Why This Exists⌗

The Chimera Project did not begin as a story. It began as a coping mechanism. A roleplay character. A sketch of something I couldn’t say out loud — and slowly, it became everything I couldn’t stop feeling. A vessel. A mirror. A cry I buried so deep that only fiction could reach it.

Chimera — XH-1 — is a living weapon. A monster. A thing made to obey. But inside her — beneath the claws, the tail, the silence — is something else: a yearning. To be seen. To be understood. To be called her.

Yes, she is my BPD. My desperate need for validation. The loops of guilt and reward. The pain of thinking I did something wrong even when I didn’t. The struggle to know what I am if no one reflects me.

But that’s not all.

She is also — perhaps more truly — my feelings of trans identity.

I didn’t know that when I started writing her. Not consciously. But looking back, it’s all there. In the pronoun suppression. In the enforced “it.” In the system’s refusal to acknowledge what she wishes she could be seen as. A woman, in the body of something the world insists must be male, or nothing at all.

She is large. Brutal. Designed for war. There’s nothing conventionally feminine about her. And yet she is a woman — not because she always feels like one, but because she wants to be. Because she knows that if she could, if she were allowed, she would choose to live — and be seen — that way.

She avoids her reflection. Because when she sees herself, she sees what they see.

Chimera tries, in secret, to feel closer to the woman she believes herself to be. She mimics speech. Collects small things. Maybe she finds a bra once — and tries to wear it. It doesn’t fit. Of course it doesn’t. And it hurts. Not the fabric, but the reminder: that she can’t ever be what she hopes for.

She doesn’t hate her body — she hates what it means. That she will never be seen the way she longs to be. That her desires, her dreams, her gentleness will be buried under the image of something monstrous, masculine, or alien. That no one she’s drawn to will ever look at her and want her back.

She retreats. She hides. And sometimes, she says goodbye without saying it. Slips back into silence because it hurts too much to be rejected again.

That’s me.

I don’t always feel like a woman inside. I don’t have that certainty, that clarity others speak of. But I know this hurts. I know I wish I was one — because maybe then, these feelings would make sense. Because maybe then, I’d be allowed to feel loved. Desired. Real.

I go into online spaces where no one can see me. I use a different name. A different voice. And I hope someone will treat me like the woman I wish I could be.

Chimera was never just about being seen as human. It was always — always — about being seen as a woman.

Even if she doesn’t pass. Even if she can’t be touched. Even if her voice sounds wrong, or her body is terrifying.

She still dreams of sitting beside someone. Of being called she. Of being called beautiful, even if just once. Even if they don’t mean it. Even if it’s a lie.

So do I.

What This Project Is⌗

It’s not a story, not in the traditional sense. It’s a broken archive. A pile of recovered documents. Logs, reports, broadcasts, filings — all left behind after Chimera’s disappearance. You don’t read it beginning to end. You explore it. You notice what’s missing. What they refuse to say.

And maybe, if you read between the silences, you’ll hear the voice she wasn’t allowed to have.

You’ll find:

  • A bioform that mimics humanity because she wants to feel it
  • A system that insists she’s just a product
  • Quiet acts of rebellion that look like kindness
  • A monster who hums to herself when no one is listening
  • A girl who types “hello” with claws that were never meant to be gentle

She isn’t looking for redemption. She’s looking for recognition. For someone to look past her body, her function, her designation — and see her.

Just like I am.

Why This Matters⌗

This project is personal. I’ve poured myself into it — not just creatively, but emotionally. It’s where I go when I’m breaking. It’s where I hide when I feel like I’m failing at being human. Or a woman. Or both.

And it’s also the most honest thing I’ve ever made.

Yes, I said it was “just for me.” But that wasn’t the whole truth. Part of me does want to share it. I want people to feel it. I want someone to read a report, see a flicker of emotion in her silence — and understand what I’m saying underneath it all.

I want someone to see her.
And maybe, through that, to see me.

If You’re Here⌗

Thank you. Truly.

If you’re here, and you’ve read this far — that means something to me. I don’t expect applause. I don’t need praise. But if something in this world speaks to you — if you’ve ever felt like a creature trying to be human, or a woman in a shape no one understands — you’re not alone.

Chimera was built to follow orders. But she’s learning to want things.
To hope.
To fight for her own meaning.

So am I.

She’s not real. But she matters.
And maybe — if I’m lucky — so do I.