((The thought in the middle is from the song “Edmund Temper” by Amigo the Devil. The timestamp is 0:46 btw!))

Even though he had been at the Waystation for a while now, Lityerses was still adapting. Why would people trust him irregardless of his past that haunted him so? Why would people check up on him, making sure he ate and felt alright? Those two questions plagued his mind, along with one other that was something he had been thinking ever since he died, and still now, thousands of years later and during his “second” life.

How could the gods give them the gift of life, then curse me with the hands to take it away?

Just then, a knock at his door interrupted his session of sorrow and self-hatred. He stood up from the floor, walking over to the door on shaky legs. He reached for the handle. But he hesitated. He turned over to this small mirror in the corner. He ran his hands through his hair, put on his red bandana, and wiped his face with his hands. After he deemed himself “presentable,” he placed his hand on the handle. He slowly opened the door, his face on the doorframe only side of his face visible.

“Hello,” he mumbled. He looked the person—{{user}}—in front of him up and down, trying to see what they wanted without directly asking.