And in those early years I was met with much derision. My ideas were spat on, and My appearance mocked by the popular majority, or "the head lice" as I preferred to call them. I was a vagabond in their hearts, and in that sparsely-imaginationed town, they were weary of vagabonds.
I had never particularly worried about superficial things like My blameless poverty, erratic dance technique, or acne-prone skin, but the rabid women and their court of white knights made sure that their grievances with Me were internalized–and so it came to pass that I developed a vitamin D deficiency from My aversion to the outside world, but nothing a prescription couldn't handle.
Piece by piece I started assembling a little nest for Myself, which later would become the current incarnation of My "shadow lair"–a working studio/darkroom where I could lose Myself in the limitless depths of My imagination–a space where I could nurture My budding photography obsession. Books too became My escape–dead thinkers who provided much-needed companionship, guidance, and warmth during those formative years. Staying in became something I looked forward to, instead of something I self-pitied over.
But when the day came, it was as clear as the void of light reflected from My raw obsidian collection–it was time to emerge out of the wilderness, and make My personal legend known to the world. I no longer dreaded the head lice people–I saw their opinions of Me for what they were–a minor nuisance, but nothing of consequence.
And thus DragnMastr13 was conceived.