You are now Rhiannon. You are half way through your 18th year of life and have spent most of said life going to school and sleeping. You are no longer in school, and are biding your time until you can begin classes of the COLLEGE level.
You have many interests, your most prominent being READING, WRITING, and ARITHMA-... wait no. You hate math, as do many creatures of your species. You work at a local WENDY's, which you find to be a decent job.
You spend many hours on the INTERNET, perusing sites such as TUMBLR and 4CHAN (mostly to satisfy your SEMI-DARK sense of HUMOR). You used to write FANFICTION but now prefer your ORIGINAL works of FICTION, though you usually can not muster the inspiration to get more than a paragraph down.
Your Pesterchum chumhandle is carbonicCoaster, and you talk to anyone. You often write with proper grammar much like Doc Scratch. When you get excited you tend to bump the CAPS LOCK ALONG WITH VARIOUS OTHER RANDOM KEYS ALKDF;ALJF.
the inhabitants of dream bubbles can pretty much think anything they want into existence.
everything except other players.
equius was able to make a robotic copy of aradia just fine, but making nepeta, his moirail, proved to be a challenge.
he’d notice the tiniest errors in her robotic expressions, things he wouldn’t have known to look for in the rust-blood’s steel body. he also learned that blue blood didn’t suit her in the least.
green was her colour. always was and always would be.
furthermore, you might make a fully functional body, but programming was never something you were good at. mechanisms speak to you, but what use is the perfect recreation of your moirail if it lacks the personality that made her so important to you in the first place?
without her ridiculous roleplaying or her cheery conversation, you’re at a loss.
each failed replica is destroyed in turn.
each has something wrong with it.
the one troll you’d spent the most time with. the one who you thought you knew inside and out.
the one troll whose perfection you will never be able to recreate.
you unleash your fury on the latest failure, crushing its steel frame in easily with your freakish STRENGTH. the husk has the nerve to keep its empty gaze fixed on you, its face a crushed mockery of your moirail’s.
screaming in frustration, you pull at your hair, at last giving up.
here, in your dream bubble, your time is destined to be spent alone.
heir of void, and possesser of the same.
Oh god, the sadstuck.
why are you doing this
Waaah… this seriously made me get teary-eyed. Good stuff. *sniff*