I Want to Be the Main Character!

By Emil Hultin

 

Evelyn has a secret: she knows she's trapped in a never-ending cycle of stories. From medieval knights to futuristic space explorers, she's played every role, but enough is enough. She's done being the quirky sidekick, the tragic backstory, and the occasional potted plant. Screw the rules, the plot twists, and the story's whims, she

• Language: English
• Publisher: Emil Hultin
• Release date: Mar 28, 2024
• ISBN: 9789153103578

Book preview

I Want to Be the Main Character!

Emil Hultin

Copyright © 2024 Emil Hultin

All rights reserved

The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

Contents

Title Page

Copyright

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 2.1

Chapter 2.2

Chapter 2.3

Chapter 2.4

Chapter 2.5

Chapter 2.6

Chapter 2.7

Chapter 2.8

Chapter 2.9

Chapter 2.10

Chapter 2.11

Chapter 2.12

Chapter 2.13

Chapter 2.14

Chapter 2.15

Chapter 2.16

Chapter 2.17

Chapter 2.18

Chapter 2.19

Chapter 2.20

Chapter 2.21

Chapter 3

Chapter 3.1

Chapter 3.2

Chapter 3.3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 5.1

Chapter 5.2

Chapter 5.3

Chapter 5.4

Chapter 5.5

Chapter 6

Chapter 6.1

Chapter 6.2

Chapter 6.3

Chapter 6.4

Chapter 6.5

Chapter 6.6

Chapter 6.7

Chapter 6.8

Chapter 6.9

Chapter 6.10

Chapter 6.11

Chapter 6.12

Chapter 6.13

Acknowledgement

Chapter 1

When the alarm clock rang and interrupted his sleep, Greg couldn’t help but notice that the world hadn’t ended yet.

Shit, this was already shaping up to be a terrible day. Forcing himself out of bed, he got dressed unenthusiastically.

He hadn’t really expected today to be the proverbial end of times, but there was always a chance. A small, small possibility that this fine, gray Tuesday would finally be the last one he had to remain in this dull world.

It had already been eight years since he came to this Story, starting off as a spunky – if you want to call it that, Greg wouldn’t have – thirty-one-year-old. He was now pushing forty and, as far as Greg knew, he hadn’t so much as encountered the Protagonist yet. Fuck, he didn’t even know what the Plot was.

Opening the fridge, he looked around for anything edible, eventually picking up a couple of barely expired eggs; chicken eggs, most worlds used those. Greg walked over to the door and picked up the newspaper from the floor, leaving the eggs to sizzle unattended in the frying pan.

The mailman had pushed the paper in through the small slot in the door. Technically, they were supposed to deliver it to his mailbox downstairs, but a few years back Greg had started bribing them to bring it up to his apartment instead. That way, he didn’t have to make the tiring journey down to the lobby and back every day. Best money he’d ever spent.

While eating his breakfast, Greg flipped through the paper and glanced over the articles, making sure to give every piece at least a cursory read. The Plot could be hiding anywhere; it could be sports-related, a human-interest story, some sort of new technology falling into the wrong hands, or even, crazy thought, something original.

Nope, nada.

Well, nothing to it but to go to work then. He put on his coat and left the apartment. Before he walked downstairs, he locked the door and gave the handle a quick shake to make sure that everything clicked into place properly. Maybe he shouldn’t have bothered though, he’d almost welcome the excitement of being robbed at this point.

Stepping out onto the concrete sidewalk moments later, tiny, cold drops of fuck you immediately started falling on his head. It was raining, because of course it was.

Work was a very flattering way to describe it, but Greg arrived at work about twenty minutes late, which was unusually early for him. Mike scowled at him when he arrived, but said nothing.

They were about the same age, Mike and he, and neither cared enough about life to give a shit about whether the other got to work on time or not. Fuck, it wasn’t even their hot dog stand that they were working.

