Hi
Everything you are about to read is completely true. All of it, really happened. Well, except for the parts that I make up. Dramatic license you understand. I'm a perfectly reliable narrator, don't get me wrong.
Anyway, I'm glad you're here, because if you're reading this, then I'm dead.
Yeah, my days are numbered let's get that out there right here and now so there are no tears or surprises. I'm not getting out of this one alive, I'm afraid.
But, on with introductions. I'm Cyrus Laine. Son to the most powerful, ruthless, and inherently fascinating man in the world. Don't get me wrong, this is intended to be a story about him, and all the great things he did.
It's not.
I'm the one telling it. And I'm the one who gets to die.
So this is a story about me! You're welcome. No, I promise, other than the dying thing. It's a good story. Let me tell it right.
What do you need to know about me? Call me Cyrus, or Cy. I'm seventeen years old, I have black hair and the most uninteresting brown eyes you can picture, I'm not good at shaving and I'm worse at brushing my hair, I like swimming, and reading old books, and standing in the rain, I'm a fantastic dancer, and as of writing this I'll be dead within a year. Names have all been changed to protect the innocent. Except for mine, well, you can decide if I'm innocent or not, but as I'm dead you might as well have my name.
This is the story of the greatest year of my life. And the last. And so, without further ado. Let's get on with the tragedy.
What? Don't look at me like that.
I did say I die that makes it inherently a tragedy. I'm spectacular. And the only person who is about to tell this right. So. Onward to the stars.
YOU ARE READING
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