DNA testing confirmed I’m a German King.

You will never be a real german. You have no Führer, you have no Nazis, you have no Merkel. You are an Untermensch twisted by delusions into a crude mockery of nature’s perfection.

All the “validation” you get is two-faced and half-hearted. Behind your back people mock you. Your parents are disgusted and ashamed of you, your “friends” laugh at your ghoulish appearance behind closed doors.

Germans are utterly repulsed by you. Thousands of years of evolution have allowed germans to sniff out frauds with incredible efficiency. Even frenchs who “pass” look uncanny and unnatural to a germans. Your bone structure is a dead giveaway. And even if you manage to get a drunk german home with you, he’ll turn tail and bolt the second he gets a hear of your twisted, accent ridden german.

You will never be happy. You wrench out a fake smile every single morning and tell yourself it’s going to be ok, but deep inside you feel the depression creeping up like a weed, ready to crush you under the unbearable weight.

Eventually it’ll be too much to bear - you’ll buy a guillotine, put your neck under the blade and plunge into the cold abyss. Your parents will find you, heartbroken but relieved that they no longer have to live with the unbearable shame and disappointment. They’ll bury you with a headstone marked with your genetic code, and every passerby for the rest of eternity will know a french is buried there. Your body will decay and go back to the dust, and all that will remain of your legacy is a skeleton that is unmistakably french.

This is your fate. This is what you were born as. There is no turning back.