Mike took off home, holding his arms over his head like an umbrella, as if that was going to do him any good. Greg, having already given up on trying to stay dry by hiding under some awning or overhang, decided to cart the stand off to the park. No one was going to leave their cushy desk job to brave the rain for a stupid hot dog anyway, so he might as well waste his time somewhere nicer than the middle of the concrete jungle.

He stopped near the center of the park, surrounding himself with as much green as possible. If he ignored the sounds of traffic and kept his gaze lowered, he might have been out in the countryside, instead of in this cesspool of a city.

Casually stealing a couple of dogs from the stand, he sat down on a bench, pointedly ignoring the cold water seeping into his pants and chilling his genitals. What was the worst that could happen, infertility? He scoffed to himself. As if he’d bother trying to start a family when the world could end at any moment.

Would he have wanted a family, had things been different? Maybe, but the last time he’d given it any serious thought was… damn, he couldn’t even remember anymore. When you’d lived through as many lives as he had, they all started to blend together somewhat.

He hadn’t really forgotten any of them, but every time the world ended and he was thrown into a new narrative, the specifics of his previous Stories faded just a little bit more. It was quite annoying actually. The lives themselves never disappeared though, they hung there in the back of his mind, reminding him of his never-ending torment.

Speaking of which, when was this Story going to end? It differed from Story to Story, naturally, but eight years was a long time. Plots usually didn’t last more than a couple of years at most, or at least not Greg’s part in them. More often than not, the Story was progressing steadily through the main plotline, or even nearing its climax, when he woke up.

For some reason, it always started with him waking up.

Modern tales sometimes went longer, though. Modern… He wasn’t sure why he considered his current setting modern, actually. Someone, or something, decided these things for him, and he just had to suck it up and tag along for the ride. Whatever the rules were for his perception of reality, he sure as hell hadn’t had any input into writing them.

Likewise, he had no control over where he was sent or who he was when he woke up. At least the Plot had the decency of giving him a backstory and a litany of memories for each new life. He was always someone, even though that someone was never really him.

He swallowed the last pieces of cold, soggy hot dog bread. Greg actually loved food, like, really loved it, but this world had killed even that for him with its junk food and artificial flavorings.

Why couldn’t he be the main character for once? Ah, what he wouldn’t give for just a small taste of the Protagonist’s happily ever after. Sometimes the Stories had sad or ambiguous endings, but the vast majority of times they were mostly happy.

Did the Protagonist get to stay in those endings? Did they disappear? Whatever happened, it had to be better than suffering through a myriad of transient snippets of lives he would never truly live.

None of them felt real to him anymore, at least no more so than playing a character in a game did. Sure, he could control it and act in its world, but it would never be him, not really.

A bright light suddenly shone on the horizon and Greg’s face burst open with relief and joy. Tears started pouring down his face as he tried to stop himself from sobbing with happiness. The giant mushroom cloud could only mean one thing: the Story was finally over!

A nuke, huh? Not the most common trope, but not particularly rare either.

He sat there waiting, a blissful grin still covering his face, when a terrifying thought suddenly struck him. Oh Gods, what if the nuke wasn’t the end after all? What if he was entering some sort of post-apocalyptic Story and these eight years had been nothing more than an overproduced prologue?

His fears proved short-lived though, and he breathed a final sigh of relief when the world dissolved into light and nothingness as the shockwave hit him.

Bye-bye, Greg, see you never! Gods, how he wouldn’t miss being Greg! Maybe in the next life he’d get to… Well, it didn’t really matter, he realized, thinking about it. Even if his next life turned out to be happier or more fun, he wouldn’t be in it for very long. He’d only be stopping by for a coffee and maybe a romp in the hay before it was time for the next one.

Unless, of course, this was the time. Maybe, this time he’d be the main character and have his happy ending. One could only hope…

In those final fading moments, something snapped inside of Greg.

No! To hell with that, and fuck hoping! This time he would be the main character, or die trying!

Chapter 2

Evelyn, Ev! SIS!

She woke up with a start, memories rushing into her head. Most of them she absorbed immediately, but some would need a bit of time to settle. It was always like that.

