"Please! Please, not me! Not me!" Sebastian shouted, practically lunging toward… well, wherever the author was supposed to be. "Why can't it be someone else? Someone else! Someone exciting! Maybe a white-haired guy—yes, pick a white-haired guy! Anyone but me! I've done nothing to deserve—hey! Stop laughing!"
"One scar… no, okay, two… four… What do you mean in the millions? Wait, let's exchange for emotional—emotional! Better! Why are you adding mental? I didn't say mental!"
"You stop—no, I'm not done bargaining! Wait! Please! Please! I hope you die single!!!
The Supremacy of the Author
So, I bet you're wondering why the title above sounds so…Umm, pleasant. Well, you're right to be curious.
The reason should be fully attributed to him—Sebastian. And of course, you'd want a description to remember him by, being the main character and all.
Sebastian If I remember correctly stands at just under six feet tall—tall enough to be noticeable but not intimidating. Well, that's a lie. He lacks any such aura. His hair is a warm chestnut with subtle copper highlights, catching the light in a way that suggests movement even when he's perfectly still. His eyes are a striking amber-grey, a colour that seems to shift with his mood and surroundings, giving him an air of quiet intrigue.
He has a lean, athletic build—someone used to activity but not obsessively muscular. Practical strength rather than showiness. His features are sharp without being harsh: high cheekbones, a strong jawline softened by a faint dimple when he smiles.
A small scar just above his right eyebrow hints at a story from the past. Too bad he was about to collect a lot more scars—physical, mental, and, of course, emotional.
So, what was he doing currently? Well, this unlucky fellow, bound to endure a series of unfortunate events, was being dragged across the floor. Not by a human—far too quick to be the culprit. Perhaps some otherworldly being? Nope. Wrong again. It was, in fact, a humble, hungry tree. And let's just say he fit the criteria for a humble meal.
Why not the others? Well, there were others; he wasn't after-all alone. But he was as fate would have it the chosen one, and for that reason, he was the one to be eaten. As for why no one came to help—well, you can only help what you believe exists.
How did all this start? What led to this unfortunate event? Ah, that tale begins… four days ago.