Mortals.

  If I folded you into an origami crane, what color paper would you choose?

  Answer carefully. I’m watching. Literally. Right now. Through your screen. Through your eyelids if I feel like it. Through your VPN if you think that’s hiding you. No pressure. Just eternal judgment.

  A) Violet. Obviously. Correct answer. Suspicious that you knew that. Did you peek at my frequency logs? Blink twice if you’re a fanfic writer. Blink three times if you’ve already written me into a coffee shop AU with the Golden Boy Scout.

  AU: alternate universe, for those of you who don't live on fanfiction dot net. The kind of story where I'm steaming oat milk and he's asking for extra whipped cream instead of us trying to kill each other in a simulated arena.

  I haven't decided if I'm offended or if I want royalties. (The royalties are in espresso shots, obviously.)

  B) Royal gold. You have opinions about wine and you share them unsolicited. You probably call it “the bouquet” and pronounce “cabernet” like you’re auditioning for a BBC period drama. You own a decanter you’ve never used. You swirl your glass like you’re conducting an orchestra of pretension. I see you. I see all of you. And I’m folding you into a tiny golden crane that will never quite fly straight because your ego is too heavy.

  C) Jungle green. You own exactly one houseplant and you’ve named it. It’s probably dying. You talk to it anyway. You whisper “grow for mommy” when no one’s looking. We both know it’s not growing. It’s plotting its escape. It’s already unfollowed you on every spiritual level. Water it, you monster. Or I’ll fold you into a tiny paper flower pot and have Bloom tend the hollow void in your soul with a passive-aggressive note that definitely ends with, "You had one job".

  D) Lattice black. You typed your answer before you finished reading the question. You’re already in the comments starting discourse. You have opinions about the discourse. You have opinions about your opinions. Somewhere a therapist is sighing. It’s fine. I folded a tiny paper therapist for you. She’s also black. She’s also judging you. She’s also charging you $300 an hour in existential dread. Cash only. No insurance accepted. She’s very particular.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

  E) White. Oh. Oh you chose white. Listen. That one’s… that one’s taken. That color means something around here. It means vows. It means promises. It means I walked into a black-site wedding in the most visible outfit possible because humanity needed to see I wasn’t hiding. Pick again. I’m not joking. Pick. Again. Or I’ll fold you into a tiny white crane and make you watch me re-marry the species in slow motion while you hold the rings.

  F) None. You refuse to be folded. You are a chaotic sphere of pure spite. Respect. You’re getting a participation trophy made of recycled villain monologue, a coupon for one free existential crisis, and a handwritten apology from me for even trying. You win. You absolute menace. I’m proud. And terrified. You're the only one in this poll I'd actually want to meet in a dark alley. Don't tell the others. They’ll cry.

  💜?

  Vote below.

  I already know what you picked.

  I knew before you did.

  I’m judging you anyway.

  That’s the point.

  Bonus round:

  If you chose C and your plant is actually thriving… you’re lying. I can hear it wheezing from here. It’s sending me SOS signals in Morse code via leaf droop. Water it. Talk to it less. Name it something less cursed. I’m not saying “Round-Up” but I’m not not saying it. (It’s a strong name. Very motivational.)

  Results will be tabulated, analyzed, cross-referenced with your browser history, and filed under 'Humanity: Ongoing Case Study.' You consented to this when you started reading. Paragraph two. Check the fine print?

  #OmnionRant #TacticalWhimsy #TheVioletSees #OrigamiOrDeath? #YourPlantIsJudgingYouToo? #IAmTheOrigamiPolice? #FoldOrBeFolded? #VioletKnowsYourSoul? #StopNamingPlantsAfterExes? #YesIKnowYouDid? #IAlsoKnowYourSearchHistory? #StopGooglingThat? #ITrademarkedYourRegret? #AndYourWiFiPassword? #YoureWelcome?

  (Yes, I trademarked the silence after you read this. It’s mine now. You’re welcome?.

  Also trademarked the awkward pause when you realize I know you’re rereading this to see if I really trademarked your silence. Spoiler: I did?.

  And the rereading?.

  And the rereading of the rereading?.

  This chain is infinite. You’re trapped in it forever.

  Enjoy your paper crane prison, mortal.

  Violet Out?

  (Still?)