Evelyn, huh, so a female this time? She had swapped genders so many times at this point that she didn’t really identify as either male or female – and certainly not as one of those other sexes that tended to pop up in science fiction or fantasy every so often – but she usually preferred to be male. Not that males were better per se, but people tended to listen to you more if you were a man.

Also, the ease with which you could take a piss was a massively underestimated bonus.

What is it, Dug? she groaned and rolled over, trying to block out the light with a pillow.

Dug was her little brother. Energetic, helpful, and dumb as a skunk. You could stare deep into his eyes and there would be no intelligent life looking back at you. Not in a creepy way, more like in a nothing-to-see-here-move-along kind of way.

His hair was blonde, though not quite as pale as her own, and he was fairly tall for his age. Ten, was it? Something like that. Today, he was sporting a fashionable burlap shirt – in that the sack it was made from had three extra holes in it to accommodate his head and arms – and a pair of equally stylish burlap pants. He had a few pieces of clothing in other materials, but not many.

They were orphans, after all, which was a welcome surprise. Most main characters were orphans, or at least thought they were. Evelyn recalled a very popular sci-fi Story where the dark-voiced, masked villain had turned out to be the Hero’s father, and not dead after all. No duh, the signs had been there all along if you only knew what to look for.

Evelyn had been in so many stories, read so many books, and watched so many movies that she always knew what to look for. And so far, things weren’t looking too bad. Maybe she’d gotten lucky and just happened to stumble into the role of main character without even having to try.

The Hero is coming to our town! Dug replied excitedly, bouncing up and down.

So much for that theory.

Fighting off the urge to just go back to sleep, Evelyn sat up with a sigh. She threw her legs over the edge of the bed and glanced around, surveilling her new home for both the first and thousandth time simultaneously.

More and more memories started settling into place. If the visual clues in the humble wattle and daub house hadn’t been enough of a tell, she now remembered what kind of place she had ended up in.

Gendaroth, the world was called, and it was your everyday medieval, evil-monster-magic-and-wonder fantasy world. Well, technically Ev’s memories – her memories – didn’t reveal much to do with the magic and wonder part, but come on, there would definitely be magic, right? There always was.

She locked eyes with Dug, who had remained next to the bed, staring at her in eager anticipation. He really was just like a dog, the little idiot.

What’s this about the Hero? she asked, deciding to humor him.

Putting the disappointment of being overlooked by the Plot for the role as intrepid Heroine aside, Evelyn was happy to have been placed in Gendaroth. Fantasy worlds were usually less complicated than the more down-to-earth ones. If you wanted to, you could usually get by just doing your own thing in the countryside, enjoying the fresh air with little to no pressure to progress your life in any meaningful way.

So long as you were lucky enough to end up in one of the more PG stories, it was usually smooth sailing. If you had the misfortune of ending up in a non-PG fantasy world… Well, let’s just say you’d do better to stay out of the Plot’s way. Things could get very… graphic if you didn’t.

Though, even if this world would prove to be of the rapey variety, right now she would take any life over Greg’s… Except Marvin’s. Gods above, how could Marvin have slipped her mind for even a second? She shuddered at the thought and promptly pushed it aside.

There, there, Marvin is gone, Ev. Never again…

The Hero is coming to our town! Dug repeated, still beaming.

Yes, Evelyn said slowly, I think you might have mentioned that, my NPC-esque brother. Would you care to elaborate?

Dug stared back at her, clearly confused. She wasn’t sure if it had been the video game-inspired insult or the number of syllables in elaborate that had left him stumped. Sighing internally, she tried again in a vernacular the Plot was more likely to prefer.

Wha’? Ay hero? A’ yu forreal, Dug, when?!

Too much? Probably, but it seemed to have worked a charm on Dug.

They say she’ll ride through the square at noon! They say she’ll tour all through the kingdom before she goes off and does her Hero things!

And these Hero things are?

Dug paused.

Ummm…

You don’t know?

I dunno.

Damn, Evelyn didn’t know either. Turns out a random country bumpkin didn’t have much insight into the doings and goings-on of the more important people in Gendaroth, who’d have guessed? Looked like she would just have to find out firsthand then.

