Pixie
The air tasted like bubblegum and lightning the day she died.
Pixie was small for her age. All elbows and scuffed shoes. A backpack so overloaded with art supplies it looked like she carried a dying star in there. Every step jingled with the sound of pencils, markers, and the occasional crayon revolt.
She talked to her imaginary friend Moxie like they were real.
Because to her, they were.
Then a car came around the corner too fast.
And everything changed color.
The Colorful Tragedy
The impact was colorful.
It shouldn’t have been. But it was.
The world didn’t go red. It went watercolor.
Splashes. Smears. Blurs of pink and blue and violet streaking across reality like someone took a paintbrush to tragedy. Pixie’s body twisted, light and limp, hitting the ground with a soft thud that felt too quiet for something so meaningful.
Her backpack burst open:
- Markers rolling across the asphalt like fleeing soldiers
- Papers fluttering into the air like tiny white ghosts
- Crayola Orange mixing with her blood
This was the moment death became art.
And art became the rule for how death works in this universe.
The First Ghost
Pixie’s spirit lifted — slowly, gently — like she weighed nothing at all now. A soft blue glow wrapped around her as if the world was apologizing.
She looked down at herself.
At her body.
At the spilled markers.
At the place where her blood mixed with art supplies.
“Oh,” she whispered. “I’m… gone?”
Her voice echoed strangely — thin, hollow, like it was bouncing off the inside of someone else’s dream.
Pixie became the first ghost. Not metaphorically. Literally. The rules of death in this universe began with her.
When you die holding a marker, the afterlife remembers.
The Artist
Before the accident, Pixie was:
- Bullied at school (“Pixel Girl!” “Talking to air again!” “She’s broken in the head!”)
- A creator (made little paper houses for ants on the driveway)
- An outcast (classmates didn’t understand her)
- An artist (carried more art supplies than textbooks)
- Visible (to imaginary friends — they saw her as she truly was)
She adored Moxie. Smiled at them — soft, sad, the kind of smile you give only to things you truly believe in.
The world called her broken.
Moxie called her friend.
She chose to believe Moxie.
The Afterlife Rules
As a ghost, Pixie discovered:
What She Can Do:
- Visit her old house (blue ghost-light seeping through walls)
- Watch the living world
- See other imaginary friends clearly
- Exist in liminal spaces
- Observe without being observed
What She Can’t Do:
- Touch anything (her hand phases through)
- Be remembered properly (parents remember “the accident” but not her quirks)
- Interact with the living
- Change what happened
- Leave
What Drives Her Mad: Her parents remember her. But in a flattened way. A photo. A distant ache. A story you tell once a year and then tuck away.
They remember:
- ✓ The accident
- ✓ The funeral
- ✓ The grief
They forgot:
- ✗ The way she made paper houses for ants
- ✗ How she talked to Moxie
- ✗ The sound of her laugh
- ✗ That Moxie was real
Character Traits
Pixie is (was?):
- Tender - Soft-hearted, believed in things others dismissed
- Creative - Saw the world through an artist’s lens
- Defiant - “The rules are stupid” (about death, about being forgotten)
- Haunted - Literally and emotionally
- Hungry - For connection, for being remembered, for justice
The Watcher
From her ghost-state, Pixie watches Casey.
A girl who lives nearby. A girl with multiple imaginary friends. A girl who creates without fear. A girl who doesn’t get hit by cars.
“Her,” Pixie says, staring at Casey’s house. “That girl. Casey.”
Moxie looks too.
“Several imaginary friends,” Moxie confirms.
“And she doesn’t get hit by a car,” Pixie adds.
Pixie watches Casey dig in the dirt.
Casey finds something.
The Heart Lockets.
Pixie watches as Casey unknowingly pulls the next chapter into the light. The magic system. The corruption potential. The cascade that will eventually reach everyone.
Pixie is the origin point.
Her death created the rules.
Casey’s discovery activated them.
The First Rule of Death
When Pixie died, she established:
Rule 1: Death is Colorful The world doesn’t go black. It goes watercolor. Splashes. Smears. Blurs. Your last emotion becomes a palette.
Rule 2: Imaginary Friends Transform When their companion dies, imaginary friends don’t disappear. They become D.I.F. (Dead Imaginary Friends). Moxie was the first.
Rule 3: Ghosts Remember Everything The living forget the details. Ghosts remember EVERY detail. The sound of markers rolling. The smell of Crayola Orange. The way light caught the papers mid-air.
Rule 4: You Can Visit But Not Touch Ghosts can return to their old spaces. But contact is impossible. Your hand goes through. Always.
Rule 5: Being Forgotten Hurts More Than Dying The accident killed Pixie’s body. Being reduced to “that tragic story” killed her spirit.
The Defiance
Pixie is tired of doing nothing.
