The remastered and true from Serna herself

It’s unlikely anyone will read this anyway right? I mean, I barely update. A lot going on. If you see this and you read my other works, heck, if you even made it this far, I prob won’t be updating the other stories. Just this one. Let’s do this. From now on I’ll be taking the first person route. As if I’m Serna herself.

Serna

I don’t in particular think to much ahead except to dream. Looking for something in the distance that isn’t even there. I guess that’s understandable if you knew anything about me. I have this burning desire to watch the world burn and feel the enthralling spark of the horror it would bring. That’s probably a bit far, but what is far. I’m a killer after all. Somedays I genuinely enjoy doing what I do, other days it feels like a rabid cycle. It’s like listening to ‘I want to break free’ by Queen on repeat. The insanity, yet the truth. I tried writing, childishly. Then I quit and moved on the better, greater things. To blood apparently. I enjoyed it. I DO enjoy it. I mean, why wouldn’t I? Even the law fears me. It’s all I could have ever wanted. But I needed more. I was missing something, I just didn’t know what.

So I began searching. I searched for it in women, in money, even in booze. At the end of the day they were all endless and empty dreams. So I did something one day that I could never take back. I fulfilled a lifetime goal to achieve what I deemed as perfect in my twisted mind. By twisted I mean the same realization a mentally unstable person may have when even they realize themself that they are unstable. I came full circle so to speak. Someone decided to recount some of my exploits . I found them writing and for some reason it pissed me off. It was my story, my life. For the sake of love, insanity, and blood. So I wasn’t gonna let anyone else write it. I killed them with my own hands and burned the pages myself. So I’m starting my own story a fresh. I’ll start from the beginning of course. I’ll show you the hows and why’s that that unfortunate soul didn’t know or have access to.

I picked up a pen and sat by the fire fed by that unfortunate souls body and their sad works to try to paint a picture of me. Allow me to do this accurately. Allow me to show you through my eyes exactly how I have lived. My exploits , my loves, my hates, my everything. The faint of heart won’t finish this. But then again, a delicate heart is the most scrumptious. Keep beating ok? Wouldn’t want you to soil the pages that you lay your eyes upon now would we. How often I will write a unknown. I’m a busy killer after all.

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