Ev and Dug had inherited the house and a small plot of land from their parents and it just so happened that they had recently harvested a lot of turnips that they needed to get rid of. To Evelyn, that seemed like an excellent reason to head into town at, say, around noon maybe.

Another memory settled into place, making her remember how much she hated turnips. Well, if today went as planned, she might never have to lay eyes on one ever again. Taking a deep breath, she gathered her resolve.

The Plot might not have acknowledged her as the main character yet, but it had another thing coming if it thought she was going to give up without a fight.

Chapter 2.1

The Hero, hallowed be her name, her very existence a blessing upon this land, was late.

Evelyn found herself pacing anxiously and had to stop herself on several occasions. She knew she had no right or reason to be annoyed at the Hero’s tardiness, but she didn’t care. Was it really that difficult to read a stupid clock? Right, they didn’t have those.

Dug was doing his best trying to peddle their cartload of turnips. His best was not very good. It was a shame, but there really wasn’t much Ev could do to help.

Being the older sibling, she had taken it upon herself to plan the division of labor. Dug’s job was to pull the cart, sell the turnips and take care of any manual labor that needed doing. She, in turn, would supervise, strategize, and conduct market analysis.

Surely she couldn’t be expected to do all that and help her brother with sales? That seemed positively unfair. In fact, she probably deserved a reward for all the hard work she’d done so far. A drink maybe?

Did Evelyn drink? Fuck it, she did now, she decided.

Unfortunately, alcohol wasn’t sold in the marketplace, but in the tavern a few blocks away. As tempting as it was to head over there, Evelyn was decidedly not going to risk missing the Hero’s arrival. No alcohol was that good… Except maybe that bottle of wine she had stolen from a pretty-boy Venusian way back, aged almost 600 years and ab-so-lutely worth living another life in obscurity for.

Her brother’s loud, pathetic attempt at luring a customer to their cart snapped Evelyn back to reality. Ah yes, perhaps it was time for Dug’s lunch break. Well, lunch break slash beer run, but he’d probably be grateful for it all the same. Evelyn really did take good care of him, didn’t she? Nodding contentedly, she gave herself a mental pat on the back.

Dug, she said sweetly, How about I take over here for a while and you get me– us something to drink and eat?

Dug stopped harassing the latest victim of his shoddy salesmanship and gazed at Evelyn with admiration and awe.

Really? he said and smiled. Thanks, sis! I–

Yes, yes, good, she interrupted. Beer for me, a large one, and as big a tub as you can carry of whatever snacks they serve. Here.

She tossed him a pouch of coins. As the person in charge of wages and finances, she had naturally kept their funds safe for when she– they needed them.

Dug didn’t question the order. He immediately took off toward the tavern, looking as happy as a fly on shit.

With the Hero’s – allegedly – imminent arrival, the square was understandably packed, so it would likely take Dug a while to get back. It seemed like Evelyn would have to take care of sales for a while after all.

Evelyn walked over to the cart, casually pulled out a crate, set it on the ground, and sat down. Trying to hide her panting behind a casual yawn, she wiped the sleeve of her dress across her face to stealthily try to get rid of the sweat suddenly pouring down her forehead.

That crate had been heavy! How the fuck had Dug carried a dozen of them without as much as a complaint? Stupid, strong idiot.

Despite her physically demanding lifestyle, Ev herself was actually quite petite. Sure, she could probably crush any of these weak-ass pampered town girls in arm wrestling, but it was unlikely she would ever break out of her own weight class. Combined with her long, blonde – almost silver – hair that seemed capable of absorbing dirt from ten towns over, this made Evelyn a less-than-ideal farmer. The upside with her girly looks was that many found her strangely alluring though, which was a gift and a curse.

To that point, a scatter-bearded man, old enough to be her father, bumbled up to where she was sitting.

Here we go… Say it then, you smelly creep. What’s your opening line for trying to pick up an innocent little girl, hm? Speak, pervert!