She watches the world continue without her. Watches Casey create. Watches imaginary friends laugh. Watches life happen while she’s stuck.
“The rules are stupid,” Pixie says.
She’s a ghost. She’s supposed to fade. She’s supposed to accept. She’s supposed to let go.
She refuses.
Instead, Pixie becomes a watcher. An observer. A witness to everything that comes after her death.
When the Imaginary Apocalypse happens, Pixie sees it all.
When corruption spreads, Pixie watches.
When Blurient creates Blurry Memory, Pixie remembers.
She is the archive of everything the living forgot.
Connection to Moxie
Pixie and Moxie’s bond survives death.
Before Death:
- Pixie: companion, creator
- Moxie: imaginary friend, protector
After Death:
- Pixie: ghost, observer
- Moxie: D.I.F., guardian
Moxie made a promise at the moment of transformation:
“I’ll stay. I’ll follow. I’ll protect. I’ll haunt the ones who deserve haunting.”
They keep that promise.
Pixie visits her old house. Moxie is there.
Pixie watches Casey. Moxie watches too.
Pixie refuses to fade. Moxie refuses to let her.
Death didn’t separate them. It just changed the shape of their friendship.
Visual Design
Living Form (Flashback):
- Small, thin, all elbows
- Scuffed shoes
- Oversized backpack (dying star of art supplies)
- Hair: messy, often has marker stains
- Expression: soft smile, sad eyes
- Colors: Warm (bubblegum pink, crayon colors)
Ghost Form:
- Soft blue glow (like apologizing)
- Translucent, shimmering
- Papers and markers float around her
- Can’t touch anything (hand phases through)
- Eyes: gentle but infinite
- Colors: Cool blues, watercolor washes
Death Scene Aesthetic:
- NOT red blood
- Watercolor splashes (pink, blue, violet)
- Markers rolling (fleeing soldiers)
- Papers fluttering (tiny ghosts)
- Crayola Orange mixed with tragedy
- Light catching everything mid-air
The Legacy
Pixie’s death created:
-
The D.I.F. Mechanic
- First transformation: Moxie
- Established rules for death + imaginary friends
-
The Colorful Death Rule
- Emotions = palette
- Death = watercolor tragedy
-
The Ghost Observer Role
- Witnesses everything
- Remembers what the living forget
- Archives the apocalypse
-
The Heart Locket Activation
- Her death made the lockets pulse
- Casey found them shortly after
- Magic system began
-
The Defiance Template
- “The rules are stupid”
- Refusing to fade
- Staying even when you’re not supposed to
Echo Experience
Memory Chamber
Witness the Colorful Tragedy →Experience the death scene. The watercolor impact. The markers rolling. The moment Pixie’s ghost lifted and looked down at her own body. The birth of the D.I.F. mechanic.
Warning: This scene is beautiful and horrifying. Surreal. Poetic. Violent in the way art can be violent.
The Questions Pixie Asks
From the liminal space where she exists:
“Why do they remember the accident but forget the ants?”
“Why does death get to be the loudest part of my story?”
“Why am I supposed to fade when I still have things to say?”
“If Moxie was never real, why are they still here?”
“What happens when a ghost refuses to let go?”
The universe doesn’t answer.
Pixie stays anyway.
The Funeral They Had
Pixie watched her own funeral.
People came. People cried. People said:
- “She was so creative.”
- “She had such an imagination.”
- “It’s such a tragedy.”
No one said:
- “She talked to Moxie every day.”
- “She made houses for ants.”
- “She believed in things we couldn’t see.”
They buried the artist.
They forgot the believer.
Moxie stood beside Pixie’s ghost at the grave. Both invisible. Both grieving. Both furious.
“They don’t even know I’m here,” Moxie whispered.
“They never did,” Pixie replied.
The Irony
Pixie was bullied for talking to something invisible.
Now she IS something invisible.
The kids who called her “Pixel Girl” and “broken in the head” walk past her grave without seeing her standing there.
She’s finally invisible.
Exactly what they always treated her as.
The cruelty is poetic. The poetry is cruel.
What Pixie Wants
Not to be alive again.
She’s past that.
What she wants now:
- To be remembered correctly - Not as “that tragic accident” but as the girl who made ant houses
- For Moxie to be acknowledged - They were real, are real, will always be real
- To break the stupid rules - Death shouldn’t have this much control
- To watch Casey succeed - Someone should get to keep their imaginary friends
- To haunt with purpose - If she’s stuck, she’ll be stuck meaningfully
Pixie is the first ghost.
She sets the standard for all ghosts after.
Defiant. Creative. Hungry. Haunted.
Still carrying a dying star of art supplies.
Still believing in Moxie.
Still refusing to fade.
“The air tasted like bubblegum and lightning the day Pixie died. It still tastes that way when she visits. The world remembers her death in colors. She remembers her life in details. Both are true. Both are tragic. Both are art.”