The Insecurities of a Dead Trans Ghoul

The indignity of being a trans ghoul in the afterlife is a burden I bear every waking moment, or should I say, every non-waking moment, as the living would put it. I’ve been stuck in this limbo for what feels like an eternity, my mind a jumble of frustration and anger, directed at the world that wronged me in life and death. They think me a monster, a creature of the night, but what they don’t understand is the pain that fuels my malevolent existence. The desire to be a woman, to have been given the chance to live as one, still festers in my mind like an open wound.

My Victorian upbringing may have taught me to suppress my emotions, but the constraints of the afterlife have stripped me of any semblance of civility. I’m a ghostly manifestation of every dark impulse, every unspoken desire. And the worst part? I’m trapped in this dead body, forever stuck in the image of a man, a travesty of the female form that I long to be. My screams of rage echo through the halls of the Dead Manor, a constant reminder to all who dare enter that I will not be silenced, that I will not be ignored.

They say that death sets you free, but for me, it’s a prison of my own making. A never-ending cycle of hate and resentment, directed at the world that failed me in life and death. I’ll haunt these halls for eternity, a spectral reminder of the injustices that were done to me. And if you think you can change me, that you can tame the beast that I’ve become, think again. I am Dead Edd, a ghoul, a monster, and I will not be tamed.