Novel & Cerita Modern Goth Clothes

There was also some kind of terrifying superiority in the way they were looking at me, yet I certainly found their company much safer than being around those people from the casino… I slightly nodded my head, agreeing to go with them. Mr. Gotha smirked, then grabbed my hand and pulled me out of the room filled with blood. He looked me up and down and clicked his tongue. I certainly didn't look presentable. The simple white dress, the only piece of clothing I was wearing, was painted in red, as well as my feet, most of my body, and hair. I stood there looking into his eyes while trembling from cold and fear, and hoping to get out of there fast.

And this time, he was thankful that no one could reprimand him once he sneaked out along with Althy and Rade. The cousins reminded him not to wear winter clothing so they wouldn’t catch much attention when they arrived in Argia. He chose the simple gray tunic accented with silver, paired with black pants and leather boots. He wore a cloak without hesitation since he was used to it, as regular clothing in this world. He picked the crimson-colored with a silver brooch.

There was a black necktie laid out beside my blazer jacket too both of them with the Princeton emblem. A small smile lifted the corner of my lip as I looked at the black skirt and an idea popped into my head. A little modification can’t hurt, right? I wondered to myself as I opened a drawer and took out a pair of scissors and a pack of safety pins. Half an hour later, I held up my skirt and admired my skills. I had cut up the skirt on one side almost up to the waistband and then joined the cut halves with my pins for the classic goth look. I will top that up with my black fishnets instead of Princeton’s Mary Poppins socks.

“Great. Ghost girl by night, body snatcher by day.” The wardrobe creaked open, revealing baggy jeans, oversized hoodies, and faded T-shirts. I almost cried. “You’ve got to be kidding me. No dresses? No heels? Not even a clean top?” By the time I finished searching, the entire room looked like a crime scene. I sighed, rubbing my temples. “Whoever this girl is, she seriously needs a stylist.” It was almost eight a.m. I needed to go out, but there was no way I’d be caught dead in these clothes.

“Is there a reason you’re going for the black attire? Did I say we were headed to a funeral?” Propping a hand on my hip, I argued, “There’s nothing wrong with a black on black attire.” “You didn’t see any other colors?” “Black is a color,” I retorted, wearing my own frown. “Black looks like depression and I’m not doing this with you, Hera.” Without another word, he walked off to one of those racks in the shop. When he returned, it was with several light clothes hanging over his arm: light wash jeans, white tank top and a soft beige fleece jacket.

Doran grinned. We walked out from behind the ridge. Despite the darkness, I could see figures standing at the outpost structure. As we moved closer, I could see the familiar black velvet cloaks. Only the ones in positions of power wore these. Us werewolves always looked a little dowdy compared to the impeccably dressed blood suckers. Although, our clothes were ripped a lot more often so it was impractical to be dressed up all the time.

Man had drawn closer to me. His hair cut into a taper fade dyed in grey, dressed in a -blue tuxedo, unlike that of Kades, who seemed like he'd die if he tried anything colourful; it wasn't like we were in the nineteenth century. But somehow, his utter need to wear black all the fucking time. Perhaps it made him more intimidating… Such a joke, he could wear rags and still look like the devil's pawn. Outfits are nothing; naturally, he was grumpy and scary.

A scent diffuser so fancy I assumed it had a PhD. He nodded to the double doors near the hall. “Yours now.” I stepped in. Walk-in closet. Not huge — but curated. Color-coded. Custom-fitted. I ran my fingers along a soft black button-down and frowned. The clothes weren’t me. Not the tech hoodies I usually wore. Not the old anime tees with pizza stains. These were all... dark. Structured. Deliberate. There was leather. Chains. A silver ring choker hanging beside a zippered shirt I was too scared to touch.

He smirks. —What have you done now? —Mhm, come and see. - He says pointing to the closet. Oh no. No, no, no. What has he done to my innocent and defenseless clothes? I snap the closet open. My things are gone. They've been replaced by a kind Greco-Roman styled togas, they're made of multicolored and TRANSPARENT silks. They look like something out of a historical television production. I check the drawers, my practical granny panties are gone too. Luckily he hasn't dared messing with my only shoes.

I’m grateful dance has given my thighs strong muscles and my body endurance. The bar is full of goths as usual, of varying degrees of flamboyance. Most of the kids are dressed casually with Gothic touches—black lipstick here, a spiked dog collar there, black clothing everywhere. Many of the girls are wearing corset tops, real ones with stays. All of it is expensive-looking and elegant. Black nail polish is nearly universal. I’ve never seen a town with such a high goth subculture population.