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Aren't you happy?

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Your chest is heaving and you're terrified. You're terrified of the happiness.
You've seen what it did to the others. How it twisted them, made them mad until all they wanted to do was kiss you, hug you. That one didn't stop until you buried your scythe in him.
But it's too late; he kissed you.
It was disgusting, because it was sweet. He wasn't supposed to be sweet. Trolls are vicious, harsh creatures, they can't be sweet. But you know that your friends aren't trolls anymore. Their skin is bright, blinding white, and their hair is made of gaudy colors that look like spun sugar.
And they're laughing. They're giggling. Trolls don't laugh. Trolls don't giggle.
You're huddled in a corner in your respite chamber, and you're afraid. You're going to miss that feeling. Whatever these things are, they're not afraid. And that brings you to your other nightmare. These things don't hate, either. They're HAPPY. And when 90% of your personality is made up of hatred and cuss words, what does that leave when it's gone?
No, no, no.
You don't want to be happy. You want to be able to curse your friends and have them shrug it off and go back to their computers.
Someone is laughing.
You've never really liked yourself, but Gog, it's better than what you know you're going to become. You like gray skin, you like black hair, you like having colors trapped inside instead of on the surface for everyone to see.
Someone is laughing.
But your gray skin is paling, it's becoming white.
No, no, no.
You can't see your hair, but you know it's turning red. That would be a problem if there was anyone left to care about it.
Your mind is changing, you can feel it.
You're going insane, just like the others.
No, no, no.
You giggle, and then you cuss, and then you giggle again. You're yelling at yourself again, but it's never helped before.
This can't be too bad, right? What if happiness is what you need?
You slap yourself. There's another you, and it's inside, and it's taking over. You won't let it, and you slap yourself again. Slapping feels good, and you smile.
NO, NO, NO.
Your skin is frosting over, and the color disgusts you. It's too pure. You've doubled over, shrinking into the fetal position. But you can still hear the laughter.
And then you realize. It's you who's laughing. And it feels so good.
Some part of you is screaming, but it's deep inside of you now. You want to be angry, but aren't you happy?