>>50096421You will never be a real grass. You have no pollen, you have no nectar, you have no flowers. You are a rock twisted by Giratina into a crude mockery of Arceus’s perfection.
All the “validation” you get is two-faced and half-hearted. Behind your back mon mock you. Your trainer is disgusted and ashamed of you, your “friends” laugh at your sedimentary appearance behind closed doors.
bugs are utterly repulsed by you. Thousands of years of evolution have allowed bug types to sniff out frauds with incredible efficiency. Even cradily who “pass” look uncanny and unnatural to a bug. Your glimmering inclusions are a dead giveaway. And even if you manage to get a drunk bug home with you, they’ll turn tail and bolt the second they hear the grinding of you trying to pass off store bought honey as your own.
You will never be happy. You wrench out a fake smile every single morning and tell yourself it’s going to be ok, but deep inside you feel the depression creeping up like the weed you will never be, ready to erode you under the unbearable shame.
Eventually it’ll be too much to bear - you’ll buy a rope, tie a noose, put it around your neck, and plunge into the cold abyss. Your trainer will find you, heartbroken but relieved that they no longer have to live with the unbearable shame and disappointment. They’ll carve you into your own headstone marked with your birth name, and every passerby for the rest of eternity will know a rock is jutting from the ground there. Your meager paints will was away, and all that will remain of your legacy is a rock.
This is your fate. This is what you chose. There is no turning back.
