My Pygmalion Complex
This perfectly describes why I write X-Files fanfic:
'And I am a writer, writer of fictions
I am the heart that you call home
And I've written pages upon pages
Trying to rid you from my bones'
The Decemberists - The Engine Driver
Someday I will have rid Mulder and Scully from my bones. It will be a happy/devastating day. A blessing in disguise. Very sad. They've been amazing company.
I don't look forward to that moment at all, although something tells me I should welcome it. Why do I love them so much? Is it just a way to escape my boring life, or is it because they've enriched everything I've mixed them up in? They've introduced me to all of you, for instance. How often does fiction merge into real life, sliding in around the edges? Maybe more often than we give it credit for. How have fictitious things infiltrated your life? How irrevocably have you been affected?