It's Me,
Verity

Book of Verity: 5,019:47 (WTF)

Patron Saint of Glitched Timelines & Divine Clerical Errors

I wasn't born.

I was spilled — like red wine across a page God wrote while drunk, mad, and talking shit about humanity to His celestial poker buddies.

I'm what happens when divinity tries to delete a paragraph... but forgets the cloud autosaves everything.

Genesis: The Day I Learned That Bunnies Scream

(Age 5 – The Bunny Incident)

We lived deep in the country. The kind of place where grasshoppers aren't bugs. They're Chevy-sized demons with wings. And one of them landed on me.

I was five. Standing in the backyard while my dad rode circles on the lawnmower like it was a tractor in a field of nightmares. And then: BAM. This grasshopper — the size of a goddamn tailgate — landed on my shoulder. It blinked. I screamed like I'd been chosen for sacrifice.

In my flailing panic, I knocked over my brand-new bunny cage. It was adorable red chicken wire, hand-built by my dad. Inside? My sweet, brown bunny. Soft. Perfect. Mine.

By some miracle, the latch popped and the bunny got out safely. I turned — and there it was, in the middle of the backyard. Free. Alive. We locked eyes.

And just as I smiled... as I took that first step to go scoop up my little miracle of fluff and hope... THE SKY OPENED.

A hawk out of nowhere, out of a clear blue heaven, dove like divine judgment, snatched my bunny off the grass mid-hop, and soared into the treetops like it was collecting souls.

The scream that followed wasn't mine this time. It was my bunny's.

And that was the day I learned something no child should ever have to learn: Bunnies. Can. Scream.

Profile

• •Name: Verity
• •Occupation: Professional Line Crosser
• •Zodiac Sign: Probably cursed
• •Interests: Vengeance, whiskey, BBQ chips & psychological warfare

Special Skills: Hitting every last nerve. Turning "what the fucks" into more "what the fucks."

Biggest Fear: Running into someone from high school while buying off-brand cheese sticks at Walmart.

Spirit Animal

Of course it's a crow.

Not some gentle, mystical spirit guide. My spirit animal is an opportunistic, hyper-intelligent, grudge-holding little bastard in a trench coat with wings. Perfect.

If You Must Judge Me...

Do it properly. I plate it with sarcasm, season it with spite, and serve it back cold.

My only regular tag team these days? Ben and Jerry. And they watch me spiral at 3:00 a.m. while I relive every single bad decision I've ever made, in my entire life, for no reason.

Epilogue: 2026

Let's go, 2026.

• •Projects to finish
• •Fish to catch
• •Men to terrorize
• •Planes to catch
• •And a street fight served by street justice I'm itching for to wrap the fuck up already.