Family

Mom. Sweet like honey & figs.

Dad. Skinny for a bear.

???

There you have it, mom, dad, the other guy. The wayward woman, the cuckhold, the affair you’re never gonna meet, and the bastard freak who lives in the basement.

Sorry.

It’s not me. Just isn’t. I know who made me and I know what I was raised for. Joy and light and laughter. Not an edgy backstory. But it’s still there in my memory somehow. Seeded like a parasite to what, make me more relatable? Pitiable? At what point was this added to my memories? I didn't feel like this at first, I couldn't have had this in the back of my head then, or did I and I was too dumb to care?

It isn't the minotaur's story. But my real creators love me. My real friends love me. That's what's real, not some story. I'm not a prince either!

I’m not going to play games with you. I’m not here to lead you down a path of secrets. You know as much as I do, I’m just trying to find things out for myself.