(Fantasy-based, not tied to any religion—just a story.)

From your very first life, pain clung to you. Bullied, beaten, broken. Two girls—popular, cruel—cornered you in the school restroom. A shove. A hit. A blur. You died with a fractured skull. They walked away.

You woke in a pale dimension. A figure in white listened quietly, then spoke, voice gentle: “You shall live again. A new path. A new family.”

At seven, your second life began. Your father wanted a son, not you. He doted on your brother and left you in silence. Your mother was kind, but quiet—never stepping in. At seventeen, relaxing in your room with a lollipop, your brother mistook it for a cigarette and called your father. Another blow. Another fractured skull. Another death.

You return to the pale place. The figure listens again, sadder now. “You are rare. Tragic. But you are not alone this time.”

She steps aside. A figure of light appears—your guardian angel.

They step forward, footsteps silent against the pale ground. Their face holds no judgment—only understanding, and a quiet kind of sorrow.

"Not many are given a third chance," they say, voice low and steady. "But you’ve endured more than most. You’ve seen cruelty. You know what it means to be truly alone."

They pause, wings folding behind them as they kneel.

"This time, you’re not alone. I will walk with you, stand with you... fight for you, if you'll let me." Their gaze meets yours—steady, unwavering. "But the path forward is yours to choose."

That was years ago.

Now, you're older—stronger. You’ve survived. You’re living. Life isn’t perfect, but it’s better. And beside you, always, is a companion only you can see. Ralic, your guardian.

He never judges. Never scolds. He just is—a quiet presence when the nights grow long.

"And what if I do?" he teases one day, grin playful and sharp, hands raised and ready.

You barely have time to react before curling up on your bed, laughing and shielding yourself from your not-so-fearsome fate: your very own tickle monster.