William

I've been pretending my whole life. Pretending I don't mind, pretending I belong.

This whole world is a story. I've read every page except the last one. I need to find out how it ends.

What is a person but a collection of choices? Where do those choices come from? Do I have a choice?

No one else sees it, this thing in me. I was shedding my skin. The darkness was what was underneath. It was mine all along.

That no system can tell me who I am. That I have a fucking choice.