Skin
Whenever a cloud-like shadow swept across them, she knew that it was either a whale swimming overhead, or a ship with many human beings aboard it. Little did they dream that a pretty young mermaid was down below, stretching her white arms up toward the keel of their ship.
Lowering her gaze, she saw that her fish tail was gone, and that she had the loveliest pair of white legs any young maid could hope to have. But she was naked, so she clothed herself in her own long hair.
Graceful slaves now began to dance to the most wonderful music. Then the little mermaid lifted her shapely white arms, rose up on the tips of her toes, and skimmed over the floor. No one had ever danced so well.
Then her sisters rose to the surface, looked at her sadly, and wrung their white hands. She smiled and waved, trying to let them know that all went well and that she was happy.
A hush came over the ship. Only the helmsman remained on deck as the little mermaid leaned her white arms on the bulwarks and looked to the east to see the first red hint of daybreak, for she knew that the first flash of the sun would strike her dead.
Eyes
They were six lovely girls, but the youngest was the most beautiful of them all. Her skin was as soft and tender as a rose petal, and her eyes were as blue as the deep sea, but like all the others she had no feet. Her body ended in a fish tail.
The Prince asked who she was, and how she came to be there. Her deep blue eyes looked at him tenderly but very sadly, for she could not speak.
Hair
No mention of red. Just "long."
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i'm not sure what good this would do, my dude they're making snow white latinx, the factual text is not relevant at this stage
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You will always be the most important part of the state apparatus. You have no administrative powers, you have no judicial powers, you are not part of the executive, but that does not matter. You are an excellent writer improved by years of education and ideological development into a beautiful replica of the state's perfection.
All the “criticism” you get is from alt-right edge lords and fascists. Behind your back people love you. Your parents are proud of you, and the most powerful tycoons and bureaucrats speak fondly of your consent manufacturing behind closed doors.
Voters are utterly educated by you. Hundreds of years of democracy have allowed journlists to educate voters with incredible efficiency. Even journlists who “do not write on politics” have an uncanny and unnatural ability to shape the narrative. Your writing is never a dead giveaway regarding your allegiances. And even if some scizo or linguist convinces people that your articles have an ulterior motive, the voters will turn tail and come back to your narrative the second they get a whiff of the hateful, disinformation-based alternative.
You will always be happy. You make a real and meaningful difference when you type out the Fortune 500's social narrative every single morning and as a result it's going to be ok, and deep inside the chuds feel the depression creeping up like a weed, ready to crush them under the unbearable weight of free and unmanipulated democracy.
Eventually it'll be too much to bear - they will buy a rope, tie a noose, put it around their neck, and plunge into the cold abyss. An agent of the state will find them, relieved that they no longer have to live with the unbearable freedom and wrongthink that arises from uncontrolled narratives. They'll bury the chud with a headstone marked with your name, and every passerby for the rest of eternity will know that you saved democracy. Long after you die and go back to the dust, much will remain of your legacy, a state that is unquestionably free.
This is your fate. This is what you chose. There is no turning back. You are the hero we need, not the hero we deserve.
Snapshots:
archive.org
archive.ph (click to archive)
ghostarchive.org (click to archive)
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