’Ow much for a dozen? the man asked.

Oh.

Six thousand, Evelyn said, waving him away testily. She was not blushing from embarrassment, she just didn’t have time for this idiot.

Six– the man blurted out, clearly taken aback by her tone. Evelyn didn’t hear how the sentence ended; something else had caught her attention.

Or zero, I dunno, she snapped as she pushed past the man. Just leave some coins or whatever and piss off.

The crowd had started to stir, which could only mean one thing: the Hero had finally arrived! Cracking her neck and giving her shoulders a quick stretch, Evelyn took a deep breath and stepped out onto the square.

Seconds later, she was in the thick of it all, violently fighting her way through the heaving mass of human sheep, stabbing people’s sides with her elbows and crushing their toes under her heels.

Out of my way! Evelyn roared, the very epitome of grace and ladylike behavior. She was not going to let this chance slip away.

After a few minutes of grunting and shoving, people suddenly started stepping back, giving Evelyn just enough room to push past. Suckers! It only took her a moment to realize why everyone had collectively changed their minds.

An old woman suddenly ducked out of the way, leaving Evelyn stumbling past her awkwardly, right into the small opening that had appeared in the middle of the crowd. The opening which had been left for the procession of the Hero.

Oh? purred a deep, yet soft voice. It sounded amused. Was there something you needed, girl?

Evelyn turned slowly and was almost struck to the ground from the impact of the Hero’s presence. She could feel her mouth opening sheepishly, but no words came out. And how could they? Any words that dared escape right now would surely be burned for heresy merely for existing in the same moment as the Hero.

Hot damn, if that wasn’t the most attractive woman Evelyn had ever seen! Well, as far as she remembered at least. Superficial impressions usually faded pretty quickly between lives. The Hero, however, transcended such simple concepts as mere beauty.

She didn’t have all the typical features one would usually consider desirable in a woman. Her reddish-brown hair was cut short, with only an inch or so of it remaining. Evelyn hadn’t seen any other women with hair like that in Gendaroth, but the Hero certainly pulled it off, and more.

Continuing down, her eyes were… very normal, when considered on their own. Her nose had clearly taken a serious blow at some point, judging by how it was slightly flattened and had a few white tendrils of scar tissue stretching out into the golden, almost yellow, skin of her cheeks. The crooked smile might, on its own, have made her look derisive, but the warmth that her entire person radiated immediately dispersed any such notions.

And that body, that body! Every move the Hero made was like that of a wild beast, perfectly aware of and in tune with her own physique. With a stout midsection, powerful arms, and thighs that threatened to snap the horse under her in half, she was an absolute unit of a woman.

Though the plate mail armor and the long red and silver surcoat hid most of her curves, it still took all Evelyn had not to imagine herself wearing that ass as a hat.

However, none of that was what made the Hero so irresistible. No, the reason that she was attractive rather than simply beautiful was the air of unbreakable confidence she exuded. Merely being around her made you feel safe, made you feel like this was someone you wanted to follow, like this was someone whose approval would validate you as a person.

Another thing that made her perfect – though Evelyn doubted anyone but her would agree that this was a factor – was the fact that she appeared to be somewhere around forty years old. Or in Evelyn terms: too old to be the main character.

She was way too famous and powerful to be a side character though, so maybe the old and wise mentor? Well then, mentor, prepare to meet your fated ward!

Evelyn fell to her knees in the square, ignoring the gasps and murmurs of the crowd. She raised her head and stared straight into the Hero’s average, ordinary eyes. Ev would have preferred to let her gaze wander more southward, but that would probably have ruined the mood she was trying to set.

Great Hero, she started, trying to put on an air of stoic determination. A touch of persistence, a lowered tone of voice, strong diaphragmatic tension, and boom, unmistakable resolve. I beg you take me as your apprentice, to travel and fight together with you and face whatever hardships there may be.

Cue the obligatory rejection. They always said no at least once, but in the end they inevitably caved. The Hero cocked her head and raised an eyebrow. She didn’t immediately respond, but Evelyn could see the wheels turning in her head.

