I do confess: I corrupt the young...
Me: Here's how you bake bread. And random 18th century English stuff. Like pease pudding or mulled ale with spices and gin...
Me: Here's how you talk to ghosts. Seriously. Ghosts are lovely.
Me: Parents and siblings can be arseholes - so can you - it's like a Sunday lunch made of stress and served daily. Family relations get better when you can come and go as you please.
Me: The old gods are there if you listen to them.
Me: Graveyards are chill. Spend the night if you like. Statues and war monuments less so - don't sleep on their pedestals without tribute or reason.
Me: Weird shit happens. Some people don't like seeing it. Some acknowledge it. Some indulge it.
Me: Wear what you want. Faery? Goth? Cyber or Steampunk? Victorian waif or dandy? Shakespearian? 18th C? Viking? Death knight? Zombie hunter? Just Wear What The Fuck You Want. Rock That Shit.
Me: Learn tarot. It'll fucking drag you I guarantee - and forewarned is not the same as forearmed. But hey. That's some powerful witchy shit. (And you may get important memos about upcoming events.)
Me: Your outfit is provocative, fashion forward, goth as all get out and awesome - you're beautiful! Oh - that? - the nine foot shadow thing with blades for hands and phosphor white eyes? He'll be your date at the party tonight. If anyone does anything you don't like - especially concerning the hitching up of dresses or the lowering of knickers, he'll fucking stab them.
Everyone else: ... ... ...