>>6114200>>6114196>>6114170>>6114106>>6114104>>6114098Your first instinct is to do as you have done, and wear what you have worn since that fateful day when you were born, or reborn, as you now are. As an aspect of your sister, you were female—if, arguably, the most masculine aspect of her. Certainly your creator had sweetly saw to it that you were seen as such, having his bride-to-be lend you a dress, to be shredded down to appropriate pint-sized proportions. Year later, contrasted against the truly feminine—the beautiful, the purified and perfected Zith-Zi of today—what kind of woman ARE you?
Warty. Horned. Deformed. Not even a real GOBLIN-girl, let alone the sort of girl who deserves to be seated in his lap...
You slap your cheeks a couple times and shake your head until the red-brown tresses fall loose. You regard yourself with wolf-yellow eyes and cat-lizard pupils from between the dishevelled locks. You regard your body in the mirror with growing distaste and discomfort. Your too-big chest is as grotesque a mockery of the feminine as your… As any other aspect of you is of the masculine. Your eyes sting with imminent tears as the you in the mirror bares too-big, jaggedy teeth in a mostrous grimace.
<span class="mu-g"> “Who, or what, are YOU supposed to be?”</span>
“I wish I knew,” you mumble to yourself as you rummage around for something else—ANYTHING else—to wear.
Eventually, you chance upon it: a dark grey-brown cloak. It’s drab, almost monastic in its plainness, and so oversized as to hide your horns and render your body—already shrinking and withering under your own ambivalence, blissfully—to sexlessness.
“Can’t hate whatcha’ can’t see~” you muse in a brittle sing-song voice, unsure whether you are referring to the world outside, or to the one within.
(If it could be true for both, that would be ideal, by your reckoning.)
<span class="mu-g">...</span>