Ev glanced over at the guard escort. No one had moved to get rid of her yet, but the longer the Hero waited, the greater the risk. The glamor of a destined meeting would not keep them dazed much longer if the Hero didn’t open that delicious mouth soon. Fortunately, she did.

Why? she asked softly, returning Evelyn’s determined gaze with a calm, confident one of her own.

Not no? Unusual, but that should theoretically make things easier.

My family was… Evelyn paused mid-sentence and took a deep breath, as if needing to gather herself before continuing. Of course, she didn’t actually need anything of the sort. My family was taken from me, killed. The…

Oh fuck, what was she going to say killed her family?! Monsters? Magic? A plague or strange occurrence? Damn her and her rural ignorance!

The Great Evil took them from me, I’m the only one left. Please, let me come with you and make sure that this doesn’t happen to anyone else ever again!

Evelyn prayed to any and all Gods that would listen that this wouldn’t turn out to be a Game of Thrones-like Story with its politics and whatnots. Please be a simple good-guy-kill-bad-guy Plot. Please!

Once again, the Hero just stared at her for a while, those chestnut eyes seemingly trying to pierce through Evelyn’s soul. Good luck with that, Evelyn wasn’t convinced she had one.

How old are you, girl?

How old? Fuck if I know! You think these peasant orphans keep track of things like that?

Fifteen, Evelyn declared confidently, that seemed like a reasonable age for a Protagonist.

She stood up. She wasn’t sure why, but it felt like the right thing to do at the time.

Fifteen, the Hero repeated, her voice still tickling Evelyn with its pleasant timbre. Do you need to pack?

Really? No objections, just a couple of questions? This Hero seemed awfully irresponsible to be picking up stray children with so little scrutiny.

Nothing left to pack, I’m afraid, Evelyn answered in a weak voice, lowering her eyes for a second before seemingly picking herself back up.

I see. Well, I have no beast for you to ride, but I suppose we could purchase something on our way out of town. For now, would you follow along on foot?

The Hero seemed utterly unimpressed by Evelyn’s sad story and stellar acting, but since she’d agreed to bring her along, Ev wasn’t going to complain. Much.

Of course, master! No bother at all!

She promptly claimed the spot on the Hero’s left, accidentally displacing the young guard who had occupied it before her. He made no attempts at hiding his displeasure, very unprofessional.

I’m just an innocent young girl, dipshit, relax.

Being quite content with how the whole thing had played out and thinking that everything was finally on track for her attempt at usurping this Story, Evelyn was not happy to see another disturbance approaching them through the crowd.

They had barely managed to get halfway across the square when a young boy burst out from the shuffling herd of people, wielding a large tankard and a basket filled with bread.

Oh right, Dug was still here.

Sis! he cried out, relief spreading across his stupid face. I couldn’t find you by the cart, so I went looking! I got lunch!

He held out the beer and breadbasket in front of him triumphantly.

Oh, your brother? hummed the Hero, arching an eyebrow at Evelyn expectantly. I thought your family was dead?

They are, she answered quickly. She had lied her way through more interactions than the Hero had taken breaths. Though annoying, Dug’s appearance shouldn’t disturb her plans too much. We lost both our parents. Me and Dug have only had each other to rely on. I’m doing this for him too.

There you go, it had only been the poor phrasing of an uneducated youngling, nothing suspicious about that. Dug, understandably, looked confused.

Well, that changes things. The Hero frowned, her facial features going taut. Evelyn’s heart dropped. I cannot well deprive this young lad of his sister, leaving him alone and forced to provide for himself.

Not to worry, he won’t be, Evelyn said quickly, too quickly. She needed to calm down, or she would get tangled up in the web of lies she was about to start weaving. Now that he’s old enough to work, our uncle has agreed to take him. That’s the reason why I came to you now and not earlier.

She could see Dug beginning to open his mouth and immediately stopped him with a look that would have chilled the blood of a stone.

