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I dress my avi with a theme in mind, a feeling I want to convey with her image. And then when I look at the final product, I sometimes want to drool. Because I'm thinking and I'm lost. I'm in a different place where this person I've created by playing dress up is.

Sometimes it's a soft, innocent young woman filled with darkness. She's drawing them in, dressed in white, but you don't see the lighter she holds in her hand or the bloodied knife behind her back. She's coy and manipulative. She'll get what she wants from you and when she's done, that bloodied knife you never knew existed will be in your chest, and with blood gurgling from your lips you'll stare up at her as she casually has a smoke. And then you'll see the calculating coldness in her once kind and pure blue eye. Because when you look up, you'll realize she's wearing a bloody eyepatch, that's dripping crimson tears down her cheek.

Sometimes she's hiding behind a doctor's mask. And she's barely dressed. But you can't tell. The barely there coat she's wearing is hiding just enough. You want more; to see more, to touch more, to taste more. But you can't because of that damn coat, and those damn stockings. Not to mention, you see the cigarette burning and that bandage around her arm. She's flicking her zippo and glaring around impassively at the gyrating bodies surrounding her. You can't approach that. She'll tear you to pieces, unafraid of pain.

I dress my avi to thrill my imagination. To bring forth flashes of heat and pain and submission and angst and death and horror and innocence. To draw from the well of my creativity these delicious gems.