Honestly, what is fate? Is it a huge puzzle where everything fits? Is it a relationship that must be created? In any case, it is not sitting behind a desk judging novel transcripts. At least, that's not what Orson Lincoln thought as he sat behind said desk judging said novel transcripts. He used to believed in expression. In spontaneity. He used to believed in something other than himself. Maybe something will change. Hopefully something will change. But that's just fate. (The titles of this story are in alphabetical order)
3 parts