Nobody ever stayed.
Nobody cared.
Nobody wanted me.
When I was a child, I was considered strange. My parents hated me; they would say I was lying whenever I told them what would happen to them in the future. They would lock me in the basement every time I did it, and make me stay there all night. Then the gods declared I was a prophet. So everyone would come asking me to tell them their future. So many of my 'friends' only wanted to know their future, then would never talk to me again after I told them. And whenever anything went wrong for someone, I would be blamed for not warning them. I was only eight, and I didn't want any of this to happen, so I ran away from home. This didn't make anybody happy, not the people of my village, or the gods. Apollo claimed me as his, as he did all prophets, and claimed I was painting a bad image of him. So I was put up on the mountain, cursed never to leave, never to be free of my prison, and ever to tell the fortune of anyone who came and asked, until death.
My name is Leo, and I am the prophet of Kindra.
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This is just a little thing, somewhere just above a short story. Hope you enjoy!
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