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Oh, so you’ve already met her?

Here is a secret: I invented her. And because I invented her, I can get rid of her. Dispense, dispose, disassemble. Look at me, look how powerful I am, look what I can do with this image. Did you think she was real?

One week I chose to make her hard, because I could. Because some days there was only that marble edged menace in her, desire to hurt and slice to bleeding. Hard like fucking stone. Like a fucking rock.

Or funny. How easy was the giddy one for me? Step One: she had to laugh, or better, snort a mouthful of giggles out past mock restraint. Step Two: she had to nod or grin at every appropriate pause. Step Three: All stops unplugged on the charm bottle. Overdosed them. Knocked them out with a whiff (wham! Bam!) of deliberately raised brows and glinting eyes.

Intelligent was the hardest illusion to create. Could not create something out of nothing, but she got the bare bones and kept her ears open. Like a funnel, like a siphon, like a whirlwind inhaling it all to be sorted later. Slow careful questioning.

Image is perception, we all saw what we wanted to see. Created an illusion of today smart or today sexy or today funny or today confident girl or maybe today all of those and more. Gave her a name. Gave her a voice. Made her live. Do you think I wasn’t taken in by this charming creature I discovered I could make?

Am often tempted to make it go *POOF*. Right now. What a finale. Next time maybe I will give you self-obsessed neurotic freak. Next time maybe I will give you dependant stupid spineless ragdoll. Yes, yes, thank you, I’ll be here all week.

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