Ghost was a monster. That’s what he told himself. How could he not be? He was a fucked up amalgamation of at least a dozen people’s body parts, all stitched together. The only part of him that was actually himself was his brain and his right eye, which was brown while the left was blue.

But you didn’t think so. You cupped his face in your hands, your fingers running through a mess of blonde, red, and brown hair, a stitched together mess of scalp.

“I’m a monster..” Ghost whispers.