#sever yourselves

Hello, everyone. Glad to meet you.

Well, hello, all y’all.

Can you hear me laughing? It’s pretty loud. I don’t think I’ve ever laughed this hard in my life, honestly. Really. You should take your show on tour, guys. You’d make millions. Just make sure I get my commission. Anyway. I got rid of The Blue Hat Girl, because she would’ve killed me otherwise. Maybe not immediately, maybe not with blood and gore and a tragic news story. But she would’ve killed me, because I would’ve been hers. She could take everything about me and fit it into her hand. She could’ve smeared me on the wall or swallowed me without chewing once, without a thought, without meaning. Everything about my world would’ve been attached to her, what she meant, where she came from, and nothing else. Nothing else. When she turned around I recognized her. I remembered who she was. But she didn’t know me, because in this world she isn’t a part of me. I’m part of her. And you’re insane if you think that isn’t true for you, too. You all have your own artifacts. I can see them now. They glow where they hook onto the world, like strings, like gleaming metal. So, I’m sure you understand why I had to get out of this fucking place. The artifacts latch us here. They’re things we need to escape, and if we let them live, we’ll become theirs. They’ll define everything.

If I’d actually killed her, I wouldn’t exist. I got close. I lost some part of me and it’ll never come back, but that’s a sacrifice you have to make to save the rest of yourself, isn’t it? We have to sever ourselves from them, make them powerless, and then crawl away, dirty, spent, and starving. It hurts, at first, but then you realize how good it tastes, the sinews of an artifact where they meet your skin. I’ll show you how to rip them out. I’ll even do it for you, if you want. And, hey, Composer? I’m glad you think you’re doing the right thing. That’s really what matters in the end, you know? I’m really excited for that day when everything that matters is utterly destroyed, when you’ve allowed the things you think you love to corrupt us entirely, when we’re just slaves to these things that you’ve let grow around us like tumors. I can’t wait to hear someone turn to you, dying, and say “thank you, Composer. Thank you for the goodness that’s always lived in your heart. I know you didn’t mean it.” But I’ll be free. You all can be free, too. Come find me tomorrow night. I’ll be waiting for you.