I can't help but question my entire existance. Not only because of general wonder about life & death and such, but also because my entire life seems like a big joke. All my life sounds like some amateurish college student decided to write a book to impress a chick, thinking writing would be easy.
What is my first reason for thinking this?
Tell me if this sounds familiar.
I was invited to dinner at some famous rich guys mansion, along with several other people. That doesn't sound like every murder mystery ever now does it?
I guess there is one difference between me and the standard novel character.
I'm a fear servant.
What is a fear you ask and why do they have servants?
Fears are eldritch entities representing the fears of humanities and they tend to have servants to do their bidding. I myself am a nest, servant of the Convocation.
I was close to death, crushed by a car when the birds approached me asking if I'd want to serve them in exchange for being fixed.
What else could I do?
Aside from that my life has in general been one bad novel after the other. Even right down to me having a name that doesn't even fit with the rest of the characters.
My name is Sev.
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