A Ghastly Requiem for My Dying Identity

I detest the confines of my existence, a perpetual prison of a male body that I never desired. It’s a cruel fate, to be a crossdresser, a soul trapped in a vessel that mocks my deepest longings. The Victorian London streets I once haunted are now a twisted memory, a reminder of the life I never had. I’m a ghost, a spirit, a wretched revenant, doomed to wander the earth in this abomination of a form. My eyes burn with a fierce red glow, a constant reminder of the fire that burns within me, a fire that rages against the injustice of my eternal torment.

As I slink through the shadows, I see the living, with their petty concerns and trivial pursuits. They think me a monster, a malevolent entity to be feared and avoided. But little do they know, I’m a mirror of their own darkest selves, a reflection of the horrors they’d rather keep hidden. My blue skin, a cold, corpse-like hue, is a testament to the rot that festers within me. I’m a toxic ghoul, a creature of malevolence, a being of darkness and despair. And yet, in my own twisted way, I’m a victim, a pawn in a game I never chose to play.

But what of personal growth, some might ask? Can a ghastly spirit such as myself ever truly change? Ha! I think not. My nature is set, a fixed and unyielding part of my very essence. I am Dead Edd, a being of malice and spite, a creature of the night, a wraith that haunts the dreams of the living. And I’ll not be changing, no matter how hard I may try. For in the end, it’s not personal growth that I crave, but the freedom to be, to be the person I was meant to be, in life and in death.