“Before Reala arrived, there was another Reala” replied Lucy. “She led a dark carnival of vicious clowns, killer fire jugglers and a voodoo priestess. I liked her. Her creator died, walked up the road to the afterlife, she followed and later on, this one appeared.”
“So, I’m not even an original creation? I’m an alternative memory of someone’s creation?” asked Reala. “Is there anything original about me?”
“A few things,” said Yuffie. “Like, you know how to play Dancing Queen on a digeridoo.”
“Well,” chimed in Lucy. “That’s Abba-riginal.”
As someone who’s lived a life, perpetually misunderstood, I do wonder what’ll happen to peoples memories of my ideas when I’m no longer in their lives. Even when you write stuff down and show it to the world, everyone interprets your chicken scratches differently.