Who wants some Kool-Aid?
Oft, I admit not to being perplexed, yet I fear you have confounded me. If I were to have fallen once, at the hands of some assailant, and was to then rise on a later date, I am certain I would be capable of recalling the impact of this blow, at the very least.
That is to say, I have not faced the fate you paint me to have befallen. I would not often suggest you have me mistaken for another, as I am aware of my individual status, yet I might do so here.
I am not a spirit in the way you describe me. Do explain what you are talking about.
Blah, blah, blah. Can’t’cha ever say shit normally? Is this some weird sort of speech impediment? Jesus.
I'm talkin' 'bout you keelin' over a few months ago'r so. Well, not really. More like struck down with a brick. How undignified of ya.
Do forgive me if I’m somehow rememberin’ wrong, but it ain’t like ya ain’t pale ‘nough t’be dead, anyway.
One: It ain’t your turn yet. Get back where ya belong, purple hair.
Two: Who are you and what’re ya doin’ in Hope’s Peak. I locked this shit down. I swear t’god, if there’s been a break in—
I remember you. Little blonde bastard killed ya. Blunt force trauma, I think? Damn good times.
So, what brings ya back from th’dead? Vengeance? Spite? Cripplin’ loneliness?