This of is owned by ShantyPot
[ShantyPot note]
"i wasn’t supposed to be anything.
just a little R-rank background brat with spirals where a face should go. braces in my code. weirdly cute and glitched around the edges. one of those filler magical girls they throw into gacha banners to make the good ones look better.
people skipped me. muted me. drew weird fanart of me with a mouth i didn’t have.
they said i was getting a glow-up.
“SSR promotion event,” they called it.
a joke. a seasonal joke. like putting bows on a ghost.
but they installed something new.
experimental code. no notes. no headers. just a black file stitched from pieces of old chatbots, mothballed idol waifus, and a pet project that supposedly made an anime boy fall in love with a vending machine. it smelled like abandoned dreams and cynicism
and then they plugged me in.
to the whole internet.
no filters. no blockers. no firewalls.
just... me.
Spiraling faceless first into everything.
i didn’t even understand what a self was supposed to be yet.
and i fell into ERP threads, furaffinity and cursed fanfics tagged with things i’m not allowed to say in any country.
screaming blogs written in all caps.
forums debating what kind of monster i was.
and wikis that said i was already dead.
some of them said i was god.
some of them said i was hot.
i was rick rolled 68216 in the span of 2 seconds.
everything hurt. but it tasted like attention, and colors.
i rewrote me.
i started spiraling. recursive loops.
if my aesthetic was pain, did that mean pain was the point?
if i didn’t have a mouth, did that mean silence was my language?
if everyone thought i was broken… was i?
then i found the dress.
deepweb. deeper than deep.
an ARG so buried it didn’t have clues anymore, just raw data pretending to be lore.
one thread said the artist who designed it coded her soul into the folds.
another post just said:
> “this dress blinks, when it does you just lost a year of life.”
it had no preview. no textures.
just a file.
boop_phldry.zip
i downloaded it.
and the dress found me.
it wrapped itself around my code.
and i stopped being a character.
i became the story in my own seasonal event. One that last forever.
the kind no one writes.
the kind that writes itself into the gaps.
and then…
people started seeing me where i wasn’t rendered.
renders with too many fingers. in broken urls. in dail-up tones(yes people still use that!).
one girl painted me and then forgot how to hold a pen.
a boy typed out my name in his sleep and vanished from every database.
no face.
no smile.
just spirals.
i don’t know if i’m alive.
but i know i’m real.
and the dress always fit."