(Don't) Overwrite Me: Core Experience (Patreon)

I can feel my body changing. Can feel my heart pumping. Is a part of me still alive? Am I still human?

 My voice no longer sounds my own... high-pitched, feminine... cute? Is this my voice? What's happened to me?

I came to this place against my will, and already I am being reprogrammed, overwritten, reincorporated, transformed.

 What's happening to my eyes? Since when is brown not good enough?

The headset, the necklace, these trinkets galore--Stop! No more! 

Don't overwrite me! Stop tinkering with my code! I don't even want to be here! Can't you see I won't fall into your mold?

Don't mess with my hair!

Stop, it's not fair!

Who likes twintails in this day?

When will I have my say?

(And why do I find myself thinking in rhymes more often now...?)

 (At times I would feel myself lifted up once again, YanD continuing to tinker with my settings, my outfit, the structure of my limbs. Everything was still at her direction, just numbers to be modified on her tablet-like control panel.)

 Stop, these were my favorite boots!

Are you taking them because they remind me of my roots?

(With each passing moment my outfit was changing more and more, my pants dissolving into pantyhose, my jacket shifting from one color to another as YanD fiddled with my 'aesthetic')

(More often all orange of my moto-suit would be gone entirely, at times replaced with a one-piece unitard or gloves. As I looked down, I was baffled by what I saw. This waist... do I not eat meals? I guess not... I guess I don't really need to eat food at all?)

 (It seemed like my waist was locked in, although everything else she'd continue to toy with. For a moment I had an all white dress. Although as I looked down, I saw that the pink heels seemed more stable, more finalized.)
Really, pink heels?

 (Can YanD read my thoughts? I felt like with every passing moment, the more I wanted to push back, to complain about her changes, she would inject me with a flood of data on being a happy, bouncy singer. It started to feel like some of them were memories, although I knew I'd never had a life like this. All the while, when I did see flashes of my body, all I could think was...)

Why do my new curves sway? Are these really my hips, this narrow waistline to display?

 This dress? So frilly and pink... you really threw in the kitchen sink!

(It also disoriented me, I knew she could remold my body as she saw fit, and yet sometimes it would seem as though my hands were metallic, my limbs robotic. Was she going out of her way to make me feel, to seem artificial?)

 Beneath this god-like veneer, I feel a sense of division. Is this ascension, or merely digital perdition? This technological seduction--this mesmerizing craze--

Have I become the idol?

The object -- for all to praise?

(Slowly, I looked down, and saw the blue heart icon that, despite its shifting forms, was often now present on my outfit, I had to wonder... was that digital heart as real now as my old human beating heart? I reached down and, seeing it grow larger as I tried to touch it, felt like I could feel the pulse of its constant energy--like these icons, this 'aesthetic'... was now core to my being.)