Dear reader(s),
If you're reading this, I thank you from the bottom of my heart. You're actually reading this, and for that, I am extremely grateful.
God, I don't sound like myself without a few f-bombs.
Okay, cut.
Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.
Take two. Action.
Okay, thanks for reading, if you read, thanks for voting, if you voted, and thanks for commenting, if you commented.
God, who wrote this speech?
(You did, Miss Chance.)
I'll pretend I didn't hear that. Though I may not know every one of my dear readers very well, this chapter is dedicated to all of them, and of course, you, if you are willing to join the fight against Satan.
That sounds horrible. Can I try a third take?
(No, Miss Chance, your words are printing as we speak.)
Fuck it!
(Go on!)
They even made a tpyo!
(Where?)
Typo is spelt 'T-Y-P-O', not 'T-P-Y-O'!
(You have to go on, Miss Chance.)
Fine! Fuck it! Now that sounds like me!
Well, thank you readers once again, fuck Satan, and please check out the sequel, A Demon With Wings.
P.S.: Satan, if you're reading this, I love you, please don't hate me, and goodbye.
T.C.
YOU ARE READING
A Toy With Wings
Science Fiction***Book One of the Orson Goldbloom tetralogy*** "Are you sure that will work?" I deadpan. She responds with a grim nod. "But...is casting down two lives worth it?" I ask again. This time, she ignores me. "F😠😠😠," I mutter, annoyedly. Then I raise...
