"Poor little Whitney, life not going your way, is it?" the pink ooze gurgled as it rose from the ashes of what once was.
"Go away" Whitney mumbled, running her charred fingers through the scorched remains of her cow, leaving a pattern of happy faces as a feeble mask to the tragedy. The ever growing slime would only serve to distract her from the task of bringing cheer to all those who had survived.
"Come now, is that any way to greet your salvation?" the pink, gelatinous blob replied, beady eyes filled with all knowing hatred just breaking the surface of the sickly body. "I come here to save your wretched life; you should be welcoming me with open arms and minds!"
Whitney ignored it. The happy face needed hair and glasses to truly be happy, so she drew the whimsical features into the ash. If her cow were still alive, she would have found it to be poorly executed, as the wind kept shifting the features to turn the joyous smile into a grimace of unwanted pain. The cow would have also objected to the use of her cremated remains being used for such a low degree of art.
The pink blob rose from the ground, manipulating its unholy body by willpower alone. Arms formed where none should ever have been, tearing the girl from her sacred work. Legs sprouted to support the twisted mass, the pink skin of unquenchable envy became the tan of stolen dreams and the beady eyes widened into hazel orbs, currently contorted in pain from the rape of form and function. Hair of a most improbable shade of pink sprouted from the savage parody's head, and at last the illusion was complete.
Whitney would have backed away if not held down by the creature, for she now knew what she saw. This was an image of herself, before the fires had consumed her life but not before the fires had consumed the clothing she once so recklessly contained herself in.
"Join me!" the mirror of life and dreams shouted, forcing Whitney into the ruins of her house and friends, "together we shall be greater than the sum of our parts! The world will forever tremble under our grasp! To see us shall teach them the name of the lord!"
"Sorry" Whitney replied "but I hate myself and by extension you. Could you please get off me now? We are making my ash face very sad".
"I can take any form though, my potential is infinite" The form of the girl said, letting known the ancient power that flooded through its very being.
"Is one of those forms me?"
"Yes...."
"Then I still hate you" Whitney replied, filling each syllable with contempt at the form that had ruined her life so many times over.
The stolen form of Whitney cried for its loss, the real Whitney patted its head. In the morning, they would go their separate ways and never speak of this again.