: Proof you’re not a split personality before I commit the both of us. Though I am already almost convinced:

<OK, OK, SHEESH. Grab a piece of paper and a pen. Uhuh, and now draw this squiggly box there, yep, now another box here. Good, now, a third medium size box here and a baby box here. Good now write this here, uhuh and here and done. Now look up introduction to refrigeration, and it should match>

The frustrated little princess continues with her search, and sure enough, it’s the second pic that pops up. Not a perfect match, but almost identical.

: Yep, that shows it totally not a figment of my imagination.:  a satisfied look on her face not unlike the cat who caught the mouse.

<of course, I am not imaginary! We take offense to that. Would a fictional person in your head be able to blackmail your parents by telling them about when you were a month old? I mean, our dad dropped us, and we didn’t cry, so he thinks he got off Scot free. >

:WHAT: her eyes bug out, and her mouth drops down low enough for a train to pass through.

<How about that time mom was talking about that new doctor she had the hots for, with her girlfriends when we were 6 months old because the old man had been out of town for 4 months. His name was Doctor Johnson, and she snickered after saying it.>

 Scarlett Freezes at realizing that the people she cared the most for had such secrets from each other. Her pure, innocent heart froze for a moment until she decided she had to find out if it was true. She tried thinking of a plan when she was interrupted.

<Yeah, that’s not going to work. I mean, really, how do you expect that to work. Like Hey, mom! The lady in my head is real. It turns out she is my sister, no name, and she has blackmail on you, is it true.> an image of a much older her shaking a finger in her face lecturing her appears in her mind.

: Well then, what is your plan, genius? It’s not like I am the secret-keeping type. Have you seen my facial expressions?:

<No worries, I guess we are totally getting committed. At least can we get some hot chocolate and smores before we go? I really want to experience something super sweet now that I can share your taste buds. Oh, and brush your damned teeth. I have no idea what you ate for breakfast, but the after-taste is blergh.> an image of herself sticking a finger down her throat trying to throw up the terrible crap she imagines she ate.

: I am not accommodating you. I have had you snoring in my brain all day, and wait a minute, how does that even work? how does any of this even work?: Scarlett crosses her arms in front of her chest, appearing like a boss smugly denying her employee's request.

<Maybe when you reach godhood, you shall know, so don’t ask me. Based on the small amount of time we have had together, does it look like I am some all-powerful goddess that can just snap my fingers and accomplish anything?>

: Great! Just do the impossible, and you shall know. Like that will happen! :huff: Alright, we need some rules here, so first off, what is your name? I can’t keep calling you by pronouns or sister no name forever.:

<Sure you can. I have faith in your vocabulary skills to use 3 languages to call me whatever you want.>

: That’s not an answer!: Scarlett’s face turns red, and her eyes narrow at the image of herself shrugging it off like it's unimportant.

<Sheesh! My Former name doesn’t suit me anymore, and I find having a name pointless without a body. So there is that.>

A scene of what looks like an older version of her with blood-red wings slaughtering everyone in sight flits through her mind as she pauses for a moment.

:Focus:

<FINE! Well, since you don’t remember when we were born, and I still remember the night I’ll take the name Noctis Cruenta.>

: Why that name and what so special about the day we were born.:

<To start with, it was the first time a stranger touched our butt, and we were covered in blood. The name is Latin for  “bloody night,” which could also mean it was a hell of a night if we were British.>

: I am not commenting on the first part, so what’s Latin and British, and why does it change the meaning of the word.:

<Damn it, at some point, I’m going to have to learn this new world's complete history. You not understanding this may drive me crazy.>

<We are not mentioning that I wanted to be a vampire, Nor will we bring up the mental image I had a moment ago. I really like this as my vampire name. Nope, not saying it.> The image shakes its head, denying the thought from her mental surface, not realizing she just shouted instead.

: What makes you think you are not already, and I heard you say that!:

<:sigh: You win! What now, oh mighty crusher of wills. Oh, Great dominator of souls and eater of things not describable in the English language.>

: Well, I don’t know. Just stay quiet. I have music class soon, and I can’t spend the energy to ignore you.:

<Fine, I am going back to sleep.>

“Sigh.” Scarlett shuts down the computer while trying to decide what to do next. She knows keeping this secret from her mom is impossible, as the woman seems to possess supernatural powers of perception. But it shouldn’t be a problem in general, just so long as I don’t talk to myself out loud. She thinks.

“I am Scarlett Dahlia King, and I am myself.” So she says to the blank computer screen that houses her own reflection, utterly unaware of her mother secretly spying on her through the door. The internal turmoil and identity crisis she is facing has shaken her nerves. Still, this sentence seems to ground her, giving a sense of stability again.

“Guess I will solve these one at a time. First, music lessons, ice cream, then talking with mom.” Psyching herself up as much as possible.

“Scarlett, your piano teacher is here.” Scarlett’s mother, Michelle, says while knocking on the door like she just arrived.

“Coming, mom,” Scarlett replies, getting pumped to play for a while and distract herself. Music is the soul expressing the great intangible emotions that all beings feel. A small part of her that she remains unaware of wishes to feel free.