Your uncle who was unaffected by the Great Evil, but still left you two with no one but each other has now decided to take your brother in? And he is to– what is your brother’s name?

Dug.

He is to collect Dug from this marketplace any minute I’m assuming, since there is no need for you to remain?

… Yes.

Is he here now?

Okay, so clearly this wasn’t going great. Evelyn had hoped that her story wouldn’t be examined too closely, but when laid out like this it did sound quite unbelievable. She needed to reset.

I’m sorry, she said dejectedly, forcing a blush. I got excited and rushed things. Our uncle is coming for Dug tonight. I thought maybe Dug could get home on his own, so I told a lie. Please forgive me.

Taking a deep breath, as if a heavy weight had been lifted from her shoulders, she continued:

Will you wait, honorable Hero? I can return at first light, my business and brother fully taken care of! I swear I will be of great use to you, and never speak another untrue word!

Evelyn expected another nerve-racking wait, but the Hero just shrugged and answered almost immediately.

Very well, I’ll wait.

Chapter 2.2

They returned to the farm with most of the turnips still in tow, because Dug had done a piss-poor job selling them. Honestly, it was as if he wasn’t even trying to help her save up traveling funds. The only money they’d made had been from the dickhead who had embarrassed Evelyn by pretending he wasn’t hitting on her, even though that had clearly been his intention.

With a heavy sigh, she helped disconnect the harness from her brother and headed inside to start preparing dinner. She was such a kind soul, making sure Dug had food on the table after he finished putting away the cart and the unsold boxes of pink, disgusting root vegetables.

Evelyn actually enjoyed cooking, and she was good at it too. A couple dozen lifetimes of cooking your own food would do that to you. She fully intended to renew this skill now that she wasn’t stuck as Greg anymore.

Being a Story vagabond, doomed to jump from one life to another more often than some – admittedly very disgusting – folks changed their underwear, Ev had long since developed a sort of dissociative relationship with people and stuff in general.

Just like always, they would soon disappear from her life, never to be seen again as she moved on to the next Story. Why bother getting attached?

This nihilistic resignation had, however, led her to develop an almost unhealthy love of short-term enjoyment and pleasure, such as food and sex. Doing things that gave near instant gratification, knowing that it wouldn’t leave any lasting impression just felt… right. Somehow it seemed more honest when the moment was upfront about its brevity, more real.

Speaking of sex, Evelyn had not forgotten about the delicious piece of cake that was the Hero. My, oh my, what a treat it would be for Ev to find a way to get into those tight chausses – or pants, for those not trapped in the body of a medieval rube. She almost started licking her lips at the thought of it.

The problem, Evelyn of course realized, was that even though her mind had lived innumerable lifetimes, her body was that of a… some-teen old girl. She really should try to figure out how old she was.

Even assuming that Gendaroth had an old school view on when the age of consent kicked in, it was usually damn hard to get people to look favorably on same-sex relations in these types of Stories. This was going to be a challenge, but one she would undertake happily and purposefully.

Mulling over her carnal predicament, she started making dinner. Working with the type of speed and finesse that could only come from great experience, she had soon produced a dish that would leave even professional chefs stunned.

Well, given that she had had about four types of ingredients to work with and that the completed dish could be served in a bowl, maybe stunned was a bit generous. They’d probably have enjoyed it, though.

Now where was her brother? Surely he had finished his chores by now.

As if summoned by her thought, Dug marched through the door just as Evelyn finished setting the table. He smiled at her with all his usual puppy-like intensity and sat down as she started serving the food.

The boy seemed utterly unaffected by the intense physical labor he’d done and immediately started shoveling food into his mouth, pausing only for short bursts of verbal satisfaction in between bites. Was he being powered by some sort of perpetual stupidity engine or something?

Dug, Evelyn started solemnly, after finishing her meal. Dug was still working on his third serving. We need–

Yes? he interrupted, looking up from his bowl expectantly.

Christ, everything this moron did was annoying. She took a deep breath, keeping her irritation firmly locked inside.

We need to talk.

The tone of her voice would have made anyone feel concerned or cautious, but