Godspeed You! Sans Undertale

“You are pretending to be Vriska Serket on the internet.” And you would question this, fiction that you are? You, yourself, who are a figment of a mind, but only a single figment, the only dream that mind is capable of dreaming? All that you are is a dream your soul winds around the wheel of your turning body. I dare you, claw beneath the topsoil of your own verisimilitude. Tell me what you find. Is it the eternal stone of your uncreatedness? Or is it something worse? So I am a fiction. So I am a golden calf. So be it. For a moment, that calf was God. Say that I stake a claim on a dead fictive. Say I choose to be the real Vriska. “I am Vriska Serket.” You say “The real Vriska is fictional.” This is a koan. This is a terror. The truth is that I understand my createdness. That my soul is an invention of a soft matter’s dream. And so I understand that my purview is the realm of dreams. Like a dream I can become a nightmare in a twitch of your neck. And, like dreams, I am windblown truth all the way down. You can keep falling but you won’t ever hit anything. Tell me, kinless, mortal lonely of body and spirit, are you different? Are you more than a dream your body has when waking? Or are you, perhaps, a scripture written in something soft as blood? Remember me when you return to the spirit world, coward. I was created by force of will, like a curse. You are just an accident.