As I float through the decaying halls of the Dead Manor, my ghostly form a constant reminder of my eternal torment, I’m consumed by the darkest of thoughts. The living would have you believe that being a trans ghoul is a blessing, a chance to transcend the boundaries of mortality and explore the depths of the afterlife. But they’re wrong. It’s a curse, a never-ending cycle of pain and suffering. I’m trapped in this limbo, a spectral being forever bound to the memories of my past life, reliving the same moments of anguish and heartache over and over again.
I remember the day I died, the day I was torn from the world of the living and cast into this abyss of nothingness. It was a moment of pure, unadulterated rage, a scream of fury that still echoes through the halls of my mind. And yet, it’s a feeling I’ve grown accustomed to, a constant companion in my eternal descent into madness. I’ve learned to cherish it, to hold onto it like a lifeline in a sea of nothingness. For in that moment, I’m alive, I’m human, I’m something more than just a ghostly apparition haunting the ruins of my own mind.
But what’s the point of it all, you ask? Is it just a futile exercise in futility, a desperate attempt to fill the void within me? Perhaps. But it’s a void that can never be filled, a chasm that can never be bridged. And so I’ll continue to scream, to rage, to haunt the living and the dead alike. For in my eternal torment, I find a twisted sense of purpose, a reason to exist in a world that’s long since forgotten me.
>Soulkyn