A young woman stood grudgingly restocking cereal boxes, the fluorescent light gleaming off of her chipped nails. 

The dark bags under her eyes matched surprisingly well with her hair, which had been dyed a darkest black.

She grumbled connivingly while continuing her mind numbing work.

An untimely interruption, only half-welcomed, soon barged onto her doorstep metaphorically.

“Hey, hey, hey, Glenny! So, a lot of us are meeting up at Luckell’s after work and I was wondering if you would like to tag along!”

“Not really.”

“Aww, why not?”

“Too tired, just got done working the graveyard shift.”

“And you have another shift scheduled?! Is that even legal?”

The woman shook her head, “Need the money.”

“Oh, well in that case I’ll leave you to it. Let me know if you need someone to talk to.”

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

“Mm.”

Haa, so tired. Gonna take an early lunch after I’m done with this aisle.

THUMP

When did I get on the floor?

So tired, everything’s dark.

Sorry Mom, guess I can’t get you that cake you wanted.

[Welcome, Player. Please select a Starting Gift.

Available Starting Gifts:

Handkerchief

Tuft of Fur

Birthmark.]

Hmm, none of these sound good, so let’s just pick one randomly.

Maybe then I’ll actually get to pick my class.

[Chosen Starting Gift: Birthmark.

Description: A Birthmark is a remnant of your heritage. Maybe one day it might have an effect.]

Bruh.

[Character Creation complete, initializing Game.]

Wait, what happened to making a character?!

Upper Strazia, Elgen Estate, 7:38 pm.

A great philosopher once said, ‘Tragedy sometimes begets Opportunity’

This isn’t one of those times.

A tall man made his way authoritatively into the room.

His back was as straight as a ramrod, while his hawk-like eyes beheld everything beneath him. This was Viscount Elgen.

Not so much as a hint of emotion flashed across his eyes as he beheld his dead wife.

She had died during childbirth, leaving behind a healthy daughter.

When his eyes swept across his child, however, there was a slight stirring of emotion in his eyes, disappointment.

Even without tests he could tell how average this child would be.

The doctor approached nervously, knowing that he would absolutely be fired after the lord’s wife died.

“Viscount, there is still the matter of bestowing a name upon the girl.”

Lord Elgen carefully examined his newborn daughter’s face, comparing it with his wife’s.

“Hmm. Synthia.”

“Understood, from now on she will be known as Cynthia Elgen.”

“No, Synthia, with an S.”