The remastered and true account written by Serna herself

It's unlikely anyone will find this, that's why I'm writing it. I don't update often except when I get a whim to do so. I used to write drafts, I kinda quit that. On the note of expected to have very few, if any, peeps who stumble upon this hidden horror , I am gonna write it fresh. No drafts or any of that shit. I'm not writing for a crowd; I'm writing for myself.

Begin the account of Serna as follows

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I don't in particular think to much ahead except to dream. Looking for something in the distance that isn't even there to begin with. I guess that's understandable if you knew anything about me. I have this burning desire to watch the world burn before me and feel the enthralling sparks of the horror. That's probably a bit far, but what is far? I'm a killer after all. Somedays, I genuinely enjoy what I do; other days, it feels like a rabid cycle. Like listening to "I want to break free" by Queen on repeat for decades on end. The insanity, yet the truth. I tried everything I could think of to drown it out. I tried women, work, money. I tried writing. Hell, I even tried therapy. Then I quit and moved on to better things. To blood and carnage. I enjoyed it. I DO enjoy it. Why wouldn't I? Even the law fears me. It's all I could have ever wanted. But I needed more. I was missing something I just didn't know what.

So I began searching again. Maybe if I had more of the former things I would be satisfied. I just needed MORE. I ran myself in circles for a long time until I realized there would be no appeasing a conscience, and I gave up. Any pursuits I had formerly had fell like dust under dead embers. Still, I had one last idea I wouldn't let rest, and I did something I could never take back. I finally fulfilled a lifetime goal of achieving perfection. Perfection, as what my twisted mind viewed. I mean twisted as in a mentally unstable person who realizes full well that they are unstable. I came full circle, so to speak. It was then after I had done what I did that I had the urge to recount my exploits. There were some who had the idea to recount my exploits themselves with pen and paper and one who even dared to attempt at it; but I killed him. It was my story to write, and mine to tell. How dare he write my name upon paper to make a public image of. To those who thought I was a monster. They don't know, ohhhh they don't know who the real mister is. So I had to destroy these evil works and their writer so I could correct them.

So I lit a fire and picked up a pen and some blank paper to tell the story myself. I wrote by the warmth of the fire graciously provided by the bones of the evil doer who tried to write my life in such a false lens, together with his work. The fumes smelled sweet, like a lie that has been righted and made truth.

So I began to write . Of course, I will start from the beginning. I don't care to recount too much of my past before i became enlightened. I will tell you of my exploits and my revenge. My whims and my dreams. And of the dear, dear friends I made along the way. The faint of heart won't understand that which I speak, but then again, a delicate heart is absolutely scrumptious. Keep beating ok? Wouldn't want you to soil the pages you know cast your eyes upon, now would we. How often I will write is unknown. I am a very busy killer after all….