I live only for the macabre...
Here is a short bio my friend Cold Miasma wrote about me:
Black Candle is one of the most sorrowful souls I've ever known. I once saw him stand outside a gas station for 10 hours just grimacing at everybody who went in. His soul is so dark he can't ever have surgery done. The doctors can't see into the blackness.
When Black Candle was five he left home and moved to the graveyard. He didn't bring anything with him except a black t-shirt and jeans, several candles and a box of matches. He got his first tattoo when he was eight. It's a picture of a skull with a bat coming out of it's mouth. The bat is clutching a blood rose. Red spills from the flower into a pool forming the words "Cod is dead". After he got back to the graveyard and realized the tattoo artist had misspelled "God" he pulled up a headstone (the most cryptic one he could find) and went back and beat the guy over the head with it. He realized he probably should have made the guy fix the spelling first, but then he remembered just how black and empty life is and decided it didn't matter.
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