abruptly it left- once again I heard the soothing melody of my childhood, its pure notes replacing fear with serenity, and panic with calm- letting out a deep sigh. I smiled at the serene image of my mother that lay in my mind, then finally opened my eyes- and screamed.  During my endless descent into terror- the cross that had been set upright, and I was now face-to-face with a monster. A man who was no longer the faint image of a man, but a corpse of a rotting and decaying form: and where flesh remained, it clung to the skeletal figure as putrid, puss-filled sores, as maggots writhed and wriggled where once a nose might have been. Stringy bits of gray hair clung loosely, here and there, to the half-boney scalp. The grotesque being chortled with sickening glee at my reaction: his lipless mouth parting to reveal blackened teeth which clung loosely and in a jagged fashion to yellowy gums. He was, I imagined in my mind- truly one of the living dead, except for his eyes: for their unholy glow spoke volumes of the horrific and grotesque origins of its owner.

            I cannot bring myself to immortalize what was to be done next: for it was truly a savage and merciless torture to the mind, body and soul. The dreadful, black ugliness of the next few moments were beyond any horrific imagination I could ever visualize, less even attempt to speak of such.

            But, as Tatiana gazed at me, she saw not her husband- nor could what her eyes beheld even attempt to be rightfully called a man: for what was left of my torn, bloodied and broken body was barely that of a human. I watched in utter agony her helpless expression as she realized then that she and our unborn child would be soon to die. I watched as, right before me, her spirit broke completely and the light in her eyes began to fade. I remembered that my tongue had long since been cut from my mouth. All that remained, with which to console her with were my eyes- and I could only pray and hope that she understood that I would not turn away from her, no matter the cost.

            In the eerie silence of the predawn- that moment where mother earth and all her creatures seem to hold their breath for one waning moment, waiting on the first rays of sunlight to once again push back the night and herald the beginning of a new day, I gazed once again into Tatiana's eyes, knowing quite certain that this moment would have to feed my wilting soul for eternity. Time, space and distance melted away gently, until there was only the sight of her: and so lost was I in the love and forgiveness I had seen reflected in those deep, blue depths of her oval-shapes eyes, that I failed to notice the monster moving toward her, and stand behind her.

            With a sharp, cutting suddenness that hurt more than any physical pain I ever had been made to endure, I was ripped from our peaceful reverie and hurled back into the depths of Hell, which had now become the reality. By some unseen agreement, or perhaps it was all part of the insane ritual, the two figures who were holding Tatiana, dragged her tractable body to the altar, heaving her none too gently onto the top of the cold, stone slab. The figures laid her on her back, and as she glanced towards me and locked her eyes onto mine, she gave no resistance while they snapped the weighted irons on her ankles and wrists.

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