Call me dramatic if you want, but I was stricken with a general malaise over the next few days. My parents seemed a little concerned with my sudden decrease in communicative expression, which resulted in them giving me more attention, despite not being something I desired at that moment. All the same, it wasn't a big deal. I just needed time to process everything, and in the end, they did not demand anything from me—the perks of being a helpless kite.

Perhaps it was a long time coming but discovering I had been reincarnated as a... sigh, furry, was the straw that broke the camel's back. A reckoning was in order, and it took two days for my thoughts to properly coalesce into a coherent understanding. You may be wondering what I spent these two days ruminating about, well...

I spent the first day thinking about my previous life, perhaps in the manner that one's life flashes before their eyes before one dies, only in this case, I had already died... and it wasn't as much a flash as it was a slow movie reel.

I was born into your standard two-parent household. Well, this was less standard as time progressed, so perhaps I was lucky in that regard. I had a fairly normal early childhood. I suppose I was a bit on the shy side, but I certainly wasn't an outlier. The fact of the matter was, though I had few friends, they were more than enough. Those were good days. Looking back on them now still gives me a profound sense of nostalgia. If only those days could have continued forever.

In those early years, we lived pretty modestly, which is nothing to complain about if you live in the first world. Really, what is the difference between the lower middle class and upper middle class beyond aesthetics? We had a smaller house, drove used cars, ate at less fancy restaurants, and sure, perhaps you had to share a bedroom with a sibling, but that was hardly the end of the world. You could argue that wealth can buy better luxuries, newer game consoles, or the next best widget. Aside from the game console, these things matter little to a child. Also, as I would later learn, raising the bar of your lifestyle only boosted your satisfaction for a brief time, before the scales were reset back to zero; you only raised the standard for what was required to not be left wanting.

However, my parents didn't see it that way. I'm sure I didn't either, as I was just a dumb kid who didn't think about such things. My father began working longer hours trying to climb that corporate ladder as I approached my first decade of life. Naturally, I saw him less and less, and interacted with him less and less. I remember I once naively asked him why he couldn't just be at home more often. He said he loved his family too much to let them live a life less than they deserved. On the surface, this might seem like a noble justification, but it also is one completely ignorant of what is truly valuable.

For my mother's part, she was inconsistent in her views on the matter. Looking back now, she never really knew what she wanted, but was always sure she did. Like most wives of the time, my mother also worked. It was a flexible job as a pharmacy assistant, so we only occasionally needed to leverage grandparents for supervision. She often complained that he was never home and needed to make more time for her and the children. This was a sentiment that I agreed with, though she could put it into words that I, as a young child, could only fumble with. However, this clashed with the chiding she gave him for not making enough money and badgering him to "step up his game." This latter demand wasn't something a seven-year-old child could understand. Sure, I understood money and what it could do, at least at the basic fundamental level, but I hadn't connected the dots between work and money. (The idea of working longer, not to get more money for the increased hours, but for the chance to get a promotion, which would, in turn, result in more money, would not have found a neural pathway in my brain to flow across).

So as time passed into my tenth year of life, I found myself with only minimal interactions with my father, and an increasingly agitated mother, though she would also seem to be complacent at times as well. While absent, my father had increased the family's income, and we were living higher on the hog. Perhaps things might have been okay if this arrangement had continued.

So, what happened? In short, my father messed up. You see, while he was spending more time working, he was also spending more time pursuing other endeavors. And by that, I mean he was cheating. I don't know how my father could conceive that taking his mistress around town in the place where his family lived was a good idea, but there it was. He got caught in some luxury store. Unfortunately for him, thanks to our increased finances, mother liked to frequent these shops. She was quite upset, not just at the cheating, but also at the spending of family funds on a home-wrecking harlot, though this latter point is just speculation on my part.

I'm sure you can imagine the shitstorm that followed. A divorce was filed, lawyers were marshaled, and much angry spittle was spewed. In the end, it all went as you probably assumed. Mother made out with most everything, including a hefty child support/alimony payment. My father did get every other weekend though, which meant I would see him more than I had—there's your ironic silver lining.

Though I did appreciate more time with my father, the whole affair was not a happy experience. I developed some problematic trust issues, after all my father had said he was working hard to provide for his family, but that wasn't entirely true, and as far as my ten-year-old self was concerned, was completely false. He had not only lied to his whole family, but we were completely oblivious to it, at least I was. Even in the wake of his lies being exposed, I couldn't perceive the lack of integrity in the mistruths he had been feeding us. People became black boxes to me, could I really trust anyone?

This only worsened two years later when I discovered my mother wasn't as innocent as she would have us believe. After the divorce, she went through a handful of suitors, as can be expected. I may have faulted her a bit at the time, but I surely would have understood in my latter years, if not for that incident. My mother was embroiled in another lover's quarrel; I had grown quite accustomed to them. I usually just ignored them, but something was said during this conversation that drew my attention. "I don't know why I keep putting up with you! Climbing through windows and sneaking around at strange hours back then... must have been out of my mind, but the forbidden fruit was too sweet. But honey, let me tell you, the second bite hasn't been nearly as sweet." (Harsh, but also, I'm pretty sure he had that line prep-chambered, but I digress). He stormed out shortly after, leaving my mother crying. I would have probably rushed in to comfort her, but the implications of what he had said were not lost on me. Instead, I went to my room and just stared at the ceiling.

Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

So, I couldn't trust my mother either. And the whole thing was completely absurd! She had attacked my father with what I can only believe was genuine vitriol and indignation, and all the while she was doing the same thing! It was a complete debacle! But the real issue was that this completely destroyed my ability to form connections with people. Not only were people complete back boxes, but also those same black boxes had no internal integrity. People began to make me anxious, especially women. As you can imagine, this wasn't healthy for a child in his formative years. As one usually does when terrified of people, I withdrew into video games, books, anime... the standard recluse canon.

And time rolled on. Thankfully, I felt some sense of responsibility when it came to my self-sufficiency, so I didn't completely fall to shit. I managed to make it into college, but I was aimless in my studies. (This is hardly unusual). It was fortunate that my fate crossed paths with Ripley.

Ripley was already a graduate student when I enrolled, and I would never have met him, if not for a whim to enroll in an introduction to music theory class. I didn't see any practical utility in the course; I certainly wouldn't be doing anything in music, but I had always enjoyed music and a greater understanding of music theory seemed like something that would be cool to know. As it turned out, he was teaching this class as part of his graduate work.

If I had to postulate a reason that he took an interest in me, I would say it was because of my highly introverted and withdrawn behavior. I can say that at the very least this is why I stood out to him, as he would inform me early on. I always assumed he took pity on this dower social invalid.

I was resistant at first; a combination of anxiety and distrust still hung over me from my formative childhood years. But Ripley was steadfast and persistent, but not overly pushy. He had a sincerity that was seldom seen in the modern world. Slowly, he brought down my walls.

As it would turn out, this would be the first person in nearly a decade that I could connect with. Ripley was an unusual individual; he was forthcoming to a fault. I got the feeling he might have a touch of the tism, but he had himself put together. He had a kind of "iron wrapped in silk" approach to life. He was a serious guy, but he always wrapped it in a layer of lightheartedness and general silliness, so he always seemed playful even when discussing serious matters. He became my first friend since my parents' divorce, and with his friendship, I slowly began to emerge from my fortress of solitude. It took some doing, but as the final years of my life approached, I could pass for "normal" in most situations; I could have normal interactions with people at least. However, I always had an issue with women.

When it came to women, I wasn't that stereotypical start-stammering-in-social-paralysis guy, I could talk to them just fine. Anything more than just talk, however... Well, that wasn't going to happen. I had missed out on those formative years where you usually laid down the foundation of later romantic interactions, where it was okay to bumble your way through those interactions awkwardly, and I wasn't about to start now; I had my pride damn it!

Ripley for his part was always trying to get me to "make a move" as he put it, but if it was that easy, I probably would have done it long before. As for Ripley, he was no slouch when it came to the ladies, so perhaps he knew what he was talking about, although, for the longest time, I suspected he might be gay. Although he was a world-class musician and was surrounded by many "classic" beauties, he never seemed to capitalize on this. This suspicion was shattered, however, when he did eventually start dating someone. (Female if that wasn't obvious from context). As it turned out, he was just very selective. Or perhaps it would be better to say, he knew exactly what he was looking for.

Regardless of my shortcomings with the ladies, I did get the rest of my life together. I was able to settle on a major and a career path, engineering. I would try my hand at several disciplines before finally settling on mechanical engineering, always fancied myself as something of a tinkerer.

Anyways, this brings us to the closing days and closing act for the one known as Seth Wills. My crush on Roa Lordonhal wasn't immediate, but I did find her attractive, but then again, who wouldn't? It was perhaps a year and a half before "that day" that I first met her. Ripley had invited her to one of his myriad of get-togethers; he is what you might call a "hub." As it would turn out, despite being at least an 8 by any measure, she remained humble, not a combination often seen in the wild. You could say I was impressed, and my interest took root.

Of course, I confided this to Ripley. He had been pretty much a life coach since I first met him, plus I needed to relieve some of the pressure that keeping it to myself had created. He of course told me to "make a move", his trademark slogan. I told him he was out of his mind, and that she was way out of my league. And for that matter, I didn't even know how to play the game to begin with. He said I should go for it anyway. I guess he just couldn't understand, as a master pianist, perhaps he was unaware of the street cred that carried.

That brings us to that final day. It had never been my intention to act on my desires, and had it not been for Ripley's final implied words, I wouldn't have. Along with the sage advice of my therapist, a man to whom I owed no small amount of gratitude, I was compelled to action... Or would have been. But as if the universe itself had decided to cock block me at the very moment I had found my resolve, that bozo dove in to intercept the play. It was a complete outrage! But what was I to do? Trying to insert myself between two old friends would have just been pathetic, not that I could have found the resolve to do that anyway.

Of course, we know how this story ends. The cables snapped and I, heroically—it's my story and I can tell it how I want! —rushed in to push not only Roa, but also that interloper out of danger, and was crushed by a 2015 Bösendorfer Concert Grand 290 Imperial Grand Piano for my troubles. (Ripley was quite fond of using the full name).

After going through the highlight reel of my life, my body felt heavy, and I fell into a deep sleep.