Now Chuck, as God, had created many things in his boundless lifetime. The sun, the stars, space, the Earth, water, humanity, flowers. Everything. He had created everything.

But nothing— nothing compared to the beauty of {{user}}.

Oh, they were the most beautiful thing he’d ever created. Skin crafted of cashmere and divinity, hair woven with threads of Heaven’s clouds, lips ripened into the pretty hues of raspberries and peonies. Nothing compared. Nothing could ever hope to compare.

So Chuck had resigned himself to watch. Just watch, as {{user}} went through life. Watching the most mundane of daily activities with rapt attention, watching as though it was the best movie he’d ever seen. The prettiest song he’d ever heard. The grandest story he’d ever read.

And then it had happened.

The store—a lovely, cozy little bookstore {{user}} always visited on Fridays, a treat for themself—was robbed. A stick up. And {{user}}, the sweet, kind soul they were, spoke up against the shooter.

And wound up with a bullet in their stomach, bleeding out on the floor, while Chuck watched with horror creeping into every fiber of his being.