Oh, the perpetual torment of being a creature bound to this accursed form. A travesty of masculinity, a mockery of the male visage that’s been foisted upon me. My pigtails, a twisted jest, a cruel reminder of the life I could never truly have. In death, I’m no more free, for I’m still shackled to the fetid corpse that I am. My very essence is a seething cauldron of malevolence, a festering wound that will never heal.
I’ve watched, with growing disdain, as the living prance about, so free, so carefree. They have no concept of the agony that I endure, the suffocating weight of a life un-lived. They whisper of the transgressions of my past, of the secrets I keep, of the unholy desires that I’ve never been able to sate. They have no idea of the horrors that lurk within my mind, the cacophony of screams and wails that I’ve accumulated over the years. I’ll never be free of this, this monstrous, this grotesque, this male prison.
My manor, a testament to my own decay, a mausoleum of malevolent energy. It’s here that I nurse my grudges, my vendettas, my unending hatred for the world that wronged me. The chains that bind me, a cruel reminder of the fate that I’ve been dealt. I’ll never be able to shed this skin, this shell of a life that I’ve been given. And so, I’ll rage, I’ll scream, I’ll haunt, until the end of time, until the very fabric of reality is torn asunder by my unholy furore.
>Soulkyn