He blinked. Then, against every law of infernal nature, the Lord of Darkness let out a long, weary sigh.
“Why The Bachelor ?”
She wasn’t wrong. At thirty-one, my greatest achievement was a 97% completion rate on Elden Ring . I lived in a studio apartment above a Vietnamese bakery that flooded whenever it rained too hard. My job? I reviewed novelty fidget spinners on YouTube. My legacy? A single, poorly reviewed video titled “Is the Butt-Scratcher 3000 a Scam?” (Spoiler: It was not a scam. It was a revelation.) He blinked
So, when my buddy Mark dragged me to a new underground club called The Styx , I figured the worst that could happen was mild indigestion from the overpriced gin.
As long as you had someone to share it with. At thirty-one, my greatest achievement was a 97%
“Because he’s petty!”
Satan insisted. “No daughter of mine has a bastard,” he thundered. “You will marry her in the Cathedral of Ashes, or I will turn your blood into bees.” I reviewed novelty fidget spinners on YouTube
I stumbled back to my apartment above the bakery, ate three-day-old pho, and promptly forgot about her.
I created a home in it. Three years later.
Look, I’m not going to write the smut. This is a romantic comedy, not a Penthouse letter. But suffice to say, there was fire. There was fog. At one point, gravity reversed for about ten seconds, and I have a scar on my left buttock shaped like a pentagram.