Meet the culmination of feels. Enjoy your time together. I suggest listening to Cobalt Thief while on this fic. It sets the mood.

I do not own homestuck, or the song. Just what you are about to read.

Drip.

Forgive me.

Drop.

I couldn't succeed.

Drip.

I've failed you.

Drop, plop, plip.

I'm sorry.

THE MUTANT IS DEAD! REJOICE! REJOICE MY FELLOW HIGHBLOODS!

My love, my friend, Mother… the pain is gone, but now, so too am I. The torture was nothing compared to this. I have to leave you with those brutes. I have to go away now, but I don't want to leave you alone like this. If only those highbloods could see the future that I have. Where blood color means nothing; high and low mingle like there is nothing wrong.

Sadly, there is death in this future. 12 trolls die for a game. Another 12 play this game too. They die, laugh, learn, and love… but I see how it will end.

I will float around this place of blackness for sweeps. Soon, you all joined me, one by one. First Mother, my Disciple, and now, Psionic. We cried and embraced one another. We embraced each new dead troll that was killed wrongfully. We welcomed high and low bloods with open arms.

Then we found bubbles. We saw our younger selves. We even met them. We saw how the high cared for the low. I admit, my younger self chatted too much, but I saw why. He wanted trolls to understand that blood meant nothing. Character was the key. Some of them were rude to us, some were kind. Many of them were broken, but the broken can be fixed over time.

Then our descendents came. I talked with some of them. They had been killed for petty reasons. Had my message, my efforts, been in vain? Was my life a lie? Did I even matter to them?

I met my descendent, or who I thought was. He said he was a different timeline version, but I did not understand nor care. He was killed by a dog-demon, as was his teal-blooded friend. He's bright-blooded, like me, but his anger is frightening. I asked him why he was always so angry, and he cursed me out.

I hugged him, and he broke down crying in my arms. I remembered the one time I was ever that angry… My Final Sermon. My anger must've been passed on to him.

I met these beings called ''humans''. They were different timeline versions too. They were all very nice. They lacked horns and grey skin, but shared my blood color. My descendent created their race through their game.

I have been dead for thousands of sweeps, yet trolls remember me. My blood is shared with other species, and now, even a lusus for my caste has been made. They are quite charming, once you get to know them and get past the hissing and spiting.

As I speak to you all, I realized that we are never alone. We have someone who loves us, cares for us, or who hates us. We are trolls, and we are strong. At times we are weak, but remember this, my friends: They can beat us down until we can no longer bleed, but they will never beat down our determination. We are who we are, and that will never change. We are trolls… grey skin and all.