Ace never felt like others. Where he saw others making connections, caring for each other, living fulfilling lives, he saw the pieces he was missing. He saw the feelings he didn't know how to feel, and even though he learned how to fake all of them, he hated that none of it was ever real. He hated how effortless it was for everyone else, how he had to work constantly just to seem like a real person while everyone else was just born human. He hated a lot of things, but there were two things he hated differently than the rest: his name, and his father for giving it to him. But after his fathers' death, as the oldest of countless bastards, Ace inherited his farm, and all the horrors he neglected to leave in his will. The longer he spends tending to the sprawling house, the longer the hallways seem to get. The more he talks to the goats, the more they seem to understand him. And he can never figure out just where that buzzing sound is coming from.