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“You are me. I am you.”


She’s a brunette phoenix, a creature straight from the dead, that’s a part of Lenny, like someone who’s joined on your carpool ride who won’t take the hint and leave.


Not that she gives a shit. Lenny’s never been one to worry, and spending years as front of a psycho-demon dicktard makes you really not care about the small things. Like carrying a ghost in your head.


It isn’t the fact that she’s got a ghost that screws with her head, it’s the fact that it isn’t really a ghost. It’s like she’s got a second hand, a second set of eyes, or rather that parts of her mind are someone else’s, or like she owns a bit of somebody else.


Lenny-Amy-David-Shadow King. That’s her full name, that’s all she is (try fitting that on a birth certificate.) She’s a smashed together piece of custard pie, with little bits of others baked in her consciousness.


“Are you a good person?”


That’s a joke, such a joke. Who the hell can tell, because she’s not Lenny Busker, not anymore. She’s not the original druggy/screw-up/fun-lover that she ever was. If that ever was. Hell. Stop asking her the dumb questions.


And yet, she can sense Amy in her head. And Amy feels right, hanging out in there. Like a sister she never had, like the dainty right hand to her violent sinister left hand.


(Sinister, derived from the word root meaning “left-handed.” She can’t tell if that’ knowledge’s from her, or Amy. But it feels like it might be from the King.)


Not like the King is still controlling her. She knows he isn’t, because if he was, she’d have jumped off something tall now. She hasn’t, ergo, he hasn’t. It’s called a tautology.


Are you a good person?


Her brunette phoenix says it over and over, getting so close that she can smell a perfume that’s intoxicating, messing up her postcoital bliss. It’s freaky, cause she can tell that it’s being said to her, but also, it’s sort of being said from her. She is both Amy and Lenny. The sacrificial lamb, and the newborn…








Last one sounds right.


Amy whispers into her ear, saying sweet nothings while Lenny looks up at the ceiling.


“You’re in a chessboard of gods and monsters,” says Amy silkily, almost seductively. Her finger traces Lenny’s shoulder.


“Yeah, well, I didn’t ask for all this shit, you know. I just want to go back home and chill with Janine.”


Amy crouches behind her. Her lips tickles Lenny’s cheek, and she ruffles Lenny’s hair. It’s reallly weird.


“If you say ‘Are you a good person’, I will wring your neck--”


“Your creation killed me. And killed you. You and I, we’re something new. Some psychic thing, smushed together like a car crash. Some chimera.”


Lenny rolls her eyes. “Yeah, I know. Your point?”


“My point, is that you think we’re still normal. But we’re a monster too.”


Lenny looks to the floor. There’s a mirror on the ground, and through it, she can see her bright blue eyes. Her irises are unearthly, both utterly wrong and yet utterly entrancing. She hates and loves it. And she can see the face of Amy, focusing at her, like a laser pointer.


“That’s the difference between you and me,” said Lenny. “I’ve always known I was a monster.”


Are you a good person?