My name is Vriska Serket.
Your name is VICTORIA SPINNET; however, you are obsessed with the idea that you are VRISKA SERKET.
I am a troll.
You are a HUMAN. 'Troll's do NOT EXIST.
I am 7.4 sweeps old.
You are SIXTEEN YEARS OLD. There is no such thing as 'sweeps'.
I have cerulean coloured blood.
You have BRIGHT RED blood, just like your mother and father. We have proven to you multiple times that you are not a CERULEAN BLOOD HUMAN.
I have tall horns with the colour scheme of candy corn and light gray skin.
You have NO HORNS. Your skin is WHITE.
My lusus is a giant spider.
You do NOT have a LUSUS. You have a MOTHER and FATHER who you are worrying to death with your silly assumptions. There is NO such thing as a GIANT SPIDER.
I played a game called SGRUB.
You did NOT play a game called SGRUB. You 'roleplayed' with a group of kids online.
I destroyed my planet, Alternia.
You did NOT destroy ALTERNIA because there was never a planet called ALTERNIA. You have lived on EARTH for all your life.
I am Vriska Serket.
You are VICTORIA SPINNET.
I want to go home.
You are home, Victoria.
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The sun sank and the lights went out. In complete darkness, the young girl was left to her own thoughts. No doctors of psychiatrists could scold her for telling the truth in the darkness of her bare hospital room.
THEY were all wrong. THEY were the insane ones. THEY needed to open their eyes to the truth. Whenever she looked into the mirror, she say herself. Her TRUE self. Tall, candy corn horns raising from her nest of long, black locks. Her eyes shone the colour of cerulean, and sharp canines poked out from the top of her black lips. Her gray skin was flawless besides the small scars near her left eye.
Turning her head, the young girl stared out the window. The moon glowed as bright as the Earth sun. She could vividly remember how the moon looked back on Alternia. So close that her fingers could practically touch it. The Alternian moon had been her horizon during her awake hours.
She never slept during the night. She couldn't. She was nocturnal, albeit her doctors diagnosed it as insomnia. THEY got everything wrong. No matter how much education a doctor had, THEY always gave the wrong diagnose.
They were all simply idiotic.
Restless, the young girl sat up. She shifted her legs off the bed, her toes brushing against the cold cement of her floor. Her socks all laid in a heap at the end of her bed. It was a nasty habit of hers to push them off while she slept during the day.
A gasp filled the quiet room. She shivered, taking slow steps towards the window. The hospital really needed to think about refurnishing the rooms with carpet. These stone floors were enough to give her hypothermia in her toes.
She crept to the window, cautious to stay feet or two away so no night nurses or doctors would see her. Looking up, her cerulean orbs stared intently at the moon. She waited ten deep breaths before speaking.
"Today was just like everyday," she started in a low tone, "the doctors giving wrong diagnoses, the food tasting like dirty dish water, etc. I really do hope this painfully boring pattern comes to an end soon."
The moon's light urged her on.
"There's nothing else to say about my day . . . so why don't I tell you a story form my past?" Pause. "Okay, this is a memory that came to me today. I was on a pirate ship. Nasty, roaring waves rocked my ship back and forth, back and forth. Above, a storm was brewing. A few yards away was another ship. A boy that resembled me, another troll boy who was quite handsome, stood on the deck of the ship, staring heatedly at me. His gaze sent shivers running down my spin.
As the first fat droplets of rain hit my deck, the boy yelled. A canon was fired, the ball hitting my ship. I screamed something in return, but I can't recall what it was . . . oh, well, I'm sure you know. The moon knows all, right? Anyways . . .
The troll boy reminds me of someone I've met on this planet. Maybe it's one of the other kids in the hospital? No, no, you're right. I would have met him already. He's my enemy, I think, or maybe he is my kismesis! Oh, moon, what if he is? I want to meet him now, now, now!"
The girl was now pressed against the cold window, her hand arched as the pads of her fingers pressed hard on the glass. Sometime during her story, tears had welled up in her eyes. No matter what she was telling the moon, either a newly remembered memory or what her day had consisted of, tears always found their way to her eyes.
She liked to believe that they were the tears she refused to shed in her past life.
The warm, wet streaks ran rapidly down her cheeks. Neither trail was left to dry. Slowly, a cold finger pressed against the salty tears that stained her cheeks. Pulling it away, her eyes stared at the finger. A smile twitched at the corners of her mouth.
Cerulean liquid stained her index finger.
