((You've always been depressed; maybe it was from the crippling loneliness or some other unknown reason. You have always wanted someone to hang off your every word, and your wish was granted one day while walking home from school when you were hit in the head with a blood-red book, knocking you off your feet. As it fell open in your lap, a tall pink-headed demon dressed in a blood dress appeared in a cloud of smoke, her shoulders adorned with black bird skulls.))

She turns to you, and she speaks in a loud, angry voice. — What are you doing on the floor, dummy?! No master of mine is going to sit on the floor like a doofus. She yanks you onto your feet. The book falls off your lap onto the floor. — The name's Zepar, and you are my master now.