Imitation
By Misha

Disclaimer- I don't own anything to do with "Veronica Mars", I really wish I did, but I don't. It belongs to Rob Thomas and the UPN. I'm not making any money off of this, so please don't sue me.

Authorís Notes- Another short Veronica Mars fic. Definitely an AU, set after the first season. Itís second person, present tense, because thatís my favourite medium when it comes to Veronica Mars, donít ask me why. This is short and odd and I couldnít get it out of my mind. Thatís all, enjoy!

Summery- Nothing about you is unique. Your name, your face, your weaknesses... They all belonged to someone else first.

Spoilers- The first season I guess.

Rating- PG

All you want is to be your own person, not a shadowy image of someone else. You've never really had that.

Everything you have belonged to someone else first, or so it seems. Even your name was someone else's, once.

Your name is Lilly Kane, but you're not the first Lilly Kane. No, that name belonged to someone else before it ever came to you. She was your aunt, but she took her last breath long before you took your first.

You've lived your life knowing that she came first, that she was the real Lilly Kane, and that you're just a pale imitation.

Your face isn't your own either. Your name is your aunt's, while your face is your mother's. You've been told more times than you can count, that you're the very image of her.

You donít remember her, she died bringing you into the world. You know it hurts your father, to see a living, breathing tribute to the woman he lost.

You hate that, you just want to be your own person instead of a shadow of someone else.

Your vices arenít even your own. You run from your pain and disillusionment by hiding in a bottle, something your father disgustedly tells you that you get from your grandmother.

Another woman youíve never met. She had faded from your motherís life long before you came around, but she still left her imprint on your soul.

They all did. Three women you never met, but you all defined you long before you could define yourself. Your auntís name, your motherís face, your grandmotherís weakness. Thatís your legacy.

The legacy of three women you never met, but who all left their mark on you.

You think you hate them, all of them. You hate them for tainting you, for marking you, for making it impossible for you to be your own person.

You want to live your own life, without the ghosts of others hanging over you, but you know that will never be possible. Youíll always be an echo of them, in some way.

Youíre name will always conjure memories of a sixteen year old girl murdered before she really had a chance at life. Youíre face will always conjure the image of a beautiful woman, lost in the peak of her perfect life. Youíre addictions remind others of a weak woman, unable to handle the life she had made for herself.

You are merely an echo of them, never free to be your own person. Itís your curse, to never be more than an imitation.

- The End